Mishima is a originally-Korean popularized-by-Japan ceramic technique that can be used to produce highly detailed images with fine lines. The basic process starts by carving a design into leather-hard clay. A colourant such as tinted slip, contrasting coloured clay, or underglaze is applied to the entire surface of the piece where it dries. Once dried, the outermost surface layer can be removed via scraping or sponging, revealing the design, now filled with the coloured material, underneath it all.  

As soon as I heard about this technique, I wanted to try it out. Really badly. 

So I checked the damp room, found a pot that I needed to trim, and decided it would be my victim. I trimmed it, covered it in a layer of wax (which would help with carving and with sponging the underglaze off), and began carving. The only problem? I had no idea what my design was, no plan for what I actually wanted to carve. I had just...started.

Now, I have nothing against spontaneity- but I know myself. I know that I need to orient myself whenever I'm drawing (or painting, or carving, or whatever really) so that I get all the proportions correct. If I start in one corner, without defining where my other corner is, then I'm going to end up with a lopsided design. 

Which is precisely what happened. 

I had carved some flowers and other vaguely botanical things, and immediately disliked my design. The flowers looked too large and too lopsided, and everything looked one-dimensional. "Wow, this looks bad" I thought, and kept going. I filled in my lines with green, yellow, and white underglaze. I tried to place the colours purposefully for all of five minutes, but the disappointment of what I had carved meant that I couldn't bring myself to care. Why didn't I stop at this point? Why didn't I just scrub the whole thing and try again? Because I wanted to do Mishima, and I wanted to do it now. 

When my pot came out of the bisque firing, I knew I had messed up. The Mishima looked awful. The bowl lived on my bisque shelf for a couple of months as I pondered what I wanted to do with it. I liked the shape of the bowl, and I wanted to see if I could make something beautiful out of my creation. My poor, poor creation. Maybe I could atone for the havoc I had wrought upon it. But how? In pottery, it's said that you should never get attached to anything before the final firing. The magic that happens in the kiln transforms your piece, and you don't have a lot of say in that process. Things move, shift, and warp. Glazes run into each other and change their colours. You get ugly things and you get beautiful things. Glaze can change everything.

My goal was to create a thick, dark layer of glaze that would cover the flowers. However, things tend to shine through glaze when you least want them to, so I wanted to be sure to add enough visual interest that would counter any potential lingering Mishima. I used the studio glazes of Floating Blue and Liquorice black, combined with Amaco's Cosmic Tea Dust (ie, the sparkly one). If Cosmic Tea Dust couldn't fix this, then I don't know what would. Glitter is always the answer- right? On the inside I used more Floating Blue, Amaco's Flux Blossom (ie, the magic one, pink version) and Amaco's Cirrus Flow (ie, the magic one, blue version). I crossed my fingers, did a quick little prayer to the kiln gods, and sent it off to the cone six firing.

​And it returned downright beautiful. 

​The inside looked like an ocean. The outside contained a light blue line that looked downright cosmic next to the deep blacks and blues, especially with the glitter from the Cosmic Tea Dust just above it. The brown speckles at the rim (also from the Cosmic Tea Dust) pulled the entire thing together. My ugly duckling had turned into a beautiful dark swan. 

What's the moral of this story? To be more patient, for starters. Don't let your enthusiasm steer you by the horns. I'm going to try Mishima again, but I'll do it properly this time. I'll plan a design and draw it out on paper before I let myself near clay and carving tools. Secondly, to never underestimate the magic of glaze. This bowl turned out beautiful, and it's all the fault of the glaze. Glaze- especially Cosmic Tea Dust- is magic, and nothing will convince me otherwise. 

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Thank you for reading my little pottery story. I hope you have a lovely day, and I'll chat with you later.

Luka