The Great Porcelain Trail (part one)

When I was a child, I loved my mother’s china cabinet - known as the glasschrank in our home. It had glass doors through which I could see all its special contents and I would carefully open them and take a closer look when my mom was having a nap, at work or out for the evening. I can still remember the smell that emerged when I opened those doors, remnants of fresh furniture stain from having been recently restored. I would look at the treasures within, sometimes hold them and occasionally, I must confess, rearrange a bit (and I should probably take this opportunity to apologize for an incident with the Hummel figurine). I knew these were precious things because they only came out on special occasions, to be used by special people. I am certain this was the very beginning of my love of porcelain. Looking at my mom’s china and being impressed by its beauty, impossibly smooth texture, gold edges and status as the 'good dishes'.

Porcelain. A substance of great strength and fairly common use. All of us have some of this remarkable material in our homes, whether of a decorative or practical nature (definitely something we use every, single day...). I don’t fully understand how it is made, but I do know that it is very, very strong. I suspect we are not really aware of its strength because it is associated with our fanciest of dishes, those saved for special occasions. As a child, I assumed it was fragile. Prone to breakage, not to be used every day. And yet, it is far stronger than most other types of pottery. I’m not sure why we save it for special occasions, perhaps because of its expense – a result, I suspect, of the difficulty in making it and the great skill required by artisans in its decoration.

Learning about porcelain has become a bit of a pastime. Not just as a minor collector, but as a wanderer on a trail that has had some memorable stops. Some of these stops literal – where it was first made, where it was, and is, best made. Some of these stops accidental or surprising discoveries – the good, the bad and the ugly. Some of these stories provided by others – their memories, generosity and experiences. All of them reminding me that following a path of a mere thing can be so very interesting

Some years ago, I read a wonderful book by Edmund de Waal called The White Road. In it, the author, also a well-known ceramic artist, describes his love, and the history, of porcelain. It is a fascinating story filled with twists and turns, travels across the globe, wealth and greed, tragedy and destruction, beauty and craft. I highly recommend it, or any of his books. I had long been a fan of porcelain, but this book really piqued my interest and expanded my understanding of what lies behind this extraordinary material. Not only in its history and development, but in the journey this history has created. This magical substance, so difficult to achieve. Techniques and recipes discovered and used by so many artisans across time and place.

Like many, we have fine bone china dishes. Wedding gifts from a time when that is what one received upon getting married. I remember well choosing the pattern, one that we both still love. A relatively plain, classic design by the great British company Wedgwood. Josiah Wedgwood started his company in 1759 and was a great experimenter – inventing all sorts of materials to make is wares with, and is often considered the ‘father of English Potters’. He was an active participant in the movement to abolish slavery, and, surprise, he was Charles Darwin’s grandfather. We had the great pleasure of visiting the Wedgwood factory in Stoke-on-Trent a few years ago. The highlight of the visit was wandering through the area where the artisans were painting the incredible patterns on the china. As it was a Sunday, there were very few people at work, and very few other visitors. This meant we were able to have an up close view and conversation with a man working on a custom teapot for a Saudi prince. This incredible talent came from a family of craftspeople who had been employed at Wedgwood for generations. He had worked his way up to being a master painter and his skills were quite astounding. He carefully handed the teapot to Bryan for closer inspection, and then casually remarked that the price when it was complete would be around £15,000. Bryan blanched, and quickly handed it back. We all had a good laugh at how it was worth more than our new car! Following this visit, we were able to acquire two small pieces of Wedgwood Jasperware, that familiar coloured background with white designs – although, not from the factory shop, as they were significantly above our budget (the rarer sage green being more to my liking than the more common Wedgwood blue, and consequently more expensive). The first of these was found at a church yardsale in London, the second at an overwhelmingly crowded junk shop in Massachusetts. Both cost next to nothing, they are small and unassuming, and were really good finds. But they remind me of that trip and our meeting of a talent beyond what I can even comprehend.

The very first porcelain factory we ever visited was in Limoges, France. The Limoges area is rich in kaolin deposits, a natural material critical for the making of fine bone china. There were a number of producers in this area, the oldest being the Royal Limoges Factory, opened in 1797. Our visit there represented the first time we had seen bottle kilns, the large bottle shaped ovens used to fire china. Large, as in, we could easily wander in and they could hold hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces of pottery. This factory is still in operation and we were able to purchase a few souvenirs…from the ‘seconds’ area, of course. Our choices were three commemorative plates with painted examples of Fabergé’s famous eggs. Chosen because Fabergé is another favourite, and because one of these eggs was a Silver Anniversary egg created in 1892. We had used the event of our own silver anniversary to justify this particular trip, so it seemed appropriate. I am absolutely certain this is the closest we will ever get to owning an item by Fabergé, and I value them as such.

While in Limoges we also visited our first ever museum dedicated entirely to porcelain. The Adrien Dubouché National Museum holds the largest collection of Limoges porcelain in the world, some 12,000 pieces – everything from decorative items and tableware to, you guessed it, toilets and sinks (and now you know where your daily porcelain use occurs!). It was also the first time I ever laid eyes on a colour sample plate. These plates were made to test the paint and enamel colours, since they look very different prior to firing. They allowed artisans to choose colours as they would end up when the process was complete, encouraging accuracy. It instantly became my dream to own one of these plates, but they are quite rare because they were never intended for sale. It took a number of years before I found one I could afford. An eBay risk…noted as damaged, but good enough for my collection. What a moment when it finally arrived, wrapped in many, many layers of protective packaging, the aforementioned damage barely noticeable, or perhaps simply irrelevant, to my eyes. What was kind of exciting to discover was that it had a miniscule date inscribed on the back. This plate had been made on October 7, 1913. Exactly one hundred years before we visited the place it was made (Limoges) and had discovered these wonderful bits of history. Coincidentally it was also Bryan’s birthday. It seemed like kismet.

Where did porcelain begin? It is safe to say that the ability to make porcelain was first developed and mastered in China around two thousand years ago – resulting in the use of the word china to describe it in English speaking countries. The word porcelain comes from the Italian term porcellana which means a kind of shell, because the surfaces are very similar. A few years ago, I had the great privilege of travelling to China for a performance tour. It was such a good opportunity to go somewhere we’d never been that, of course, Bryan tagged along. As we did a bit of research on what we might like to see with very limited time on this trip, Bryan found an article about a small shop in Beijing called The Shard Box Store. I was unable to go, but Bryan braved the Beijing subway system on his own and found his way to this small, packed shop. During the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s and 1970s it was illegal for the Chinese people to keep any antique porcelain. This remarkable history of craft going back thousands of years, was almost destroyed. There are reportedly mountains of smashed porcelain objects, shards of the past, in various locations of China. The owners of this shop started collecting these shards in the early 1980s and have been reusing them to make decorative boxes. Each box uses a bit of the past to remind us of this difficult time, each one unique. These boxes tell a story of loss, skill, beauty, destruction, renewal and hope. A reminder that the things we make carry us into both the past and the future – offering a view of what we’ve done, good and bad; what we are capable of, good and bad; and how we can choose to act upon these discoveries.

The first place to master the making of porcelain in Europe was at the royal factory in Meissen, Germany. The history is fascinating, involving all kinds of behind the scenes deals between rulers of the time, espionage and theft. China was valuable. It represented wealth and status. Being able to make it, rather than import it, was a significant achievement. Visiting this factory was special because we were able to go with my parents, who had come to see one of my concerts in Leipzig at the Bach Festival in 2014. I remember the hair raising drive on the Autobahn from Leipzig to Meissen in a tiny Fiat 500, perhaps not fondly, but as an unforgettable experience! We went on a tour of the Meissen Factory and learned a great deal about the process of making porcelain, but the highlight was seeing a woman painting a beautiful pattern on a small piece of china. Her skill was so quick and accurate, it was quite amazing. The surprising thing was the colour of the paint – a dark greyish, greenish black – nothing like the familiar blue it would end up once fired. We were also able to wander through the museum and see the long history of pieces made here, a history going back to around 1708. Fascinating and a memory treasured because of our companions on the tour. I also recall a very good meal shared on a patio overlooking the town from the high vantage point of the Albrecht Castle and Cathedral. A small piece of Meissen was purchased, flawed (although I cannot tell where) but beautiful. A memento of a very special shared experience that stays with me to this day.

The trail thus far. There are more stops along the way. This marvellous, yet common material guiding us to places we could never have imagined we'd visit.