Memoirs of Xu Hantang: A Life Shaped by Zisha

Memoirs of Xu Hantang: A Life Shaped by Zisha

Oral account by Xu Hantang
Compiled by Wang Yinan
Translated by Siyutao

I was born into a pottery-making family, so taking up Zisha work was a natural course for me. My maternal grandparents lived in Shangyuan Village. Gu Jingzhou was distantly related to our family, so I knew him from a young age and always called him “Brother Jingzhou.” I loved visiting his home as a child and was fascinated by those cleverly made tools. He didn’t mind me playing with them, though he always reminded me not to take them away. After junior high school, I began to learn the craft from my parents. My father said that if I wanted to master teapot making, I must find an excellent teacher. By then, Master Gu was already exceptionally skilled, and he had a very good relationship with my father. So in 1952, I formally became his apprentice.

In 1954, the preparatory committee for the Shushan Ceramic Cooperative was formed, and in January 1955 the cooperative was officially established. I joined together with my parents. The cooperative at that time operated out of my family’s house on Ancient South Street (part of which also belonged to the Mao Guoqiang family). A few clay workbenches were set up in the front rooms, and that was how we started. The management knew which young members were already capable, so I was not taken on as a trainee. In the beginning, I was transferred to the sales office for half a year to help set up the accounts. Later, a cousin of mine returned from military service and replaced me there, and I returned to the production team.

After joining the cooperative, I still called my master “Brother Jingzhou” in private, but in front of others I addressed him as “Instructor Gu.” I have never been a very talkative person. Through all the years with my master, I saw that he was not only a masterful potter but also a man of deep cultural refinement. From him, I inherited the skill of making teapots. My master was strict in his teaching and meticulous in his work and conduct. Once, he took one look at the clay bodies I had formed and immediately pointed out that one was too short. Following his instructions, I made the corrections, calming my mind to fully absorb his guidance, and then refined it on my own. The beginning of my apprenticeship rested entirely on my complete acceptance of and respect for his artistry.

In 1957, Professor Gao Zhuang from Beijing came to our factory workshop on South Street. The workshop was set up in a partitioned space in front of my family’s house, and both Master Gu and I worked there. The professor brought plaster and a plaster potter’s wheel he had cast himself. With that wheel, I was able to make master molds. Back then the floor of the workshop was just beaten earth. Regardless of rain or shine, the professor would put on his rubber boots and pick up a flyswatter. While he was shaping the master mold, if flies buzzed around, he would warn, “I’m going to swat now!” That could be considered the earliest technical innovation at the Zisha factory.

In 1958, during the Great Leap Forward, the Shushan Ceramic Cooperative, the Yixing Hexin Ceramics Factory, and 28 private Zisha households from Shangyuan and Qianluo were merged to establish the “Jiangsu Province Yixing Zisha Craft Factory.” The workforce swelled to over 3,000, and production had to expand. The question was how to increase output. The factory assigned me to the production technology department to research molds. From the enterprise’s viewpoint, technical innovation to boost productivity was necessary. My master, Gu Jingzhou, opposed this most fiercely; he thought I was trying to take a shortcut. We fell out over it. Deep down, I knew he wanted me to inherit his tradition. So when the Great Leap Forward fever receded, I was determined to return and continue learning from him. Whatever the master made, I made.

In 1959, I heard that the provincial authorities had approved a “Research Institute” designation for the factory. I went to the management and requested a transfer back to my master’s side. The following year, the institute was set up, and the leaders agreed to my request, but I also needed Master Gu’s consent. At the time, Gao Haigeng had gone to Beijing to study, so his name was merely on the roster. Master Pei Shimin said, “I’m an old man; I won’t squeeze in among you youngsters.” So only my master and I truly worked in the institute’s studio — a room partitioned off inside the former cafeteria, with a sign on the door reading “Yixing Zisha Research Institute.” Master Gu and I were tasked with designing new prototypes for the whole factory and solving technical problems in production; we had no output quota.

In 1960, two university graduates were assigned to the institute. Their specialty was mechanical drawing within silicate studies — I don’t quite remember their names. They were always eager to help us, brewing tea and cleaning up. My master felt uncomfortable with that, so he gave them two teapot drawings to copy. But the master was strict: they were allowed only to copy freehand, no tracing. After three days they handed in a blank sheet, and soon both were transferred out. Later, the institute was relocated to the area of Class 4(3), with two rooms and an electric potter’s wheel (made by a man called Wang Runan from North Street, with the Yixing Agricultural Machinery Factory). I was the only one who knew how to use it; larger pieces were made with that tool. Meanwhile, veteran craftsmen like Zhu Kexin, Wu Yungen, Wang Yinchun, and Pei Shimin worked in the “Special Arts Workshop.” During that period, my master and I focused on producing exhibition pieces and diplomatic gifts. Then, in the late 1970s, the Zisha factory pushed for new materials, new shapes, new decorations and new varieties, developing techniques such as silver wire inlay, mixed-clay patterning, ice-crackle glaze, and porcelain bead inlay. When it came to gold and silver thread inlay creation, I pulled in Bao Zhongmei to work on it as well.

In 1966, the Cultural Revolution began, and the Zisha industry fell into a severe slump, producing only tea sets and flowerpots. These were far from enough to meet the yearly output value, and everyone was anxious. We had to find ways to generate income — after all, everyone needed to make a living! At that time, there was a product called “corrugated plates,” which were filters used in chemical plants. Originally, a contract for these plates had been signed between another factory and a Japanese company; they were made of stainless steel. But after the contract was signed, the Japanese side stopped supplying the stainless steel, so there was no material to make them. Coincidentally, my maternal uncle, who had become an engineer at the Changxing Refractory Factory, was at a meeting in Shanghai and suggested that if stainless steel was unavailable, ceramics could be used. So they assigned him to help with this. The Changxing Refractory Factory was large in scale but unwilling to take on such small orders, so it cooperated with a small hardware workshop, teaching them how to produce the plates. However, once production started, they couldn’t keep up with demand.

As it happened, the Zisha Factory had nothing to produce at that time, so I was sent to look into this. I quickly made the connection, and my uncle took me to visit that small hardware workshop to see how they manufactured the plates. Gao Haigeng went with me; he was better with words than I was. As soon as we arrived, he began chatting with the workers, asking things like, “What raw materials do you use?” and “Where are these sold?” Unfortunately, that day was a rest day at the workshop, and the person in charge was absent, so the worker we asked didn’t open up to us and gave evasive answers. Then I noticed a complete sample plate on the workbench. I picked it up, slipped it into my pocket, and tugged at Gao Haigeng’s clothes. “Let’s go, let’s go!” I whispered. He said we hadn’t found out anything yet. I leaned in and told him quietly, “The answers to all our questions are now in my pocket.” Once outside, I said, “As long as we have a sample, we can work from it! As for the formula, I’ll just ask my uncle.” My uncle said the formula was very simple, and after he told us, we went back and started production right away. Once we had the product, we still had to go out and drum up business, because nobody knew the Zisha factory could make these corrugated plates. Gao Haigeng and I even went to Cixi in Zhejiang to negotiate. Meanwhile, my uncle spread the news in Shanghai, and orders poured in from all over the country. So a special production team for corrugated plates was formed, and within a few months, we had fulfilled the entire year’s output target. At the time, other work units also came to the Zisha Factory to learn how to make the plates. This went on for about three or four years, after which the ceramics company arranged for the production line to be transferred to the Yixing Shengli Ceramics Factory.

The year 1970 was full of ups and downs. The Zisha factory pulled through all those hardships, and I was part of that journey. I may not remember every tiny detail clearly, but the major events still leave a deep impression. There were changes of profession, technical innovations, and all kinds of experiments — some failed, some succeeded. It is all part of history. The old masters still had to take the helm and steer the ship on a steady course.

Master Xu Hantang with Siyutao's owner Wei Ren

Wei Ren, the owner of Siyutao, has been a close friend of Master Xu Hantang for many years. Through us, you can get the latest news and information.