We recently connected with Kazu Oba and have shared our conversation below.

Kazu, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today Can you share a story that illustrates an important or relevant lesson you learned in school

While in college, I studied a ton of art disciplines, really trying to use that time to explore as much as I could. Yet often the best lessons were found outside of the University curriculum and off campus entirely: while chalk drawing in Florence, Italy, as a cook in Boulder and Denver restaurants considering how food is plated, tap dancing with friends after work, and in the more formal student-teacher relationship I shared with Boulder-based sculptor, Jerry Wingren.

In 1999, I began working with Wingren first as a student intern, then as an apprentice, then as an employee. For many years, I studied under him doing a lot of work in and around his studio that didn’t involve the sculpture directly. This included raking, cleaning, cooking, making coffee, maintaining tools, moving artwork, building studios, setting up for exhibitions and open houses, etc. Slowly, and only over a few years, I began to work with him on sculptures of wood and stone.

In the year 2002, after 4 years of studying under Jerry, I went to Sweden with him to shop for large, black granite stones in quarries. We were staying in a small town within walking distance from the workshop. It may have been the combination of proximity to our rented workshop and the long daylight hours of Swedish summer, but in that time together, I began working more independently, having come to a greater understanding of what Jerry would want. I began to have confidence in making decisions about the sculpture on his behalf, understanding the parameters of his aesthetic. This intensive experience in the stone shops in Boalt, Sweden changed my identity. I traveled there as a student apprentice and came home as a sculptor. That trip was a rite of passage for that transition.

Similarly to this, starting in the year 2003, I studied with a renowned Karatsu potter, Takashi Nakazato. Years later, I assisted him while in residency at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. After discovering there is a tea house on campus, the focus of my assignment there was to create all the pieces needed for a tea ceremony we would host for 19 people, spread over two nights. I made all of the vessels and prepared with Takashi-sensei a several-course meal.
I had never created vessels for the preconceived menu. Sensei prepared the menu himself.

I’d already been assisting him for some time in various workshops in the US and Europe, but it was during this NAU residency that I returned home feeling a similar sensation that I’d felt on returning from Sweden. It was a sense that there was a shift in my work and in understanding myself as a potter. Perhaps it was simply a self-acceptance of myself as a sculptor and potter.

Though not a traditional lesson in a traditional school, these formative experiences brought me to a stable ground in myself and my work. I continue to work fluidly between these disciplines.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

Born in Kobe, Kazu Oba spent his early years in Japan. He moved to Colorado in the 90s and has called the Boulder area home ever since. He has continued to travel throughout the world for assistantships, workshops, and exhibitions. Kazu apprenticed under two masters, Jerry Wingren, a sculptor in stone and wood, then another master Takashi Nakazato, one of the world’s most renowned potters from Karatsu, an important area of ceramics in Japan. Kazu’s pottery is dedicated to functional, everyday ware to be used in the home. His background in restaurants distinctly influences his work, as he maintains a constant focus on the relationship between his pots and the food that will occupy them.

What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?

Even though I grew up in Japan, I didn’t learn to throw pottery until I took a class in Colorado. In the West, the potter’s wheel turns counterclockwise, while in the East it rotates clockwise. Older electric wheels used to have just one direction depending on their markets and of course kick wheels can turn either way and could prove to be most versatile in terms of direction and speed.

I learned to throw counterclockwise on an electric wheel here in Colorado and only years later, I learned to throw clockwise on a kick wheel when in Karatsu, Japan studying under my master Takashi Nakazato.

The wheel direction has a significant effect on the thrown-ceramic piece because of one’s hand focus. In a counterclockwise wheel turn, the hand focus is on the outside line of the pot. The dominant hand is working the exterior surface. Sometimes potters will place a mirror at the edge of their working area to keep an eye on the silhouette.
The wheel direction moving clockwise requires the potter to use the dominant hand to focus on the interior surface of the pot. With all the attention there, the exterior line is second to the interior form, sometimes I refer to the inside as “the service end” or “the function of the vessel”.

This naturally becomes a philosophic discussion when we consider the generalized idea that Western society is more concerned with the outside, individual appearance than the more interior and collective concerns of Eastern society. I let others pick up that thread about my pots. I sincerely hope that they are useful in one’s daily life, more than that they just sit pretty on a shelf.

Can you share a story from your journey that illustrates your resilience?

I mentioned that I studied under Takashi Nakazato in a formal live-in apprenticeship in Karatsu, Japan. In Japanese culture, an entire city can be known for traditional art and Karatsu is one of these important areas for pottery. Nakazato-sensei is arguably one of the most important potters alive and working today. Studying there was really of great importance. His protocol for moving from one shape to another requires passing progressive steps in forms. It is an intense process and one which I took on wholeheartedly. Every day, I would work in this studio cleaning and organizing. Then at the end of each day, I get to practice the first form. Every so often, Sensei would check my form and tell me, “It’s still a little off,”. I never passed on that first form and was never allowed to fire a single piece during my apprenticeship.

I studied with Sensei for over a year, throwing the same shape, reclaiming it, not firing it, and not being allowed to move to the following forms. The master who I held in such high regard had to tell me that perhaps I wasn’t meant to be a potter. I returned to Colorado and continued working in restaurants and sculpting and even throwing. Almost 20 years later, my pottery practice developed and, I am grateful to say, it now funds my life. With it, I support my family and several team members. Some may look at this as a story of failure, but for me, I eventually came to understand this as my story of resilience and something for which I am thankful. For me, there will always be someone asking us to measure to their level or their idea of what success is. My experience in Karatsu was a good challenge and is still very important to me. Yet ultimately, my work is about solving the problem in front of me, in my way, which is maybe a slower process, but equally as thrilling and perhaps more meaningful because it is uniquely my own journey. We often focus on the story of a prodigy, of quick success or innate skill that is mastered. I would rather focus on the more common stories of resilience. Working on anything for any amount of time requires it.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.obaware.com
• Instagram: oba_ware

Image Credits
All Images provided by Photographer James Florio and O’baware Studio