Directory of Lost Causes (By Quentin S. Crisp)

A Tale of Two Teapots

I want to talk to you about teapots.

When I went to London last weekend I bought a new teapot. When I came back, I took some photographs of it. You will see the photographs below. I call them, 'My New Teapot 1', 'My New Teapot 2' and 'My New Teapot 3'.

Teapots are good things to take photographs of.



In fact, I have a whole new album of six pictures, all of them of teapots. I call this new album, 'Teapots'.

My new teapot was bought in the place where I lived just before moving to Wales, on the outskirts of London, in Zone 5, I believe. I was walking along the highstreet, looking in the windows of the shops, when there, in one of the gloomier, grimier windows, I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. It was a teapot.



You will probably notice from the photographs that this was not a common-or-garden teapot, or, at least, not a common-or-garden British teapot. Oh no. It was a common-or-garden Japanese teapot. Although my interest extends to embrace teapots in general, I especially like ones that come from Japan and ones that come from China. The latter are usually a little more delicate and showy and the former more rustic and 'minimalist'. That is, of course, a generalisation. You may also notice that the handle is not where it would be on a British teapot. No. This is positioned much more sensibly, so as not to break your wrist, above the lid of the teapot. Also, it is made of wicker.



As much as anything, it was this handle that attracted me. There's a story behind this. I shall tell it to you. My favourite teapot even is one that I bought in Japan. I will post a picture of it below. I bought it when I moved into my room in Ohbaku, part of Uji, near Kyoto. The city of Uji is the tea capital of Japan. Although I did not have much to do with human beings while I was resident in and around Kyoto, because of Uji, I had a lot to do with tea and all its appurtenances.

My favourite teapot was not expensive. It was cheap and mass-produced, but it was just right, in my eyes, and very kawaii. I also like, perhaps erroneously, to think of it as fuuryuu. For me, drinking tea is very much an aesthetic experience. I don't believe, either, that 'aesthetic' has to mean 'expensive'. No, no. On the contrary, it is very often (perhaps most often) the other way round. This is why the Japanese tea masters of old spurned the ostentatious Chinese tea utensils for use in the tea ceremony, preferring those that were plainer and more rustic.

During my time in Japan, I looked at enough ceramics closely enough to get a general idea of what is better craftsmanship, what is more expensive and so on. But good taste is not dictated by market value. Everything depends on context.



Last year, the wicker handle of my favourite teapot broke. There is not only misfortune in my life. If you look at the photograph of my favourite teapot carefully, you will see sellotape about the bottom parts of the handle. This was before it broke completely. I knew the day would come, and I dreaded it. However, the day it broke, it was just after I had filled it with hot water to brew some tea and was about to set it on the floor in my room. Perhaps half a centimeter before it touched the floor, the handle broke. If it had been seconds earlier, the entire teapot would have shattered, spilling boiling tea everywhere.

The teapot was saved. I only needed a new handle. This, however, was not so easy to come by. I could not find one anywhere in London. Even last weekend, looking at the Japan Centre along Piccadilly, I could not find any.

I have been using a stand-in for my favourite ever since the handle broke.

When I saw this new teapot in the shop window, not only did I like the simple black-and-cream design, I also noted the handle! If I did not want to use the teapot itself, I could remove the handle and transfer it to my favourite teapot. The shop was closed. I determined to come back early the next day.

I came back early the next day. The shop in question was a charity shop. I think it was Roumanian Relief Fund or something. I can't quite remember. To be honest, I was more interested in that teapot! It cost three pounds and fifty pence. The lady at the counter wrapped it in newspaper for me and put it in an estate agent's bag.

At last I brought it back to Wales. I noted, again, the layer of gunge that had collected on its upper surface from long neglect. I decided to try and wash this off, but it was thicker than I had thought. Eventually, I tried nail varnish remover and a cotton wad on the glazed black area. This seemed to work. Then I rinsed this off with boiling water. As I did so I remembered fondly a teapot I had once bought in America from a Chinese lady. She had instructed me in a particular ritual to perform with all new teapots to make them unbreakable. However, I couldn't remember whether or not that ritual only related to unglazed pots. I won't say what that ritual is. Apparently it's something done traditionally in China, so there must be only a few hundred million people in the world who know what it is, and I'd like to keep the knowledge exclusive and esoteric. I lost that particular teapot. Well, when I say I lost it, what I mean is that, very sadly, we parted ways.

There have been and still are many teapots in my life. I won't tell you all their stories now, if I ever do.

My new teapot is still sitting by the fireplace. It's not of genuine Japanese origin. I can tell that much. Despite the attractiveness of the design, I can also tell it's very cheap. The end of the spout is not formed well, and it doesn't pour as smoothly as it should. I'm wondering whether to decide if this means that it is beautiful in its imperfection, or whether it just means it's a dud; if it is the latter then I can transfer the handle to my old, favourite teapot. I have not brewed tea with the new one yet. After I've given it another good wash, I shall do so. And after I have done so, perhaps I shall make my decision.

Labels: Furyu, Teapots, Uji