"A piece of good ceramic can only--and should
only--be created through the precise control of
earth and fire," says soldier-turned-ceramist
Chang Chi-tao. In the past two decades, Chang
has devoted himself to this art of earth and fire.
One thing that fascinates people about ceramics is the varied and colorful glazes used by the artists. Ceramists have their own formulas that create unique colors in their work, and glazing can sometimes be used to identify the age of a piece or to distinguish individual artists. Among the numerous colors of glazing, a very special kind of red has been known in Chinese history as "Drunken Scarlet." It is difficult to describe this color with accuracy, but legend has it that when Yang Yu-huan ( 719-756), a Tang Dynasty imperial concubine, first saw the color, she was so charmed that she carried on as if she were drunk. Yang Yu-huan is known as one of the most beautiful women in Chinese history, and stories, poems and portraits of her are familiar to many. It is not difficult for people today to get an idea of her from these materials, and there is even a Peking Opera called "The Drunken Concubine."
The play is about Yang teasing her eunuch servants while she is inebriated (from liquor, not the color of the glaze). The formula of "Drunken Scarlet" glaze, like many other Chinese crafts kept confidential by individual artists, was buried with a craftsman long ago. It was not until around 1990, when the legendary color was "re-created" by Chang Chi-tao, that people were able to "get drunk" again.
Chang is now sixty-six years old. Much to people's surprise, the well-known artist had never touched clay before he was in his forties--a very late start in his career, compared with many other ceramists. He was born into a farming family in Changsha, Hunan Province, in 1933, which was a time of war and chaos. Although Chang was luckier than other children in that he had been able to receive several years of private village schooling and a public elementary education, the war kept him from going further. In 1949, like many other young men, Chang joined the Nationalist army to avoid being forced over to the Communist side. He was only sixteen years old. During the same year, Chang moved with the military to Taiwan, where he was a devoted officer for twenty-two years. Chang was a good soldier, but he was not very ambitious in what he now calls "a people-killing and fire-setting career." In 1971, he retired from his position as captain of an ordnance branch.
In the following two years, Chang worked as a material control manager at the Taiwan offices of two American appliance companies. Material control was not a problem for Chang because of his ordnance background. There were, however, other issues in which the army approaches Chang was familiar with just would not work. "The pressure of managing people was heavy. Most of them had more education than me, and I wasn't happy at all," Chang recalls. "I was paid very well, but it would've shortened my life if I'd stayed in those jobs." When one company wanted to assign him to Afghanistan for a construction project, Chang told his boss that he could not go because he had to stay in Taiwan to take care of his wife and children. Using this as an excuse, Chang politely left his job.
The resignation freed Chang from management stress, but life had to go on with or without good pay. To feed his wife, daughter, and two sons, Chang and several friends pulled together enough capital to set up a factory that produced functional and decorative ceramics. According to Chang, who acted as the factory's manager, their products were not bad, but the timing of the business was terrible. Shortly after the factory had started operations, they found themselves caught by the energy crisis of the mid-1970s. There was no market, and without strong financial backing to support the factory through the crisis, the investors had no choice but to close down.
This unsuccessful investment was Chang's first contact with ceramics. The price he paid was that all his savings were gone in less than a year, but he was not discouraged. The short contact with the craft somehow changed him from a retired soldier who knew nothing about ceramics to someone who was really interested in it--though he still knew little about it. "The ceramics were innocent," Chang proclaims. "The failure of our factory was a failure of the economic environment, not of the ceramics." Bearing this in mind, Chang decided to give it another try. To learn more about the craft, he joined a class led by Lin Pao-chia (1915-1991), who was known as the father of Taiwan's ceramics. Although Chang's knowledge of ceramics and its associated skills was poor, his experience in physics and chemistry, which he had gained from the ordnance troop, made him a fast learner when it came to clay, glazes and baking. After studying with Lin for about three years, Chang's works were first brought out in a 1978 exhibition called the "Lin Pao-chia and Students Exhibition."
The show was successful and started to establish a reputation for Chang. People in the field started to ask about the new face, and collectors showed an interest in Chang's pieces. The middle-aged, former factory manager, however, was still thinking of setting up his own ceramics factory. When he brought up this plan, his peers did not seem to agree. "Master Lin advised me that running a factory would take much more than someone's passion about ceramics," Chang recalls. "And my wife warned me that if no one wanted to run the factory after I retired, the facilities would become a heap of garbage." Finally, Chang stopped talking about setting up another factory and opened his own workshop instead.
In the early 1980s, the first few years after Chang began his workshop, ceramic art in Taiwan was still in an early stage. "There were only a handful of ceramists, and there were only a handful of collectors," Chang says. "The market was rather small, but luckily so was the competition, so we could manage to sell some pieces to make a living." In the meantime, through domestic and overseas exhibitions, Chang's popularity grew and he is now one of the most popular ceramists with local collectors. According to his agent, several collectors own a considerable amount of his work. Even these days when the economy is not at its peak and competition is strong, there are collectors waiting in line for Chang's pieces.
When asked why his work has become so popular, Chang always credits tradition. Although Chang sometimes makes ceramic animals, human figures, and glazed paintings, a large portion of his pieces remain within the traditional framework of "functional" ceramics--vases, bowls, pots and teacups. Chang modestly explains that being a soldier for more than twenty years, the only thing in his life which had any connection with art was calligraphy practice during his private school days. Perhaps because of his lack of formal art education, he is less adept at creating beautiful lines and shapes and it is safer for him to work within tradition. "Something that has existed for a long time is more acceptable to most people and can last longer," he says. "I don't want to see my pieces 'out of date' in three to five years." Chang also explains how the craft was traditionally used to make utensils, so ceramics should be able to be touched, used and appreciated--that is, it can fit closely into daily life--although most of Chang's bowls and cups end up on the shelves of some collectors, instead of on their dinner tables.
Chang believes that this "tradition" includes the process of making ceramics. "A piece of good ceramic can only--and should only--be created through the process of precise control of earth and fire," he says. From Chang's works, it is not difficult to see that ever since he started to study from Lin Pao-chia, he has been pursuing this precise control. Here, "earth" includes clays and glazes, and "fire" suggests heat in kilns. There are many possible combinations between these materials that lead to a variety of results. A different amount of certain metal components in different kinds of clays may lead to a different shade of a certain color. Ashes in a firewood kiln during the baking process give the piece a "sincere and warm" look, but the kiln is difficult to control and there are often unexpected results. Evenly distributed heat in an electric kiln creates a flat and straightforward product. A gas kiln, in which temperature, oxygen supply, and pressure can be controlled, makes things easy for a ceramist.
Another important aspect of "earth" is glaze. Chang uses raw glaze, meaning that cupric oxide, mercuric oxide, and other substances that create different colors are added to the mold before it is baked. The color of a baked glazing process is attractive and lasting, but this technique requires material control since the final color will not be revealed until a piece leaves the kiln. Ready-made pigments, on the other hand, are convenient to use but can fade over time. "Chang's unique glazings are based on his understanding of traditional Chinese glazing and its changes in the baking process," writes Liu Chen-chou, an associate professor at the National Taiwan College of Arts, in his preface to a photographic collection of Chang's works. "Moreover, he has created something new, something that makes the glaze natural and vivid." Chang has in the past years created many unique and fascinating glazes, such as "Drunken Scarlet" glaze, mi-tsai (camouflage) glaze, and a glaze that gives the piece a "cracked" look. In fact, playing with these varieties is a never-ending experiment for Chang. "Will the result of using twenty percent [of a certain chemical] come out better than thirty percent, or is twenty-five percent better?" he asks. "There are numerous possibilities and uncertainties, and each piece can be a new experience. I've never been satisfied. I don't think I'll ever be."
So far, the experiment has been going for some twenty years, but this does not mean that Chang buries himself in work all day long. In fact, the artist has a very irregular schedule. Sometimes he works for several days on end, and then sometimes not for a couple of weeks. But even when he is not in his workshop, most of his free time is spent on ceramics-related activities, such as attending exhibitions, visiting other ceramists' workshops, and sharing experiences with other artists to "keep up with the times," as he puts its. He also taught the art at a vocational junior college for thirteen years, and a military agency for nine.
But like the Tang Dynasty craftsman who first created "Drunken Scarlet," Chang keeps the formulas for his unique glazes confidential, and does not include them in his classes. "Making ceramics is like cooking," he says. "While the taste of a dish is pretty much decided by how much sauce or salt an individual chef uses, the color of a piece of ceramic is decided by how much of this or that the individual artist uses. This gives a chef or craftsman his style." By knowing and controlling his sauce and salt, Chang has established his own style, and he certainly enjoys pushing the envelope. "The older I am, the more experienced I become," he says. "In this profession, one thing I don't have to worry about is retirement, because I can go on and on forever."