Every piece of teaware is intrisically unique, as not only it is completely handmade, but the soil it is crafted with and the glaze that makes it shine are always different: when entering the studio of Qiu Laoshi, multiple shades of white, purple, grey, green, black, red, and so many other colors that our amazed and distracted eyes cannot yet discern, open to our view like variegated rainbows, always filling us with the same amazement we felt the first time we saw it. The few centimiters of wall and floor that are not filled with ceramics - finely made pieces of artwork by the master, focused and inspired attempts by his apprentice (only one at a time), and imperfect pieces awaiting to release their full potential - are covered with beautiful ethnic portraits (a reminiscense of Qiu Laoshi’s past as a painter), flowers (yet another sign of the ubiquity of nature), and books.

Qiu Laoshi welcomes us with a timid smile, revealer of his great shyness and modesty. He was born in Banna, where our tea trees grow, and we immediately felt with him a similar connection we had with our forest trees, filling our hearts with an indefinite feeling of commotion and relief, like we had met someone who speaks our language and finally understands us, after wandering hopelessly through foreign and unknown lands.

We met him in 2016, when he already had matured 9 years of experience with pottery. He wasn’t born in a family from which he could inherit clay or skills: only his passion drove him to put his hands in the wet clay, and start giving life to it. His professional path that started with teaching painting as a university professor, eventually led him to an art that could preserve the local heritage of the village he grew up in, and its ancestors. To the people who ask him if he still paints, he answers with a humble smile: “To master one art is already very difficult, to allow the mind to focus on another complex art”. 

The authority of the kiln

 

 

Fire is Qiu Laoshi's constant companion: it nurtures the artist's creativity, and in exchange he fans its flames.

Back in the day, as tools needed to be made just for regular occupations, any common local soil and sand would fit, but for Qiu Laoshi this is not the case: each soil used for one of his creations is carefully selected among the most famous and world-renowned areas for pu’er tea production; Yiwu, Nannuo, Mengsong, Bulang, are only some of the examples. Special attention is put on sand too: Qiu Laoshi always mixes his clay with sand from Mekong river, also known as Lancang river, which flows through all of Yunnan dividing the tea mountains in Xishuangbanna into ancient and new mountains. It is also one of the main water courses that helped spread Yunnan tea seeds in southern Asia. But even the same river does not always provide the same sand: Lancang river is huge, and each of its banks offers many types of sand of different thickness and colors. Qiu Laoshi was deeply charmed by Yunnan’s local plants, soil, animals (peacock and elephant, two revered animals in Yunnan, are often part of his creations), and decided to make them the muse and material of his artworks. Each of his pieces is not only made with local mountain soil, but also glazed with ashes that can come from local grass and herbs, nut shells, tea trees, and - most surprisingly - elephant faeces. The latter are already used in other Asian countries like Laos and Thailand, mostly to make paper. His pioneering attempts to apply this technique to teaware have led him to test by himself the ideal concentration of ashes and the best feces quality. All materials are verified and come from local sources: he collaborates with a sanctuary for elephants to collect the right amount and quality of faeces he needs for his artworks, and he selects them with extra care, just like he does for all of his materials. He also uses kaolin from rare sites in Mengsong, rather then the original and most famous Gāolǐngtǔ 高岭土 from Jingdezhen. As if searching the same complexity and proximity of materials, Qiu Laoshi says his favorite tea is Pu’er, and he most enjoys Yunnan teas like Dianhong.

Choosing a specific wood for the glaze does not only mean paying homage to the forest, but also protecting it: Qiu Laoshi often also uses rubber trees as ashes for his glaze; this kind of intensive plantations are quickly destroying the endemic plants in Xishuangbanna. The choice of materials, the percentage of ashes and clay, the season, the kiln, are all factors that will influence the final result of the crafting process. Deceased tea trees, trimmed branches, and elephant feaces, commonly seen as waste materials, are a real treasure for Qiu Laoshi, and he selects them carefully to understand which will give the best result to the clay. Here, a new concept of perfection can be found: the final piece is never perfect because of its impeccable angles, for its umbreakable glaze, or for its shiny color. Perfection can be found in the harmony of nature translated into object, into the balanced proportion of clay and glaze, temperature and time, master’s ability and fortunate casualties.

At the end of our talk, he deems himself satisfied with how his artwork is evolving, but his quest is far from over. He will continue reserching materials and testing kilns, challenging himself and improving his technique and design, until he reaches his own natural, simple, harmonious, rural perfection.