Taiwan Today

The familiar upright potter's spindle has, for untold ages, been indispensable for the smooth shaping of rounded clay vessels—bowls, plates, vases, jars, and jugs—in oval and moon-shapes, swan curves, and flat planes. But for Potter Fong Sheng-kuang, vessels shaped in this traditional way—all in the round—grew monotonous, and he abandoned the potter's wheel to broaden the scope and creativity of his efforts: "This does not at all mean deliberate abandonment of the beauty of the curve. I needed to be free of the limitations of round objects—free to develop unrestrained forms," he explains. Fong's recent solo exhibition at the Hsiung Shih Gallery in Taipei, however, embraces the sharp, rigid, and abrupt. He has also laid his characteristic brilliant glazes aside in a passion for the natural brownish tints of the earth. Crushed, hardened ceramics are remingled with Fong's clays, and his final surfaces are rough, like some rocks, asserting a wild, alpine flavor. But Fong's aesthetic vision is also architectural. He sees the structure of his new ceramics as an ordering of the two fundamental building spaces—the outer space, which we always note in a ceramic piece, and an inner space, which he says is almost neglected, but always existing. Fong's new inner spaces are purposefully and multi-dimensionally configured. It is a simple concept, he says: "The inner space of a vase or bowl, for instance, is designed to contain a liquid. Via attention to the aesthetics, also, of the inner space, ceramics reach total beauty. "Though all the pieces I have created recently are not in the traditional rounded shapes," Fong added, "they still present definite inner and outer spaces. Each work has a small hole confirming that—either in its upper part, at the side, or in its center. Technically, that hole is a vent, for vapor and hot air when the piece is fired. "However, no matter where or why the hole is emplaced, it permits access from outer space directly into inner space. And inner space, then, expands to outer space. Consider the analogy of the windows and doors of a house: People may stay inside and observe the outside world, or from the outside, observe the inside world. The two observed worlds will be totally different." Fong's creations of one and a half years earlier are even "harder" and more "rigid" in appearance, compared to his latest works, which do evidence some gentle curving and varying tints in the ubiquitous brown-clay color. "My style is ever-changing," he acknowledges; "maybe ten years from now, I will go back to brilliant glazes and traditionally rounded vases." He recalls a growing creative turmoil in his first two years at the National Institute of Arts in Taipei. He was then dedicated to graphic art skills, which could not satisfy his creative desires. The third year, Fong tried sculpture, but still felt something missing. "Sculpture is replete with form variation. However, the colors are normally those of the raw material used. I was thinking of adding artificial color to my sculpted works, but my experiments were not satisfying. I really wandered at a loss in the arts arena." But right after his "left foot left the Institute," Fong's right foot took him into movie-making circles. He had left the frustrating form-and-color problems behind. But as a movie scriptwriter, he was totally unhappy and unadaptable. Then a few months later, accidentally, he says, a junior high school in central Taiwan invited him to join its teaching staff. And packing his bags quickly, he left Taipei and joined a new world of teenagers. He had a good time teaching, but still felt that sharp sense of loss. He ob­viously and absolutely required a form of art as outlet for a compellingly creative imagination. Once, for awhile, he was totally enchanted by the beauty of Tang Dynasty tri-color ceramic horses. But difficulties with techniques and facilities hindered him now in his probe into ceramics. In 1973, Fong transferred to Taipei's Wanhua Junior High School, which laid special emphasis on vocational training. Feeling then that ceramics production techniques would be helpful to the students, Fong and several other teachers proposed, and later established a ceramics workshop. In those days, he noted, ceramics techniques were tightly-held secrets among local companies. The standard practice then was to read foreign books on the subject and then experiment repeatedly. "I visited local factories to ask them questions, but they usually refused to reveal key points. I also shuttled between the school workshop and the National Palace Museum, to verify our own test colors by comparing our pieces with the antiquities. "It is really ironical, now, that I only use brown tints. In any case, I think an artist can do what he wishes in his own works, but he must know all the hues." During his eight years as a teacher at the Wanhua Junior High School, Fong became very experienced in the ceramic arts. Because it was not possible to develop his own creative impulses in the full-time school environment, he finally left, in 1982, to concentrate on his own artistic future. "Unfortunately, right after leaving, I fell into a troubled mood. I was very dexterous now in molding ceramics at the potter's wheel—and knowledgable about firing any color of glaze. But I really struggled to create something different, fighting myself. So I finally put all the familiar skills aside and began from scratch: bare-handed production and one-glaze color. "Maybe all I have done throughout is only part of a transitional process, not a result. Maybe there is no final destination for my particular road. Only one thing is for sure: I will keep on a creative road of continuous change, wherever it may lead."