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     Such is not the case. Wilson’s account, based upon rigorous research, careful excavation, original notes by potters from the various decades and centuries, and highly scientific analysis of pot shards, pottery and kiln sites offers a much more complicated and interesting picture.

     Leach and most of the western art history world have usually used “the great man” theory. That theory holds that there is a pivotal, central figure, then many fringe figures, with the latter not worthy of much attention.

    Since Freer’s day, much effort has gone into authenticating this collection to find the Kenzan originals and, as a result, to expose the fakes. But Wilson shows us another way to look at Kenzan. His view is inclusive, and argues for content and style, rather than singular authorship.

     In Kenzan’s time, Japan was swept up in a love of things Chinese, and so Japanese rituals, literature and goods were impacted by Confucian thought. Kenzan embraced it all. Though an amateur potter, he was also a highly skilled calligrapher. He brought a literate, thoughtful and aesthetic point of view to his ceramic work. Over time, this view was then appropriated broadly (remember, the pots were made by teams of people) and, often, effectively passed down for centuries.

     To my eye, there are a number of topdrawer pieces in this collection that are not attributed to any particular individual, yet they convey the essence of the Confucian proposition very effectively. That proposition involves taking clues from patterns in nature. These patterns were believed to suggest proper human conduct and attitude in all earthly matters. Flowers, grasses, birds and water constitute the bulk of the images. Put simply, Kenzan made pots that were tied to a national passion. Those pots remain popular today.

The Pots
      On view at the Freer are scores of pots in the Kenzan manner. The potting is humble. They are much more irregular than even excellent photos reveal. All the slab pieces have a little warp or crack. The thrown pieces are slightly irregular, and the pinched pieces are...pinched. The pots are small for the most part, very small, often less than 4 inches in their largest dimension. The glazes are simple. The under- and overglazes are familiar: iron, cobalt, copper or red lead, tin and antimony.

So where does one look to see Kenzan’s invention and his greatness? Wilson leads us to the answer: “Kenzan’s disinterest in fabrication and strong interest in pigments and enamels pointed the way to a new workshop focus. For Kenzan, pottery could be not only diverting but personalized— and that was accomplished via the brush. At the heart of Kenzan’s technical sensibility was the painting analog. Kenzan thought of the pot as a surface, and his orchestration of clays, forms, pigments and glazes—all accessible through broadly developed commercial networks—reflects that.”

     What we get from Kenzan ware is a non-Chinese way of painting or decorating the vessel, while still appropriating Chinese philosophy. This compositional approach is mostly stop and go. Images appear, disappear and reappear. They leap from the inside of the pot to the outside and back. These same images honor their asymmetrical white ground. And sometimes they don’t. Often these images project themselves over the vessel without regard to rims or edges. Yet on other pieces the image wraps around the form like a scroll and completes itself on the bottom in an elaborate calligraphic display.

     A handwarmer by Kenzan’s adopted son, Kyoto Kenzan II, portrays a Chinese legend, which suggests that to drink from a stream fed by chrysanthemum dew promotes long life. The curvilinear subject matter of stream, bank and flower is artfully matched to the form. The cutout in the top echoes the contour of the

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