For me the story of Miki began more than a quarter of a century ago. My wife and I were on our way back to Holland from our holiday in Sweden; in Göteborg we visited the Röhsska museum. There among other things we saw some seemingly simple but fascinating pots with a modest but at the same time rich glaze. Timeless, essential art. The artist, the card told us, was one Ryozo Miki. My wife and I complained to one another, of course a Japanese again, and Japan is so far away. But then we read that this Japanese was living in Denmark, and the next day we had to travel through this country. It was only natural that we would try to find him.
It turned out that luck was with us. Just the year before the Copenhagen Kunstindustrimuseet together with the Röhsska had organised a big one-man exhibition of Miki, so it was no problem for them to give us his adress. He lived in Græsted, a village in the north of Sjæland. As a result of our visit to him we came into possesion of items which up till now are among the most important ones in our collection. And we met the man himself, which was the beginning of a lasting friendship.
In the 35 years he has lived in Scandinavia Miki has become westernized a good deal, but his work is still unmistakably rooted in the Japanese tradition. This is not only true for the style, but also for its importance. Miki doesn’t compromise when it comes to integrity, He demands of himself the best he can achieve, and he wants to present his work only in the best circumstances. That doesn’t make life easy, especially in such a different cultural climate in which this kind of art seldom is understood.
In our culture ceramic art does not have the same importance it has in Japan. There are many ceramic-lovers, and therefore collectors, in the west and there are good galleries. There are also excellent potters, some of them widely known be it only among insiders. Occasionally one can find ceramics in art museums; there are even a number of museums which are specialised in ceramics. All of this is true. Nevertheless the position of ceramic art in the west is rather marginal, compared with for instance the art of painting. Not everyone has an eye for the difference between moulded and thrown pieces, not to mention the difference between handmade tableware and ceramic art.
In the west we distinguish categories of reality: certain things are worthy of being revered, other things less so or not at all. Most people consider a piece of ceramic work as an article for everyday use: it may be beautiful or charming, but it is not a work of art. In the Netherlands especially Swedish and Finnish design is highly appreciated, but industrial art has nothing to do with real art, or so many of us think. We don’t look at what we handle as intently as we look at a painting…. unless the object is old! Antiques are treated with loving care, no matter whether they are a so called work of art or not. But it is not the same with contemporary objects. For that reason a potter who wants to be an artist sometimes abandons making pots, and produces small sculptures instead or conspicuously ”artistic forms, making it clear that the object is not meant for use. This is all right of course, however it is not enough to win his way into the hearts of the true ceramics-lover.
For the Japanese this categorization is incomprehensible. Looking at Mingei for instance, the ”folk art movement dating from the beginning of the twentieth century, we may come across animals such as an ox or a cat carved out of wood, or a hook to hang the kettle on above the fire, or this kettle itself, a bedding cover, a box or a roofing-tile, everything made with the same loving care and everything with the same power of expression. We are easily misled because these objects seem to be devoid of all pretention, whereas at the same time they are made with an amazing skill and taste.
Before the industrial revolution we had something like this in Europe too, be it on a modest scale: as early as in the middle ages craftsmen on occasion made wonderfully shaped, glazed and decorated pitchers and plates for everyday use; but few people consider them as works of art. The western artist feels obliged to present something new and personal. In modern art, the surprise effect sometimes seems to be of more importance even than the quality. In the east one is more true to tradition. The work may be modernistic, but in a more modest and subtle way. In ceramic art this difference manifests itself clearly, notwithstanding the fact that especially Japanese ceramics often have a very individual character.
Many western potters are inclined to embellish an object by adding adornments; the Japanese potter on the other hand tends to omit as much as possible. So the object usually is sparingly decorated or not at all and has a rather simple shape. Shape and glaze, and only if appropriate also decoration, must be in balance. The inner strength and the warm feeling the pot gives you determines the quality. This is not easy to recognize if you don’t have some experience in handling pots. Those who do know that a teabowl can be a piece of art, as inspired and moving as a painting.
Of course the contrast between east and west is not as radical as stated above. The world became smaller, the contacts between west and east became much more intensive and the cultures influenced one another. Art nouveau was inspired by Japan to a considerable extent, which made us more familiar with Japanese art in general. The work of Bernard Leach and Hamada introduced individual ceramic art in the west. Now there are modern potters especially in France and in England whose work almost can pass for Japanese, and which is highly appreciated in Japan; on the other hand the work of several outstanding Japanese potters has western features.
This does not mean that the significance of ceramic art is now widely recognized, apart from a rather small circle of interested persons. We don’t have a ceramic tradition. In Tokyo in a big department store I saw an exhibition of work by a famous potter who had recently died. The shopping public came in large numbers; people shuffled admiring from ane bowl to the next, speaking under their breath. With us a situation like this can be expected with Rembrandt or Vermeer, but hardly, I am afraid, with pots.
Miki has lived in Scandinavia during the largest part of his life, and for the last 25 years without interruption in Wadköping, Örebro. He feels perfectly at home in Sweden, he feels European. He signs his work often in western script, or with western script and characters as well. His decorations sometimes are a little bit more candid than he would have dared in Japan, or so he says: he feels more free to find his own way. But this certainly does not mean he just creates what comes to mind. He is very careful to do everything the way he thinks is right and his artistic education in Japan is not to be forgotten. A few of his works are very Japanese and traditional, but most of them have a very personal character so they are at the same time traditional and modern.
He detests compromises. Experience shows that the Swedish public does not always agree with his opinions, but Miki is not inclined to give in, even if it concerns a teacup or a plate made for use. A small line of colour to mark off the edge he makes in the Japanese way: beginning and ending just overlap, resulting in a little spot of more intense colour. Many potential buyers take offence at this: they like an edge to be even, otherwise it does not seem to be perfect. But Miki keeps to his method. I think he is absolutely right here, given the character of the object; still many people are disappointed.
But there are other people who do like his work, and they are very happy with it. In Sweden Miki has a circle of admirers. He gained a number of commissions from the local community, mostly for wall-decorations, which appear to be highly appreciated by the people who live with them: they are not only beautiful but also amusing. In Japan he is not completely forgotten; he exhibits his work there from time to time, and once a Japanese television crew came over to make a documentary film about him.
Miki was a pupil of Mitsuo Kano, one of the important Japanese ceramists of the last century. He speaks about him with love and respect. But the pupil went his own way. In comparison with the master his work is more introvert and modest, especially in the choice of glazes, but it is just as intense.
Miki doesn’t like sharp edges and comers, he likes them just a little bit round and soft. He wants his work to create a friendly atmosphere. He not only makes pots and dishes (”containers”) but also objects in the form of animals or human beings. Mostly they are standing on a cylindrical pedestal, reminiscent of a very old Japanese tradition: in former ages ceramic dolls were placed near graves, as substitues for human sacrifices. Miki made objects like these from the beginning, latterly even more so. Of old they were mostly elegant women, or sturdy children. In later years came a great many fish of very different character. In Japan fish are loved creatures, in the month of May large carps may be seen hanging outdoors, made out of brightly coloured silk, one for each boy in the house. A carp is a strong animal, swimming against the current if necessary. Miki made not only carps, but all kind of real or more often fantastic fish, which may smile, seem to gossip, be cross or whatever. The fish mostly are flat, meant for hanging on the wall.
Recently many birds came into being. They are sitting on their own, or on a pedestal. They are mostly round like hens or doves, but for the rest they are very different some are drowsing, others are very much awake, but all are nice and endearing. The unexpected lines and spots on their feathers are amusing. Seeing these birds one should not suppose that they actually were made on the potter’s wheel and shaped from the inside. The great skill this requires is rarely percieved.
Few people will have problems with these fish and birds. Curiously the human figures are less easy to understand. At first sight these ceramic men and women are strange and unfamiliar as if coming from a different world. But on looking at them a second time, one notices how beautiful and expressive they are, and one understands that it would be impossible for them to be otherwise.
Maybe to a certain extent this holds true for all items in this exhibition.
Delft, september 2001
P.J Stolk