A teapot is an instrument. One of many arranged neatly on a tea artists’ table, but without a doubt the most important one. Some people use a hundred different teapots while some use the same one their entire lives. Collectors might keep more than a hundred of them nicely arranged on a shelf and never once use them. The relationship between artists and their tools is a tricky one to discuss.
I should say it is very much like a human relationship. The first meeting is awkward, hesitant, like meeting someone for the first time. There is the unfamiliar gaze when you first hold it in your hand and everything about it - smell, texture, colour, pattern, weight - feels new. It is only natural to feel somewhat uncomfortable and to instinctively reject what we don’t know.
But everything changes when you start using it. The first brew is like a first date. You don’t know where it’s going but you’re enjoying the company. After a period of courtship and a committed relationship, everything about a teapot feels familiar and warm. I feel like I know everything about it - how heavy is it with and without water, where I should place my finger to balance it while pouring, and what the tea will taste like even before I begin brewing. I know it so well that it feels like an old friend, an ex-lover with whom you can have the deepest conversations without hesitation. And even if you fill it with unfamiliar leaves, you know it tell you what you need to hear.
This deep bond only emerges from regular use, through success and mistakes. That glossy sheen on the skin of a teapot that is so desired by collectors can’t be faked. It is the result of contact with tea, water, and natural oils from the human hand, over and over again. This is the natural way of seasoning or nurturing a teapot. The spirit of a teapot lies in the using, and not looking.
Once, I remember standing in front of a wall of maybe 4-500 hundred yixing teapots at the Grand Hyatt Singapore and feeling a deep sense of sadness. Everyone would have marvelled at the amazing display but to me it was a cemetery. A wall of dead teapots, never to be picked up and feel the brush of hot water flowing over and through it.
I’m glad I have never had a taste for such showmanship or materialism. The few I have are all lined up on the shelf behind me, each with has a character of their own. Ask and I will tell you which is which. They are all unique: confident, mischievous, elegant, but always honest. Where does it come from I wonder, this sense of character? Is it embedded in the pores of the unglazed clay? Or is it in the curves, lines and empty space where there is nothing and everything? Perhaps it’s not there at all and I am only imagining things.
Pictured below is a Da Bing Ruyi teapot made from old red clay (zuni) from Huang Long mountain. The black dots are iron deposits within clay after going through high temperature firing. In one photo it is new, and in the other, after being nurtured for a month. Can you guess which is which?
壶是茶具的一种。是茶师整齐茶席上的其中一件，毋庸置疑的，也是最重要的一件。有的人有上百把不同类型的壶，有的人一辈子就那几把。有的收藏家拥有过百把的壶，摆放在架子上却一次也没有用过。茶师与茶具之间，是撇不清理还乱的关系。
我觉得这就像是人与人之间的关系。像初次的相遇，开始的尴尬，犹豫。握在手里的感觉，一切都那么的陌生，泥土的味道，质感，色泽，形态，重量 - 都是新鲜的。人的天性的本能，对不熟悉与未知的事与物，产生直觉性的排斥。
但是，开始使用之后一切将改变。第一壶茶像是初次的约会。你不知该如何相处，仍然享受彼此的陪伴。成为了男女朋友，拍拖了一阵子之后，一切与这茶壶相关的事物皆变得熟悉且温暖。我觉得我知道一切与他有关的事物，不盛水的重量，盛满水的重量，手指该如何摆，如何提，如何平衡的出汤，有时在浸泡前就已经能想像茶汤的滋味。对他的了解之深，仿佛是一位老朋友，旧情人一样，可以无所挂碍的聊最隐秘的话题。甚至用来浸泡不熟悉的茶叶，你知道他会向您述说你该听到的。
这样紧密的关系只能在长时间的使用中建立，携手走过成功与失败。收藏家所追求的，壶面上那层的潤亮的包浆，是假不来的。那是茶汤，水和人手的油脂，和壶面一次又一次的接触累积而来。以自然的方式润壶，养壶。壶的灵魂来自于用，而非徒有外表。
我记得站在新加坡的某家五星级酒店餐厅内，两柱子排满4-500个茶壶，却感到深层的难过。许多人也许会为这惊人的排场感到震撼，但是对我来说这是一座壶冢。一整墙的壶已死去，一辈子从来没有感受过被提起，也没感受过热水渗透的滋味。
很高心我无法欣赏这样的排场。我所拥有的全部茶壶，都已展示在我身后的架子上，每个都有自己的个性。问我，我就会告诉你谁是谁。个个都特别：自信的，调皮的，优雅的，且都是真诚的。我也好奇这些性格从哪来？是镶在不上釉的壶身内？还是在这曲线，线条间抑或是壶内这什么都没有，却什么都有的空间？也许，其实那里什么都没有，一切只是我的幻想而已。
图为黄龙山老朱泥大彬如意壶，黑点的铁质高温烧制的成果
一个是新壶，一个已养了一个月。猜猜看谁是谁？
