Looking at old books on landscaping, I sometimes see jars lying haphazardly in the gardens and wonder what on earth they’re for. They aren’t placed upright to be used as water bowls, nor are they vessels to hold small fish or water lilies. The jars were rolled on their side and abandoned. “They are made to look like monohara,” explains Daisuke Narui who, as a gardener, antique collector, and jar enthusiast, is the right person to ask this kind of question. Monohara are pits found near the ruins of old kilns where ceramics were discarded. When a kiln has been abandoned to the wild for centuries, it’s exposed to wind and rain as soil and sand accumulate. Then weeds pop up, and the ruins are reclaimed by the forest. The toppled jars symbolize the eventual return of man-made objects to nature (although ceramics do not decompose or return to the soil), and give the surroundings a sense of impermanence.

As Narui tells his students, “To understand the jars is to understand the garden.” Products of clay and fire, the jars reflect the local climate. They are made for everyday use, not as works of art—these are uncontrived pieces made by unknown potters. The jars might have fingerprints, or unique forms or features caused by ash buildup or firing condi tions. In order to find a jar of your own from the many jars available, you have to be clear on your wants and needs and ready to make flash judgments. In Narui’s view, once you can choose a jar that reflects your personal standard of beauty, and not society’s standards, you’re on your way to creating a garden. Working with natural settings like gardens re quires animal-like instincts, so if Narui takes a student to source a jar and they find one instantly, he holds them in high esteem. Hearing him talk about these things made me want to find a jar of my own.(Reprinted from Subsequence vol.7)