WEEK 6
Exhibition:
TEA _ a possible vernacular

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Again, I am late uploading this journal — needless to say that the last days were dense, but also my computer decided to stop working exactly when everything else was already chaotic. Reality has no aesthetic sense of timing.

But finally, this last week has been a quiet one, but only on the surface, structurally decisive for my project.

Most of the time was spent waiting for the kiln to cool — a phase every potter knows well: everything is already done, and yet nothing can be evaluated until the doors open.
One more question I kept going back to was whether or not to do any smoke firing on selected pieces; but in the end, when everything cooled down and the kiln door was openes, I chose to limit interventions, to let the glaze speak for itself, instead of adding further layers of atmosphere (and risk, and stress).

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A few pots suffered from the high firing temperature and the compressed schedule, but even the minor cracks did not compromise their integrity. 

The final glaze recipe worked: soft in tone, but visually complex.
It reacted clearly to different areas of the kiln, producing a gradient of colours from warm grey-beige to blue, pale pink and taupe. Often these tones overlapped on a single surface, creating a subtle depth that rewards close observation rather than immediate impact. A restrained glaze, but alive.

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One of the elements that generated the most curiosity this week — and during the opening — was the series of hybrid tea forms.
Neither traditional teapots nor gaiwan, but objects shaped by function and instinct rather than inherited rules.

They come from necessity, and from my natural design language: no sharp edges, no visible joints, organic silhouettes and soft transitions.

I am no Paul Cezanne normally, but fruit, vegetables and tropical birds I see here every day definitely influenced my curves: not literally of course, but in attitude — roundness without symmetry, volume without rigidity, movement inside stillness. Even when proportions may look unconventional, nothing feels mechanical.

Because I do not come from a cultural background in traditional tea-ware, I worked with respect but without fear, just powered by the excitement of working free. I believe that somehow not knowing the strict rules that tradition applies to tea and teaware, prevented me from being intimidated by them.
Instead of reproduction, the work became interpretation — and I am very happy this was received with curiosity rather than resistance.

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The exhibition setup was deliberately minimal.
Low wooden tables, similar to those used in tea ceremonies, displayed the main pieces, to make it feel like home; a long shelf held the 32 test tiles produced during the residency, illustrating the progression of the glaze research — every adjustment, every failure and every improvement, and my notes were available to go through.

During the opening talk, the project was welcomed with a mix of surprise and enthusiasm.
Someone approached me saying that the pieces felt like a new possibility built on top of old roots — which might be the most accurate description of what I tried to do here and felt very touching.


A possible vernacular.

In craft and architecture, “vernacular” refers to forms that emerge from daily life rather than academic design — objects shaped by habit, culture, need.

Possible, because I'm not lloking for modernization, nor provocation, just another possible way to use, consume, reuse and also make.
A respectful deviation.

This residency allowed me to explore that question openly, without expectation of a final answer.

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This result is not mine alone.

I am grateful to ChinChin Pottery for this opportunity and for opening a dialogue on such a culturally rooted subject.

Thank you ShinYi, for keeping the project on track, for encouraging production over hesitation, and for adapting to my constant changes of direction. That clarity helped me work honestly.

Thank you Tingfang, for listening to every confusion and solution, for the precise advice, for honest opinions, and for feeding me when I forgot to feed myself. Support can be practical and still deeply meaningful.

Thank you Todd, for reminding me that experimentation is not a phase but a method; that an unsuccessful pot can still be a successful step; that sharing the process makes the work lighter and more generous.

Alos, thank you to all those who has donated tea, without whom this whole experiment would not have been possible:

Tea Master Mr Lee  李瑞楠
劉芷妘
Chen Yuping 陳毓屏
Seyu
Pei-Hsuan Chang 張佩璇
Yi Wen 薛伊彣
TNNUA ceramic students
Arwa Narsulla
Professor 張清淵 老師
Chenyu Hsin
張瑜娟
Harper 簡子鑫
Lee Yi Ting

(and more, if I missed your name, plese get in touch)

From the bottom of my heart: 谢谢


Next week I will publish a short farewell and a summary of the residency.
It will be difficult to write — this place has grown into something deeper than a work space. Inspiration here was constant, effortless and shared.

See you!

WEEK 5
... and deeper!

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Let's start with the glaze chapter: I managed to burn a total of 188 g of ashes during this entire time, which allowed my ash glaze to be put together, yes, but with a very modest percentage of ashes - still, a good result. As anticipated, it appears that tea ash works well as a chemical component for the glaze, but is not the most intriguing in terms of character: pretty bland. 
So, as much as I'm happy the glaze I mixed does not show terrible runnings, crazing or worse, I gave myself the chance to experiment with the finish of my pots using tea leaves in other ways - such as smoking. And for this I need to spend a line to thank the best mates and fire nerds Todd and ShinYi - I have been going a little crazy with wild firings lately, but never thought about "domestic" smoking. This round I tried both open saggers (lower and higher temperatures) and closed saggers, plus glazed, unglazed, partially glazes, tea-ash glazed and other glazes. I will not show you the results here and now, but I'm telling you: something came out very nice, so more smoking will definitely be on this week schedule.


Chapter Two is for vessels: this time I followed a slightly different workflow and let myself experiment a little bit more "on site" rather than opening my AutoCad files and start by drawing the sections. Without ever compromising the functionality of these pots, I tried to stretch a little bit the most classical shapes for tea brewing to come up with something "hybrid". This came to my mind living and spending time here: Taiwan is so rich in culture, because it has absorbed the best knowledge from so many different heritages and, especially in the tea field, is building a proper Taiwanese culture only from the 1980s. Also I see tea is crucial here, both for the the elders, who loves a formal sitting and the whole ceremony, but for the younger generation too, that is open minded, proud, curious and looking forward to a good cup of tea, maybe with more informal vessels. 

So, my idea he, is to try mixing and remodeling through my curvy minimal language old archetypes to open a new discussion. 

I do not hope to design the future of teaware (for that my residency should last decades, not weeks), but to spark some thining on and around it.

Next week you will see all the results and hear about the opening of the exibition.
Meanwhile, keep your fingers crossed because my work is all in the kiln right now - to which I pray for kindness, otherwise next journal page could be very sad.

WEEK 4
deep into the project

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Sunday, after Saturday’s orecchiette lunch and all the crazy work behind and around it, I took the morning off to recharge and wandered around Tainan. 

Farmer markets filled with tropical fruits and vegetables I cannot even name, hybrid architectures, and the rhythm of a city living in an almost perpetual summer filled me with energy and inspiration. Not the mention the food here, always great!

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After lunch I walked back to the studio to prepare the first batch of ashes. For this first experiment, I split brewed from unbrewed tea leaves and burned them separately. 

I tried making ashes in refractory saggers inside an ol electic kiln, thinking it would be a more controllable mess, but after some heavy smoke, the best batch yielded only about 2.9% ash, lots of charcoal, and basically resulted in only seven grams of usable material — nothing. But I am a stubborn one so decided it was enough to start. I made a first glaze test (less than 50 ml, half of what I normally do to test any glaze decently) and also kept a small portion to apply as a simple ash-and-water slur, and some to sprinkle on a few other samples.

Firing day was Thursday.
At 8 a.m. I loaded another kiln with saggers of tea leaves — this time mixed, hoping the used, lighter ones would create small air pockets to help oxygen flow through the denser, new leaves that had previously turned into more charcoal than ash. Then sat there with uncontable fans, getting smoked like Lapsang Souchong (a Chinese smoked black tea). I can still smell the burning tea in the furniture. 


At noon, the gas kiln started and for this big toy the temperature curve needs to be closely cared for - so eyes on until past midnight. 

Potter’s life is no joke.

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Meanwhile, I kept throwing, trimming, and then tossing in the recycling bin half of my work — a constant rhythm. Tiring, yes, but I feel it is a luxury to have total creative freedom ans also total power on what stays and what goes back to the water. No other opinion but mine.

At this point I don’t have a clear vision yet of what the final exhibition will be, but I’m fully embracing this stage of pure experimentation — both in finishes and forms — trying to step outside my usual process, full of rules and proportions. One of my favorite T-shirt says "grow with the flow" and this is my current mantra.

When I opened the kilns, the tea had burned much better than the first test, though still far from ideal. Then came endless hours of sifting, washing, and sifting again. 

From the gas kiln, the first glaze samples looked stable — no crazing, no running — so it was a YAY for the basic chemistry, but the ash effects weren’t as striking as I’d hoped.
Maybe tea ash just isn’t as powerful as wood ash after all; leaves, especially brewed ones, naturally lack the mineral strength of branches and trunks.

The weekend passed at the studio, bent over the wheel and my workbench, assembling teapots. A highlight: a spontaneous tea tasting among the wheels' room, kindly organized by one of the students. She brewed four different teas for us to share — a lovely reminder that here, tea isn’t just a drink but a way of being together, peacefully, sharing time and thoughts.
I am very happy to be able to work around this specific ritual.

As you can see, this week’s journal came a little late — apologies. These past few days have been intense, and I’ve poured all my energy into the process.

See you next Sunday, with more ashes, more pots — and maybe, some clearer shapes ahead.



WEEK 3
tea, kiln, pasta and oven

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Third week started with a lot of throwing in a hurry: I re-threw and finished all the plates for Saturday’s lunch, plus a set of small trays for the dessert.
Things move fast here — partly thanks to the climate and the kiln, but also to the energy of the studio and everyone's great help. Milan wouldn't be so kind in many ways.

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While the pieces were firing, Shinyi, Tingfang and I went to visit tea master Lee at his tea farm in the Alishan reserve. 

The landscapes, the vegetation (and even a monkey crossing our path), were just stunning.

Mr. Lee shared a lot about his cultivation and processing methods — different harvest seasons allow for different teas, and each stage, from rolling and drying to toasting or oxidizing, makes a huge difference. The tea world is so vast and full of deep know-how that Mr. Lee actually teaches a four-year full-time course about it. No joke!
As much as I’d love to know everything, I’ll have to settle for what my time here allows. 

Still, I came back with so much: a beautiful family lunch with Mister Lee's wife and kids, new insights, and a huge bag of gifted tea leaves — a treasure for my experiments. Taiwanese kindness never stops touching me. 


After a long day at high altitude and almost three more hours of driving, we went straight back to the studio to unload, glaze and reload plates and trays for the other big event of the week: Saturday lunch.

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Within the same Chin Chin building there’s the studio, the shop, the gallery, and also a small café that hosts reservation-only lunches on Saturdays. 

Given my background and usual enthusiasm for cooking, we had decided from the start to host an Italian lunch — and so we did. 

Beside spending eight hours hand-making over twenty-five portions of orecchiette and more preparing tiramisù and panna cotta, I of course also made all the tableware we used (except for the small pannacotta cups borrowed from Tingfang). I keep putting myself in over-working situations, I love it when planning, hate it in the middle and love it again and very much when the result is nice. And this was a success — lots of people, laughter, and real sharing. It felt a little like taking all this beautiful community to my home.


I know: what about the project? 
This week was key to clarifying my direction and collecting all the tea I need for testing. Visiting the countryside and learning more about tea gave me a strong push — one I want to follow quietly for now. But I can tell you that as I write, the first batch of tea leaves is in the kiln turning into ash. 

This marks the end of the discovery and inspiration phase. Next comes production, testing, and giving shape to all that’s been brewing so far. 

See you here next week?


WEEK 2
collecting inspiration

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This week has been about listening and observing more than doing — which, in a way, is the best thing I could ask for to detach from my usual workflow and enter a more inspired mood to start tackling my project for the upcoming exibition.

I started attending a Tuesday class at Tainan National University of the Arts: laoshi Chang’s course on functional throwing. Watching his demo was a real reminder of how much skill and grace can fit into a single gesture and how much knowledge and personality can fit a very functional piece we use daily. I feel extremely lucky for his kindness - these classes are not always open to visitors, but laoshi is just so kind.

Later in the week, I joined an artist demo with Kouzo Takeuchi, Sayaka Shingu, Aya Murata, and Chung Wenting — a wonderful curator and artist herself, Taiwanese but based in Tokyo. Together we also visited Jing Clay Formosa, where yet another wood kiln is currently under construction, surrounded by the stunning nature of inner Taiwan - and its Mangoes.
Needless to say how much exposure to art and artists is the best way to cultivate creativity. I get so much of that around here.

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As for myself: I did actively make something too, between a show and the other, but my core project is still in a very early stage. 

In my head, shapes and ideas are slowly taking form — I’m captivating as much inspiration as I can, and I’m not ready to share too much just yet. The tea ash glaze experiment keeps growing — slowly but steadily — thanks to the generosity of the local community who keeps handing me their used tea leaves. There’s a lot on paper, very little that’s tangible yet, and I’m completely fine with that.

To keep my hands busy (and dirty), I’ve been throwing a few pasta bowls for a special lunch we’ll host next Saturday: orecchiette and tiramisù. A little leap back into my previous life as a chef — and a lovely excuse to bring a taste of home into this new chapter.
Of course, as it is now a tradition for me: I jumped in a rush to make bowls od day 1, and day 2 was trimming and slowly growing conciousness of me not liking them enough to fire them - so they just became reclaimed clay (I love the forgiving essence of my medium) and today I'm writing this at 12.00 AM after finishing a much better batch. You will see them nicely served at Chin Chin Table next week.


See you next week for updates on the teaware project, a tea farm visit and this Italian lunch in Tainan!

WEEK 1
arrival and beginning

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I’ve been in Tainan for just a week, and settling in has been surprisingly easy. People here are genuinely kind, generous, and welcoming — how could it be difficult at all?

Chin Chin already feels like home. In just five days, I’ve met more artists and colleagues than I did in five years in Milan. I feel this will be a deeply nourishing experience, and I’m profoundly grateful for it — ready to embrace every moment.

But let’s get to the heart of the project: I’m here to take a break from the frantic Milanese life and to broaden my pottery practice by exploring the architecture of the teapot — and hopefully finding ways to incorporate actual local tea into the making of the pot.

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Taiwan has long been a meeting point of many Eastern cultures, and this blend — refined over centuries — has created a deeply rooted and unique tea tradition. So here I am, absorbing and interpreting as much knowledge as I possibly can.

This first week, I started two parallel studies: form and finish.

To explore shapes, I’ve been diving into the mechanisms, proportions, and techniques of the most traditional teapots used here — mostly close to the well-known Yixing teapots (purple clay teapots from Yixing, China). My goal is to fully understand the fundamental rules so that, later, I can play with them and reinterpret their language.
In practice: lots of very, very focused throwing and building of experimental teapots — or at least the very beginning of it!

Alongside this formal research, I’m giving used tea leaves a try, turning them into ashes. The use of ash glazes dates back to 1500 BC in China and, like many beautiful things, it started by accident. Over time, this practice has been studied, refined, and mastered by potters all over the world.

My wish here is to create a truly site-specific finish, telling a story deeply connected to this place — both geographically and culturally — through its tea. It’s also an upcycling tale and a testament to community effort.
Why so?
To make even a small bucket of glaze and be able to run meaningful tests, I need about 300 g of ashes. To get that amount, I’ll need to burn around 5 kg of dry tea leaves.
This week we brewed plenty of tea but managed to collect only 280 g so far. So, we started spreading the word — and once again Taiwanese people proved to be the best: everyone I met has begun collecting their own leaves and even asked friends to do the same.
I’m planning to tour around Tainan soon to pick up all these generous donations!

I know it’s a long shot, but one I couldn’t resist taking.


This upcoming week already feels like a journey: I’ll attend a university class about tea ware (still can’t believe it), a group of Japanese potters will be visiting Chin Chin, a beautiful tea room is opening its doors for us, and maybe I’ll even visit a tea farm in the countryside.

Come back next Sunday to read all about it!