On my very first trip to Kasama in 1981 my friend and guide to all things ceramic, Stephen Lemoncello, advised that I not buy the first thing I saw that I liked, since there would be so much and I might spend everything on the first thing I saw only to find something else later. I didn't take his advice. As soon as I saw it, I bought a vase by Morihiro Wada that just sang out to me from the shelf on which it sat.
Later that day as we wandered from gallery to gallery in town I saw several coffee cups by him in the same style. The vase was so expensive, I could only afford to buy two of the cups and saucers. One of these did not survive an earthquake in Tokyo a few years later. The one I still have today I treasure not only for its beauty but for the memory of that day.
After that initial purchase I was on the watch for anything of Wada's that might be on exhibit in Tokyo, and for sale. The next year, just after his next kiln firing, he had an exhibit at Takashimaya in Nihonbashi. I went on the first day, on my lunch hour, and everything
was already completely sold out. Red dots over every piece. I was miserable — desire is a bitch as the Buddha noted. My boss saw the misery on my face when I returned to work, and as a consolation prize he gave me a vase made by his brother, a well known ceramic instructor in Japan, a man who had written one of Japan's most used textbooks for pottery students in the country. It was a lovely vase, and I treasure it still. In fact, many people who look at the pottery that lines my shelves love this vase. But it wasn't a Wada.
Clearly many people feel the same way, because since that time, Wada's work has increased in value so much that I could never even consider buying anything of his today. Recently at an exhibit of pottery at 
New York's Japan Society — Contemporary Clay — where his work was included, a couple of sake cups he made were for sale in the shop. I hate to tell you what they cost.
That said, I realize looking at the pieces I bought 26 years ago that their style
seems oddly dated. Unlike the classic folk style pottery of the surrounding area, Wada's work is modern to the moment, and thus, as the moment changes, does not have the timeless feel that comes with looking at the work of the living national treasure who lives down the road in Mashiko, Tatsuzo Shimaoka. Nevertheless, every time I arrange flowers in the Wada vase, or drink coffee from the remaining cup in my possession (and care for so that those who come after will enjoy, since pottery, as an expression and lesson of anicca, the Buddhist observation of impermanence, ultimately breaks) I feel the distinct pleasure of living with and using everyday objects that are also art, that are an expression of the vision and aesthetic of an artist whose aesthetic I share. And so, at least photographically, I share it with you. You can see the vase and cup I use to this day above. As well as a vase from the exhibit at the Japan Society earlier this year just to the left. Oh, and should you find yourself in Kasama, be sure to stop at the Ibaraki Ceramic Art Museum, where you can see work by Wada and others who have worked in the area.
That's the idea behind the motto of the ancient Order of the Garter: Honi soit qui mal y pense. Then again, as the father of Gestalt Therapy, Fritz Perls, once noted: We never project upon a blank screen. Sometimes when we see a phallus instead of a cigar that's
because psychologically speaking, that's what is really there.
