Tea bowls occupy a special place in contemporary ceramics. Small enough to be held, large enough to hold meaning, they are practical objects that invite careful attention to form, texture and touch. Whether called chawan (generally wider than tall) or yunomi (slightly taller than wide), tea bowls reward makers with an intimate scale and a satisfying loop from hand to mouth. For potters, they are a compact arena in which technique, restraint and personality all meet – and this is why tea bowls remain one of the most beloved forms to make.
A chawan typically reads as a low, wide bowl; it sits comfortably in the lap and in both hands. A yunomi tends to be taller and narrower, used for everyday tea drinking. Both forms are Japanese in origin, yet their appeal is global.
Making a tea bowl is an exercise in intimate proportion. The rim must invite the lips; the foot must settle into the fingers; the balance between wall-thickness and weight must feel inevitable in the hand. Many potters describe the process as near-meditative: the work narrows down to the essential gestures of throwing, turning and finishing. Unlike larger vessels, tea bowls ask for precision but reward small, expressive decisions – subtle variation becomes a mark of personality rather than imperfection.
Many potters are drawn to tea bowls because the form embodies wabi-sabi – the appreciation of impermanence and imperfection. A tea bowl’s tiny asymmetry, a thumb impression left by accident, or a glaze subtly crossed by fire become visual notes that carry quiet meaning. This ethos encourages makers to value spontaneity and to allow the clay to suggest its own final shape.
The craft of a tea bowl moves through defined stages. The act of throwing establishes the volume and rhythm of the piece. Turning the foot and refining the profile must be timed correctly – often when the clay is slightly softer than leather hard – and the finishing touches (slips, trailed decoration, glaze application) are made with an eye to both surface and handle. The tactile result is critical: a successful tea bowl must feel right in the hand; if it does not, many potters choose to discard the piece before firing.
Below are three studio testimonies that speak directly to why potters find tea bowls compelling.
Paul Young
Tea bowls are such a joy and yet also a challenge to make. When throwing I find myself in an almost meditative state, letting the clay reveal the form rather than myself dictating. Followed by the turning this has to be done at precisely the right time. I prefer softer than leather hard. I finish the tea bowl by throwing and the turned foot ring.
Once slipped I like to keep the finger marks of dipping still on show. Decoration is usually done with trailed slips then enhanced with coloured glazes. The finished piece must feel right in the hand; if not it is discarded before firing.
Jack Doherty
When I start a new making session its most likely that I begin with a small group of tea bowls. There are at the same time both a comforting and a challenging starting place.
They are thrown using 600 grams of porcelain each, an amount which fits comfortably into my hands, and in a way that is the starting point for this form. I am reshaping the clay into a vessel which will be held in our fingers and touched to our lips, that functional aspect makes me pay attention to details like the rim and foot, places that will be explored by touching.
In Japan, the surface of the outside of a tea bowl is referred to as its landscape and I am very aware of the places where I apply colour and texture and equally conscious of the empty spaces.
Making my group of tea bowls takes me on a fascinating journey. It begins with the most basic of ceramics processes leading me through adventures with function and aesthetics which are full of the memories and images of my travels.
Margaret Curtis
The ceremonial tea bowl, or chawan, is the pivotal artefact that combines two essentially important artistic pursuits in Japan – the Way of Tea and the revered art of pottery making.
Wabi-sabi, the essential aesthetic that these two pursuits share, can be simply defined as the beauty of imperfection; an appreciation of simple, natural things – things born from nature or eliciting such qualities.
It is this simple aesthetic that drives and informs my work, critically inviting me to pursue direct, spontaneous ways of working that allows the clay to articulate an appropriate organic response.
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