Tag Archives: New York City

Tonight We All Enjoy the Same Moon

0A5529B4-8922-4BFE-B437-2E03668B22B2Since ancient times, the presence of the full moon has represented an important moment. Especially true in Autumn, the mid-Autumn full moon bears great significance, heralding the harvest and the slow but inevitable shift towards Winter. Still warm during this time, enjoying the glow of the full moon during the night is refreshing, something to be celebrated.

In East Asia, many cultures observe this moment. In Japan, 月見 Tsukimi (lit. “Moon viewing”) is a big occasion, with festivities focused on enjoying the sight of the moonrise. In 茶の湯 chanoyu, tea takes on the “flavor” of the moon, with tea practitioners skillfully incorporating lunar elements into their tea gatherings. 月の茶 tsuki no cha (“tea for the moon”) is a popular event, with tea gatherings being held to the light of the moon, on moon-viewing platforms, open pavilions, and even on moon-viewing boats (月見船 tsukimi-bune). Some tea people go so far as to have a special “moon-viewing” window cut into the roof of their 茶室 chashitsu (“tea house”), special-built for such an occasion. Needless to say, the moon, with its ever-changing face and importance in marking the passing of the seasons, holds a special place in tea people’s hearts.

06B1DA20-F7D9-449E-963D-A2DF2777EC33On this evening, as the moon begins to rise in the night sky, I sit with my partner for a bowl of tea. To open the intimate gathering, a large 月見団子 tsukimi-dango is offered, placed atop a shallow celadon bowl.

31FE84E8-D84D-4503-880D-FA0438A46CE7Next, as the soft rolling boil of the kettle rises in the still of the night, tea implements are brought out and cleansed. A white 刷毛目唐津茶碗 hakeme Karatsu chawan (brushed slip Karatsu teabowl) and small, perfectly round 文琳茶入 “bunrin” chaire (“bunrin” ceramic tea container) are brought together, along with a 茶杓 chashaku (tea scoop) with a mark upon its dark bamboo skin that resembles a bright glowing moon behind a veil of clouds.

58D209DC-ADBC-4CCE-B3AB-615CDAC34DB3Pulled from it’s brocaded silk 仕服 shifuku pouch,

98202163-10A7-4B23-9571-982327F6E5FBthe little ceramic tea container sits in the dim light of the tearoom,

B25B6100-D2FC-4A26-AD01-306CAEDB430Citself looking like a small moon.

15E97BE0-6C93-4119-B6FD-09A6D9E44C34The teabowl, cleansed with the water from my boiling 茶釜 chagama (“tea kettle”) sits looking fresh, sparkling in the moonlit evening.

165AD248-6351-469E-BEE0-BD9F1C35FEFAAs I scoop the initial three scoops of 抹茶 matcha into the teabowl, my partner begins to eat the tea sweet, and we both enjoy the quietude of the night.

62E1370E-7697-4794-B9F4-573B8D29170EAfter three scoops are issued into the teabowl, I tilt the chaire sideways, letting the remaining matcha powder cascade down into the chawan. In this instance, I am reminded that the tea, too, contains a reference to the moon as it was given the poetic name Tsuki” (“moon”) by its purveyor, Setsugekka, a local tea shop that ground it for me.

917437A1-478A-4BCE-B504-FC956E56BE9CPouring a small amount of hot water into the teabowl, I begin to knead the tea into a thick paste. Immediately, the scent of tea fills the small tea space, filling us both with joyful anticipation.

C637709B-6B58-43ED-8A8E-FDC52C881B20More water is added and I finish making the bowl of 濃茶 koicha (“thick tea”). As I pass the bowl to my partner, we enjoy how dark and lustrous the tea looks against the white, cloudy background of the hakeme chawan.

010F04A8-15C4-41C7-978F-D4861492E6B9.jpegShe takes a sip and wipes the rim. She then passes it back to me and I finish the bowl with a smile. As we enjoy the same moon together, we also enjoy the same bowl of tea. Terms like “host” and “guest” fall by the wayside and we sit together as dear friends.

C597B77D-5AB1-49F0-94FC-7F7B69C2481C.jpegWith so much tea still left in the teabowl, I opt to finish the night’s celebration with a final informal bowl of 薄茶 usucha (“thin tea”), whisking the remaining dregs with more hot water. The soft, bright foam glows in the pale light of the night. Its flavor is sweet and relaxing.

08CF035D-9725-445F-BFC4-E4A85826DBEEFinally, before we settle in, a simple 拝見 haiken is held, offering us both a final instance to enjoy the tea objects before they are put away.

D580A311-4C17-4532-8074-A512E821C30FThe round little bunrin chaire.

154F6CFD-AFA5-49B4-9698-3BD4A3593193Its silvery blue shifuku. The moon-like glow upon the bamboo skin of the chashaku.

AD4F1F7A-E9A7-4395-8EB3-8C8DE7D897C2The moon, itself, making its journey across the Autumn night’s sky. When we look upon the moon tonight, we all enjoy the same moon.

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To Have Flowers Without Flowers

IMG_1764According to the 易經 Yìjīng (I Ching), the ninth day of the ninth month is said to have too much  yáng force and is therefore seen as a potentially harmful date. On this day, it is believed that climbing a high mountain, drinking chrysanthemum liquor, and wearing 茱萸 zhūyú (Cornus officinalis, a type of dogwood) would prevent harm. For this reason, a main feature of the festivities and customs surrounding the “Double Nine Festival” are chrysanthemums. In Japanese tea culture, 菊の節句 Kiku no Sekku, or “Chrysanthemum Festival”, is observed, often through the unavoidable display of the flower in the 床間 tokonoma alcove of the tearoom.

Usually, I find myself making a small arrangement on this day and making tea, enjoying the vibrant colors and delicate forms of chrysanthemums. However, on this September ninth, I found myself busy with work and terribly jet lagged, having just returned from a trip to the Philippines. With little time and much less energy, I found myself unable to even step out to procure the necessary flowers. Undaunted, I managed to muster up enough energy to put together a solitary sitting for tea.

Having finished my daily work, I lit a stick of incense and I set my antique 風炉 furo (“wind furnace”) to boil water. Next, sliding open the doors of my antique wooden tea cabinet, I brought out an arrangement of teawares: a vintage 萩焼茶碗 Hagi-yaki chawan, a teascoop and whisk carved by master craftsperson 谷村丹後 Tanimura Tango, and a small Korean Goryeo-style celadon incense container.

7DFD038D-5FA1-4BE8-985E-10532B6F3ED8As the iron kettle began to boil, I began to sift a small amount of 抹茶 matcha into the shallow interior of the incense container. Although not common in 茶の湯 chanoyu (Japanese tea ceremony), I’ve made it a personal practice to occasionally use 香合 kōgō to hold tea. In this instance, I deliberately chose to do this as the incense container is decorated with an inlaid chrysanthemum motif.

D5FB44AE-62AF-46EC-8C23-40A8FE838865Finally ready, I sat down to enjoy a bowl of tea. Cleansing the celadon kōgō, I had a brief moment to enjoy the traditional inlay design of deep red, pale white, and dark green against the soft celadon background. Lifting the lid, I admired the low mound of bright green matcha encircled by a ring of russet-colored unglazed clay.

10EE9B16-FD96-426F-A7C8-77275CEDAA9CNext, I turned my gaze to the teabowl, scoop and whisk.

5F8C8726-EC7C-44C7-8A93-1E86D3B82935With the folded 袱紗 fukusa (a silk cloth used to purify teaware), I cleansed the 茶杓 chashaku (tea scoop), setting it down atop the flat lid of the celadon kōgō.

987770C4-4A2A-4B0B-A4FD-8A955DD1C517Next, whisk in hand, I began to cleanse the teabowl. Once purified, I set the bowl down, ready to produce a bowl of matcha.

13F6B62E-F8A8-48E6-839D-71BCDC34136CIssuing-out three scoops of tea powder from the incense container, I set each within the well of the teabowl. Scooping-up a ladle if hot water from the iron kettle, I poured half of it into the teabowl, returning the remainder back into the kettle.

BE37C626-9923-4E0B-A60B-FE354BE7F5B8Whisking the matcha powder and boiled water concoction into a light foam, the tea and teabowl seemed to come to life in the golden glow of the late afternoon light.

B0903613-F9DB-49B1-9DFE-498E492B2DEETaking all objects together, I appreciated the personal gesture of making tea despite the busyness of my workday. Often is the case I don’t make time for tea. Even when I was traveling, I had not given myself a moment to pause and slack my thirst with the beverage. An email here, an assignment there, and even the self-imposed pressure of “performing” can sometimes keep me from stopping to take in my surroundings and meditate on the “now”. Yet, how subtle a gesture it is to make tea. To involve my whole mind and body in a simple process. No ritual. Just action. Just a recognition of a basic procedure, of the breath, of the feeling of a warm teabowl in my hands as I lift it to my lips. This is just enough to bring me back to the present moment.

7EED1D84-519F-43C4-A59C-FA5236A31856On a day with no flowers in my alcove, I found the means to have flowers without flowers. A bouquet of senses. A ring of chrysanthemums decorating a makeshift tea container. Just enough to turn this day into a celebration.

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Filed under Ceramics, China, Education, Green Tea, History, Incense, Japan, Korea, Matcha, Meditation, Tea

Bright Golden Leaves Collect in the Gutter

In Autumn, the deep emerald green of Summer wanes and fades in exchange for the umber, ocher and amber of Fall. Looking up into the canopy, gilded edges circle each fluttering leaf, and those which have since fallen gather like flecks of gold in the gutters and gullies of the broad city streets.

In the remaining heat of the day, a lone cicada calls out a solitary threnody to its fallen brethren until it, too, becomes a hollow shell, victim to the chill and the gusting winds. Yet, as seasons shift, not all is lost. Instead, as one moment fades, it transforms, and in this change, something new materializes. Fall’s resplendent colors emerge and encourage meditation.

Golden leaves inform my choice to bring out a bright yellow 黃泥 huáng ní (“yellow clay”) Yixing teapot. Similarly, I select a small leaf Taiwanese red tea, the initial aroma of which strikes a harmonious tone with the sweet, fleeting scent of decaying Fall leaves.

Sitting alone in my tearoom, a single grey Korean 분청사기 buncheong-jagi cup and 숙우 sookwoo (water-cooling vessel) accompany me. In the air hangs the warm scent of lingering incense and the rising steam from my boiling kettle. In this time, I give myself a moment to pause. So often do we forget to do this; to sit with the change we are constantly caught within.

Peering down at the small yellow teapot, I see this transformation embedded in the pores of its clay body. A subtle shift from gold to brown. Quiet marks upon its skin from every tea it’s ever steeped. A slow metamorphosis to maturation.

The soft glazed surfaces of cup and cooling vessel, crazed and crackled, too, bear the imprint of time. Once immaculate, the patterns laced upon them now look like the veiny remnants of decomposing leaves. In this there is beauty too.

Laying the tea leaves atop a scoop fashioned from old bamboo, they appear dormant, caught in hibernation.

Placed within the belly of the small teapot, they slowly begin to wake, releasing a faint aroma which is sugary and rose-like.

A quick steeping wakes them and they begin to writhe and unfurl. Poured out, the liqueur they produce is tawny and slick.

Decanted from sookwoo into the lone cup, I first savor the color, then the scent, and finally the taste.

Straightforward and satisfying, simple and sweet is the nature of this tea. As I drink, I am reminded of its origin; a gift from a friend years ago, procured from a farm tended by a group of Buddhist nuns. How in these years the flavors have changed. How in this time, the essence of this tea still remains.

The chattering of the iron kettle in my tearoom. The rustling of leaves outside my window. The final notes of incense passing as I continue to brew tea. A parade of clouds in a clear azure sky. The sharp chirping of a cricket off in the distance.

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Filed under Ceramics, Hongcha, Meditation, Tea

As Summer Wanes, No Autumn Leaves

Late Summer sees the loosening of heat’s grip over the day. Cool breezes flutter even as the asphalt of the streets outside simmers in the sun. Day after day is met with rain and thunder, and I am left to make tea indoors.

On such a day, I pull together a teaset to brew a sample of tea recently sent to me from a tea farmer in China’s Wuyishan tea growing region. The tea, a 老欉水仙 Lǎo Cóng Shuǐ Xiān (lit. “Old Bush/Grove Water Immortal”), is a long-leaf dark oolong, harvested from tea bushes over fifty years old.

To brew this, I select a teapot I rarely use, a small stone weight-shaped 芝麻鍛泥宜興茶壺 zhīma duàn ní Yíxìng cháhú (“sesame-colored fortified clay Yixing teapot). In the murky light of a rainy day of early Autumn, the teapot’s crisp form casts hazy shadows from the sharply-hewn lines.

The subtle dome of the lid rises gently off the conical body. The bridge-like handle atop the lid seems to be carved as if emerging out from a mist. The delicate pattern of grains in the clay give the piece an overall glow.

In contrast, the clean white surface of three contemporary 哥窯 Gē yáo cups beam brightly against the warm wooden top of my tea table. Thin lines of crazing, long-ago given the poetic name 鐵弦 tiě xián (lit. “iron wire/thread”), cover each cup and break their circular form into minute fractures for the mind to wander through.

In preparation for brewing, I issue-out a portion of the Shuǐ Xiān leaves into an antique 白銅 báitóng (lit. “white copper”, nickel silver) scoop, itself in the shape of a broad banana leaf that were commonly featured in the classic gardens of scholars and poets of China.

Once the water comes to a rolling boil, I open the teapot and pour hot water inside to warm the tiny vessel.

Emptied, I place the tea leaves into the pot’s warmed interior.

Filling the teapot once again, I close the lid and pour hot water over its exterior, further warming the tea within.

Moments pass and the sound of rain fades. I pour the tea out into each cup until the pot is completely empty. Lifting the lid and placing it against the ridge of the handle, the hot, moist air caught inside the teapot is allowed to escape, rising upward, cooling the tea leaves for subsequent steepings.

Peering upon the copper-colored liqueur of the brewed oolong, my mind is caught in the anticipation of Autumn’s arrival.

As I look out of my tearoom window, the leaves on the trees still shine a slick emerald green, not yet ready to transform into the lacquer-like reds and golds of Fall. As I quiet my mind, the sound of thunder rises in the distance, sounding against the cacophony of the cicada’s cries. As I sip from the first cup, I am reminded of the scent of fallen leaves, of cold weather’s warming spices, and the clean crisp air of Autumn.

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Filed under Ceramics, China, Meditation, Oolong, Tea

Celebrating Qīxī with Tea Made in the Song Style

An ancient Chinese myth tells of two celestial lovers 織女 Zhīnǚ (the star Vega) and 牛郎 Niúlán (the star Altair) kept apart, only united on the seventh evening of the seventh month. It is believed at this time, these stars align and a bridge made of magpies stretches across the Milky Way, linking the two sky-bound lovers. While some within East Asia may observe this day on July 7th in accordance with the Western calendar, the true date of 七夕 Qīxī is variable, dependent on the lunar month and day.

On this 7th of August, I sit down to prepare a very special bowl of tea in observance of Qīxī, one in the style of the Song period (960-1279). To give as accurate of an approximation of this approach, I utilize methods described in such texts as Emperor 宋徽宗 Sòng Huīzōng’s 大觀茶論 Dà Guān Chá Lùn (“Treatise on Tea”, 1107) and 蔡襄 Cài Xiāng’s 茶錄 Chá Lù (“Record of Tea”, 1049-1053). Additionally, I use teaware that closely reflect those which are depicted in Song period paintings and in the 1269 illustrated text 茶具圖贊 Chájù Tú Zàn (“Pictorial of Tea”) by 審安老人 Shěnān Lǎo Rén (Old man Shenan).

Much of my time making tea in this manner is spent not with the boiling of water or the whisking of tea, but in the hours-long process of sorting, sifting, and grinding leaves of a wild white tea to make a fine powder.

Once ground-down to a fine enough powder, I place this Song style 抹茶 mǒchá (powdered tea) into a small gourd-shaped celadon container.

Boiling water and assembling teaware becomes its own meditation, set to the scent of incense wafting in the air of my tearoom. Once put together, I offer up what is as close of an approximation to tea during the Song period that I can muster.

A vintage Japanese-made 天目茶碗 tenmoku chawan made in reproduction of a Song period 建窯 Jiàn yáo teabowl sitting atop a wooden cup stand.

A bright celadon tea container. A simple scoop fashioned from wood.

A bamboo whisk modified to approximate that which would have been used during the mid-to-late Song period. All items I place atop a tray carved from mulberry wood.

Each item is then cleansed and readied to prepare a bowl of Song style mǒchá.

With the teabowl warmed, I draw-forth six scoops of powdered tea from the small celadon tea container.

Placed in the center of the tenmoku chawan, the faint aroma of tea can already be detected.

Next, I pour a small measure of boiled water over the tea powder and begin to knead it into a thick, consistent paste with the tea whisk.

Once fully kneaded, I add a little more water, just enough to turn the tea paste into a thick liquid.

Whisking slightly faster, I begin to whip the tea into a light foam.

More water is added and I whisk faster.

More water is added and more foam is produced.

Seven times I add water before the tea is fully whisked into a proper bowl of mǒchá as described by Huīzōng during the 12th century.

The soft foam and minuscule patterns of collected tea upon the surface poetically resembling freshly-fallen snow.

Served atop the wooden cup stand, the tea is exceedingly fragrant, surpassing the light aroma of aloeswood that still lingers in the air.

In observance of two star-crossed lovers, as they make their way silently across the sky, I slack my thirst with tea prepared in accordance to an ancient style. The flavor of tea and the time of year melding together into a moment of meditation.

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Filed under Ceramics, China, Education, History, Matcha, Tea, White Tea

In the Mountains on a Summer Day

As the apex of Summer’s heat lingers on in late July, seeking solace from the sun is paramount. Since ancient times, hermit poets wrote of this, sometimes going to extremes measures to avoid the heat. As the temperature climbed higher, so too did these solitary eccentrics, disappearing into the mountains, where even in Summer, they could hide in the mist, enjoy the coolness of mountain streams, and relax to the sound of wind rushing through the pines. In their pursuit to escape the oppressive forces of society and overbearing governments, they also found a respite from the tyranny of Summer’s heat.

In his poem 《夏日山中》”Xià Rì Shān Zhōng” (“In the Mountains on a Summer Day”), Tang period poet 李白 Lǐ Bái (701-762) wrote of his attempts to evade the heat at Summer’s peak, sitting naked in the mountains, with barely enough energy to fan himself. His only relief coming from a light breeze that pushes through the pine trees.

As I find myself sequestered in my tree-top apartment in New York City, looking down on the forest outside my window, I can see the shimmering waves of heat rising from the concrete below. Rolling-down the shades to block-out the sun, the heat still enters the space of my tearoom.

To escape this, I set my clay kettle to boil and assemble a tea set together. A small antique Japanese blue-and-white porcelain teapot from the early 1900s set atop a 染付 sometsuke plate. I pair this with a contemporary Korean 분청사기 buncheong-jagi cup and 숙우 sookwoo (water-cooling vessel). The overall effect is exceedingly casual, in keeping with the sense of relaxation I am hoping to achieve.

Epitomizing this intention, however, is my choice of tea: a fresh 鴨屎香鳳凰單烏龍茶 Yā shǐ xiāng fènghuáng dān wūlóngchá (lit. “duck shit fragrance phoenix single grove oolong tea”). Originally given a vulgar name by a tea farmer who sought not to share his most prized tea, quintessentially “Duck Shit” oolong is a balanced, full-flavored tea. Long, wiry leaves bear the evidence of mid-oxidation, with shades of dark red, earthy olive, and the blue-black color of a crow’s plumage.

Once saturated by the hot water from my kettle, the tea awakens and begins to release its flavor and golden liqueur.

Brewing this tea in the particular manner native to the region of Chaozhou, I let the time pass, allowing the high heat of the boiled water to access every layer of flavor found within the tea leaves.

Once fully decanted, the resting tea reveals a spectrum of colors that once were dormant.

Leafy tendrils edged in crimson, copper, emerald, and rust elude to the flavors developed by the partnership of nature’s forces and the skilled hand of the tea master.

Set against the matte grey of the sookwoo, the brilliant color of tea radiates like the golden sun outside my tearoom window.

I take a moment to pause and pour from sookwoo to small cup. Fleeting flavors escape into the air, hinting to the tea’s qualities.

Lifting the buncheong-jagi cup to my lips, I hesitate before sipping, appreciating the rich aromas akin to a field of flowers, of juicy tropical fruits, of a deep verdant forest in Summer’s heat. Finally, I savor the bright liqueur of this fine tea, awash in piquant floral notes, the flavor of ripe longan and sweet honey, followed by the bitterness of orange peel and the soft astringency of a pomelo. The warmth of sunshine, the abundant complexity of mountain air, and the lushness of a forest holding-back the sweltering heat of a Summer’s day caught in a cup.

Joining the poets of old in their pursuit to escape to the wooded peaks during the height of Summer, I slack my thirst alone, enjoying my solitude save for the company of tea.

****

If you would like to read Lǐ Bái’s poem “In the Mountains on a Summer Day”, I’ve provided a copy below, along with translation by retired politician and scholar of poetry 黃宏發 Huáng Hóngfā (Andrew W. F. Wong).

《夏日山中》

懶搖白羽扇,裸袒青林中。

脫巾掛石壁,露頂灑松風。

“Xià rì shānzhōng”

Lǎn yáo bái yǔshàn, luǒ tǎn qīng lín zhōng.

Tuō jīn guà shíbì, lù dǐng sǎ sōngfēng.

“In the Mountains on a Summer Day”

The white feather fan too lazy to use,

In the green grove I simply go naked.

Off with the head scarf, hang on a stone wall,

Revelling in the pine breeze bare-headed.

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Filed under Ceramics, China, Education, History, Japan, Korea, Oolong, Poetry, Tea, Tea Tasting

Big Heat: Tea at Summer’s Peak

As July comes to a close the heat of Summer climbs evermore. In the twenty-four seasonal points of the traditional Japanese calendar, this moment is called 大暑 tai-sho, literally “big heat”. As breezes calm, rain subsides, and shadows offer no respite from the heat of the day, to make a bowl of tea can seem counterproductive in assuaging the high temperatures of Summer’s apex. Yet, here, too, one can find relief.

In 茶の湯 chanoyu, Summer is eagerly met by tea people with the opportunity to induce upon their guests a sense of coolness. Through creative means, the host will make subtle changes to the tearoom to evoke a sense of lightness into the space.

As I sit for tea today, I select a low-slung and irregularly-shaped 黒織部 kuro-Oribe (“black Oribe”) 沓形茶碗 kutsu-gata chawan (lit. “clog-shaped” teabowl).

For a tea container, I choose a 切子 kiriko cut crystal cup, atop which I place a light piece of smoothed and lacquered wood to act as a well-fitted lid. Through its transparent faceted walls radiates the bright, refreshing color of 抹茶 matcha tea.

The slick surface of the black teabowl and accompanying 茶巾 chakin (linen tea cloth) and bamboo teascoop offer refreshing layers of contrasting textures, evoking the coolness of a bamboo grove following a Summer’s rain.

Set alone after its purification, the oblong chawan seems more natural than handcrafted, resembling a slick flagstone or deep pool of water.

To my attending guest, I offer up ice-like pieces of わらび餅 warabi-mochi atop a cut-glass plate, itself in the shape of a folding fan.

As my guest begins to enjoy the refreshing tea sweet, I begin to prepare a bowl of tea, measuring-out three scoops of matcha from the crystal tea container.

As is done in Summer, I lay the 茶筅 chasen (tea whisk) over the mound of powdered tea.

Doing this produces a bit of an obstacle for the hot water as it is poured into the chawan, resulting in a gentle sound of liquid passing through the tines of the bamboo whisk and allowing small droplets to collect on their thin blades.

Whisking of the tea in the kutsu-geta chawan feels considerably different than a typical tea bowl; its flat bottom and overall organic form creating an enjoyable challenge for me to overcome.

Once whipped into a bright foam, the tea quickly begins to cool. Passed to my guest, they are able to enjoy a rare treat: hot tea served during 土用 doyō (the “dog days” of Summer).

To quash the heat of the day with a warm bowl of tea. To induce a sense of coolness as the temperature has reached its peak. This challenge and opportunity lies at the heart of tea practice in chanoyu.

Rinsing and cleansing the tea implements one last time, we both notice the subtle changes that have arisen. The light of the day has shifted. The sound of a wind chime rings in the distance. The song of an ice cream truck rolling through some far-off neighborhood. And yet, the heat of the Summer seems to have faded in our minds.

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