Amanda Chambers firing work in Shigaraki - in the time of Snow, Sakura and Covid-19

During my four-month stay I would become increasingly aware of cycles of movement: in my work, in the landscape and in the ebb and flow of the people around me.

Life in the normally sleepy town of Shigaraki was frenetic. Tourists, excited by a TV drama based on a local potter, had started to visit en masse. When the virus hit Japan the hordes continued to come until the State of Emergency was declared and the town resumed its slow pace.

The seasons progressed more predictably. Snowfall in February was followed by the plum and cherry blossoms which locals said were particularly beautiful.

In the studio the contents of my work table evolved like a visual diary, reflecting my projects and the gifts I received: sandy textured clay, fresh flowers, volcanic rock from Nagano and local vegetables…

My first sculpture, Akai Mori (“Red Forest”), was constructed from an iron rich clay and inspired by the impact of the nuclear accidents at Chernobyl and Fukushima. Over the weeks it gradually evolved forming a skeletal like structure.

I then carried out a commission for Green Legacy Hiroshima to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Japan this year. One hundred ceramic sculptures were created incorporating fragments from the surviving trees in Hiroshima – the Hibaku Jumoku – and then fired in a wood kiln.

The elemental quality of natural materials and their use in Japanese art has resonated deeply with me and keeps me coming back to Japan. This year I came to know the work of Eiji Uematsu (b.1949 Kobe) whose residency coincided with mine for two months. Described by the Curator Moroyama Masanori as a ‘collaboration with nature’, his work fuses stone, natural fibres and local clays. We later became friends and I visited his hillside studio in Iga.

By early April my fellow artists had departed in increasingly chaotic circumstances as Japan’s border closed. I decided to hold an exhibition which gave me the chance to review my work and end my time at Shigaraki on a high note. I called it Ashita (“tomorrow”).

At the end of April my flight was cancelled, but I was luckily able to stay with my friend’s family nearby and experience rural Japanese life first hand. Each day I woke to the sound of the Shinto bell, saw the tractors deposit the first rice seedlings into the flooded fields, I harvested and ate bamboo shoots with tart sansho leaves, and at night, saw the first fireflies emerge from the river banks.

My final weeks were spent in Kochi City in Shikoku as I accompanied my friend to her new home. It was my first time in South West Japan and as we drove over the Tokushima bridge I sensed the boundary change between the lush green of Shiga and the more arid landscape of the Pacific Coast. Kochi’s style is eclectic: French boulangeries tucked behind concrete shopping malls, antiquated trams running alongside modern highways and a mountain side botanical garden overlooking an industrial port. It was a vivid and intriguing contrast to the life I had been leading.

I finally returned to the UK on 6 June with only a handful of fellow travellers. It was hard to know if we were flying toward the virus or away from it, but as we descended, I felt immense gratitude to have been so long in the relative calm of Japan, to have received such kindness, and to leave with an incredibly rich experience.

Amanda’s residency was kindly sponsored by the travel specialists Inside Japan.

Amanda is currently working toward her forthcoming solo exhibition at White Conduit Projects in London, from Thursday 5 November to Thursday 3 December 2020.