Bizen-yaki is one style of pottery in Japan. A cup I saw was unglazed, but it reflected light in unexpected places; from the bottom, a portion of its lip, the back. One side was a light red colour, the back was burnt into shades of maroon, charcoal and bronze. It was partially crushed and its surface uneven. There are over a dozen distinct ceramic styles in Japan but none are more reknowned or more deliberately accidental than the Bizen ceramic style. Dried clay vessels are placed inside a kiln (called a Kama), and then they are burnt at around 1200 degrees Celcius for 10-12 days. Two things decide how they will look after firing: where they are placed inside the kama (towards the back = blacker, towards the front = more colorful, covered in straw = striped) and where the flames decide to burn. We are in the car now, going to talk again with Bizen master Eizawa-San. The photos above are photos I took last night of photos from his collection. His photo collection consists of two Hello Kitty folders filled with about 40 images.

10:15am. In a car driving to Bizen in Okayama. But first we need to find a business hotel that has wifi, and we’ll sit outside it in the car and steal their internet connection. Afterwards we’ll go talk with an old man who makes Bizen style pottery (Bizen-yaki). Though right now we are talking about the renewed concern in Tokyo over water contaminated with radiation (supposedly there is enough radioactive iodine in the tap water to potentially harm infants). NHK news
claims people are stockpiling again. People are wondering “is it safe to take a bath?” “are the water pipes also contaminated?” and “will the capital have to move if this gets too bad? We can’t let Osaka become the new capital.” True. After Mt. Fuji erupts from all the geological pressure and deadly cesium is released into the atmosphere perhaps the only thing left to do is start a civil war between Kanto (Tokyo) and Kansai (Osaka) over where the capital should be.

We’ve been in Osaka for over a week now. Above is a car at an intersection. We were supposed to only stay for a few days, but that was before Hannahs work got cancelled and I had to cover a story on pottery in Okayama. At first it seemed to me that writing about pottery was unimportant at a time like this. But anything which keeps the mechanism of daily life going is important. We cant mentally live forever in crisis. Pottery is good. But while researching I read this sentence in an article published in 2002 regarding kiln workers in Okayama: “small cell carcinoma was higher among those who had been silica-exposed workers than the unexposed lung cancer cases and the data from the general Japanese population.” From the article: A Case-Control Study of Lung Cancer in Relation to Silica Exposure and Silicosis in a Rural Area in Japan. It’s ironic that leaving Tokyo and writing this story in what seems to be a “safe” area has probably increased my chances of getting cancer. My grandfather died of cancer, he lived on a rural farm his whole life; unless things become chronically bad in Tokyo, I don’t think there is anywhere to go that guarantee’s protection from injury, death and small cell carcinoma.

1:31pm. If you want to know what it’s like to watch television in Japan right now, try watching the above video 10-20 times in a row. Commercials for the Advertising Commission (AC) fill nearly every single advertising slot on all channels since March 11 when the earthquake hit Northeastern Japan. Wikipedia explains concisely: “During the TV coverage of the 2011 T?hoku earthquake and tsunami events, the vast majority of advertisers withdrew their advertising, resulting in a massive increase in filler advertisements by AC Japan, many of which promoted traditional Japanese virtues, such as mutual help and the importance of greetings.” The most common ones we have seen so far show a student assisting an old lady up some stairs and the above video which promotes polite greetings, specifically saying “magic words” like “arigato” and “konnichiwa” to friends. You can see in the bottom right hand corner a map of Japan with flashing coastlines showing the areas affected by the tsunami. Public Services Announcements seem highly appropriate at a time like this, but these examples are not really functional, they just come across as haunting celebrations of Japan’s polite self-image. In the future, whenever I’m reminded about the tsunami, I fear i’ll always hear the faint stirrings of that jubilant refrain; “konnichiwa…konnichiwan…arigato…arigato usagi…” For people watching Japanese TV right now, it’s possible that 3/11 and AC will be linked in our brains forever, stored and categorised side by side.

9:03pm. Walked into the bathroom. Inside is a stacked pile of about 40 rolls of toilet paper. Brain: “put some in your jacket and send it to your friends in Tokyo.” I heard our neighbour has now been forced to use the paper in our apartment. Also, just read on Patrick Tsai’s new blog that he walked around for an hour looking for toilet paper tuesday last week (HERE). I’m curious how the worlds most sanitary city dealt (and is dealing) with this paper crisis (tissue paper is also sold out). I see Japan’s natural skills for improvisation blossoming; using newspaper, thick weekly manga publications with soft coloured paper, Muji tea-towels, and wet tissues for cleaning computer screens. I see people going into family restaurants, ordering one drink, and leaving with a inch high wad of napkins and I see tree’s in parks bare; stripped of their softest leaves.

5:35pm. We watched a recreation of the 1995 Great Hanshin Earthquake. It was shown on the fourth floor of the Kobe Earthquake Museum; a large cube with a glass facade built on the bay area of Kobe. Museum staff handed us a laminated warning before entering the theatre. Three warnings on it, one for pregnant woman or people with weak hearts, one for young children and a final warning for those who have not gotten over the trauma of the 1995 quake. We stood inside the theatre with a couple, and two families with very young children. A very low rumbling sound comes from massive speakers below the floor, the ground slightly vibrates. Then, very loud smashing sounds and bright flashing lights. Everything on the screen shakes and crumbles; apartment blocks collapse across roads, house are completely flattened, cars are crushed. It goes on for seven minutes. I feel a bit sick in my stomach, i’m beginning to sweat, choosing not to look at the screen, feel like leaving. Hannah leaves. Her, later: “Why did you bring me here. This is ridiculous. It’s too soon.” I was fascinated with the idea of a museum constructed to remember a horrible disaster. But why designate a site to remember something like this? When should tragedy not be turned into a monument? We should commemorate the dead, like they do each year in Kobe on the 17th of January, but should we create museums and monuments? Having a physical site to locate your feelings about a catastrophe somehow lessens the overwhelming power of that catastrophe. The immense complexity of the event becomes reduced to a statue, a film, ephemera. I wonder what they will eventually build to remember the recent 9.0 Earthquake and tsunami.

11:09am. Mornings are now spent on computers and phones. Firstly we check our news sources (Reuters Live Blog, Kyodo News, NHK World). Next we have many emails to reply to (asking if we are ok and where we are) and many emails to write (asking if someone is ok and where they are). While doing this we are constantly making phone calls; updating family in Australia and New Zealand, calling friends who have just arrived in Osaka, calling friends who have stayed in Tokyo. Just now I was talking with my brother in Sydney. We have conversations on the phone. But conversation itself has been damaged severely since the 9.0 Earthquake. To be a part of the earthquake (and aftermath) affects the way your brain organizes information in profound ways. Topics of extreme importance to me, ceased to be valuable as of six days ago. Websites and blogs which I used to visit and read daily have slipped out of my mind (e.g. ?, ?, ?). Books I was reading have stopped being read and we haven’t watched any films or listened to a full album. Now all talk is drawn to the topic of the earthquakes aftermath; drawn due to the gravity of the situation. Typical questions: “so, what are you going to do?” and “are you going back to Tokyo” and “are you going to leave Japan?” and “did you hear…(some news about radiation).” Because nothing is certain many of us are living between states, in limbo; not committing to anything. But in reality these states are only psychological. We are not between pure physical states like life and death as those in Miyagi or Fukushima are. This time is a very confusing time for those affected by the earthquake and now the material which bound us all together in Tokyo (perhaps a feeling of safety? A belief in our efficacy to live?) is fading and the people I knew in that city are dispersing across Japan and the world.