I’m not much of a tea drinker, but I really enjoy making teapots and tea bowls, whether wheel thrown or handbuilt. When I started college, I expected to become an architect, but as fate would have it, I stumbled into an introductory ceramics class as an elective. The rest is history. That was in 1968 at Wisconsin State University in Superior, Wisconsin. My professor, Jim Grittner, instilled in me a real love for clay and making pots—I owe him a lot.
I continued studying ceramics at the University of Bridgeport in Connecticut, and later at the California College of the Arts in Oakland, California. It was in California that my interest in tea culture and the utensils used in the tea ceremony began. A valuable life lesson came in 1970 when I approached a gallery owner in Berkeley, California, to see if she would show my teapots. She asked how long I had been making them and then politely suggested I work for another two years before coming back. So, I did—but instead of returning, I ended up teaching part time before going to graduate school and then ultimately teaching ceramics for 44 years at the University of Tennessee and the University of Georgia. Today, I live back in California, where I have a small home studio. I show my work in a handful of galleries across the Midwest and Southeast.
Looking back, I recognize that my interest in design and architecture plays a key role in my vessels, both utilitarian and sculptural. I like to think of my pots as dwellings or containers—more specifically, as containers of ideas, dreams, and random thoughts. Occasionally, through the imagery and writing on their surfaces, they take on political themes and reflect my worldview. It’s hard to maintain a Zen-like composure during these turbulent times. Making pots is a grounding endeavor, and I hope it helps keep me on an even course.
I greatly appreciate, and even love, a beautifully thrown and glazed functional teapot—Michael Simon and Warren MacKenzie come to mind. But, I also deeply respect and admire teapots that are as much sculpture as they are pottery. All pots tell a story, communicating both big ideas and simple truths.
Expression and Motivation
When I handbuild my teapots, I think like an architect, focusing on interior volume and the relationship between components. Sometimes, they don’t function as perfectly as a traditional teapot, but they always express my sincere feelings about pots. Another motivation for making pouring vessels is that they require a cup to drink from. This is where I confess my love for making cups— or tea bowls, or yunomis, as galleries and historians prefer to call them. When working on a teapot, I often start on a handbuilt cup while waiting for parts of the teapot to dry slightly. This creates a connection between the pot and the cup—a symbiotic relationship. I frequently incorporate drawings and colors from my cups into my teapots, using the cups as a kind of sketchpad for ideas.
The teapots I enjoy building most are those where function is not my primary concern—though they usually work just fine (must be the potter in me; I just can’t help it). Like all good pots, it’s about the relationship between all the parts, the surface treatment, and the firing. Although I used to fire my pots in a salt kiln, without access to a gas or salt kiln, I now fire exclusively in an electric kiln. Adjusting to this change has been a challenge, but I’m slowly learning.
Building the Teapot Body
Roll out a slab, approximately 8 in. × 4 in. (20.3 × 20.2 cm), onto a dry piece of unfinished plywood. This slab should be thin, approximately ⅛ in. to ¼ in. (3.2 to 6.4 mm) thick, and be fairly soft and damp.
Once the slab for the teapot body is soft leather hard, shape it into a cylinder while leaving the seam visible (1). Then, placing it onto another prepared slab, cut a base slab, scoring and slipping the connection points to attach. Next, do the same to cut a top slab that fits the pot, but before attaching, gently pinch out the edges of the top slab (2). Attach the tapered top slab to the body of the teapot (3).
Rolling the Spout
Once the initial body form has been created, form the spout from a tapered cylinder using a chopstick (best tool ever). Roll out a conical coil, roughly 1½ in. (3.8 cm) in diameter at its widest point, and insert your chopstick. Rolling against your work surface will thin the wall of the coil while widening the opening (4). Use your teapot body to check spout proportions (5), and once the desired length and diameter are reached, pinch the edges to create a thin, tapered lip. Next, holding the spout against the teapot, mark where it will attach and cut a hole within the marks. Reach inside the hole to smooth and secure the wall/top slab connection point. Then score and slip around the cut hole and join the spout to the body. Attach a paper-thin slab over the top plane of the spout to make a smooth transition to the teapot body (as shown in 11).
Cut a 1½-inch (3.8-cm)-wide hole in the top slab of the teapot, which will become the main entry point for the liquid. Placing your finger inside while compressing with a metal rib from the outside, secure the rest of the circumference of the wall/top slab connection (6).
Cutting the Lid
Next, cut a rectangular slab for the lid neck, measuring approximately 1 inch (2.5 cm) wide and long enough that it will rest outside the diameter of your cut hole, and score and slip to make a cylinder (7). Cut a circular slab slightly larger than the neck opening, adding a coil to the underside to act as a flange, and press the center slightly to create a soft convex curve (8). Adjust the fit of the lid to ensure a stable, snug fit. Once fine tuned, score, slip, and attach the lid to the teapot body.
Pinching the Handle
Cut a slab approximately 7 inches (17.8 cm) long, or long enough to span the distance from the top vertical surface of your teapot to an inch from the base with plenty of space for use, and ⅜ inch (0.8 cm) thick. Taper the handle by pinching each side, creating a spine down the middle. Cut a rectangular peephole, ⅓ of the handle width, midway down and attach several thin coils to span and reinforce the gap. Attach the handle—it’s important to attach it high enough for good balance (9).
Preparing the Tea Infuser
The tea infuser is a small cylinder attached to the top of the pot just behind the neck and lid. Cut a rectangular slab about 2 inches (5.1 cm) wide by 3½ inches (8.9 cm) long and score and slip to connect in the round. As you did with the teapot neck, cut a circular slab for the lid, add a coil flange, and softly press out to make a concave lid for the tea infuser. Next, cut 4–6 holes in the top slab of the body of the teapot near the handle (10). Slip, score, and securely attach the tea infuser cylinder to the top slab around the holes (11). When in use, hot water should be poured in through this hole slowly and with care.
Developing a Surface
I treat the surface of my pots as a blank canvas. Begin by attaching very thin, wrinkled slabs and incised lines to add dimension to the surface (12). When nearly dry, I begin to add color with Amaco underglazes and watercolors (13) as well as Mason stains. I start by penciling in rough sketches, which I later paint with a fine-tipped brush for details and wider brushes for color. I usually mix two or three colors of Amaco watercolors and Mason stains to paint in different areas of the pot. Since moving to California, I have realized I am using more colors, as well as images, from the sea and sky. Often, I scratch through some of the painted areas (sgraffito) to create an etching-like line quality. I then cover the pot and allow it to dry slowly before bisque firing to cone 06. After bisque firing, I may add more color and drawings (14) before glazing with a clear glaze and firing to cone 6. If certain areas don’t turn out as expected, I touch them up and re-fire at a lower temperature—cone 04.
I prefer using Laguna Frost-5 porcelain for its whiteness, translucency, and the way colors look over it. I use a simple, clear glaze, which works between cone 04–6.
As most of us know, glazing and firing can be unpredictable. That’s why I make a lot of pots, hoping some will turn out as expected. I’m still learning, still experimenting, and still feeling a bit anxious when it’s time to unload the kiln. Some might say that at 75, I’m a slow learner—but I enjoy the uncertainty of the entire process of making and firing teapots.
Ted Saupe earned an MFA from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He taught ceramics for forty-four years between the University of Tennessee and the University of Georgia. He is now a studio ceramic artist living in San Juan Capistrano, California. You can find his work at In Tandem Gallery, Nevica Project, Northern Clay Center, and Schaller Gallery.
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I’m not much of a tea drinker, but I really enjoy making teapots and tea bowls, whether wheel thrown or handbuilt. When I started college, I expected to become an architect, but as fate would have it, I stumbled into an introductory ceramics class as an elective. The rest is history. That was in 1968 at Wisconsin State University in Superior, Wisconsin. My professor, Jim Grittner, instilled in me a real love for clay and making pots—I owe him a lot.
I continued studying ceramics at the University of Bridgeport in Connecticut, and later at the California College of the Arts in Oakland, California. It was in California that my interest in tea culture and the utensils used in the tea ceremony began. A valuable life lesson came in 1970 when I approached a gallery owner in Berkeley, California, to see if she would show my teapots. She asked how long I had been making them and then politely suggested I work for another two years before coming back. So, I did—but instead of returning, I ended up teaching part time before going to graduate school and then ultimately teaching ceramics for 44 years at the University of Tennessee and the University of Georgia. Today, I live back in California, where I have a small home studio. I show my work in a handful of galleries across the Midwest and Southeast.
Looking back, I recognize that my interest in design and architecture plays a key role in my vessels, both utilitarian and sculptural. I like to think of my pots as dwellings or containers—more specifically, as containers of ideas, dreams, and random thoughts. Occasionally, through the imagery and writing on their surfaces, they take on political themes and reflect my worldview. It’s hard to maintain a Zen-like composure during these turbulent times. Making pots is a grounding endeavor, and I hope it helps keep me on an even course.
I greatly appreciate, and even love, a beautifully thrown and glazed functional teapot—Michael Simon and Warren MacKenzie come to mind. But, I also deeply respect and admire teapots that are as much sculpture as they are pottery. All pots tell a story, communicating both big ideas and simple truths.
Expression and Motivation
When I handbuild my teapots, I think like an architect, focusing on interior volume and the relationship between components. Sometimes, they don’t function as perfectly as a traditional teapot, but they always express my sincere feelings about pots. Another motivation for making pouring vessels is that they require a cup to drink from. This is where I confess my love for making cups— or tea bowls, or yunomis, as galleries and historians prefer to call them. When working on a teapot, I often start on a handbuilt cup while waiting for parts of the teapot to dry slightly. This creates a connection between the pot and the cup—a symbiotic relationship. I frequently incorporate drawings and colors from my cups into my teapots, using the cups as a kind of sketchpad for ideas.
The teapots I enjoy building most are those where function is not my primary concern—though they usually work just fine (must be the potter in me; I just can’t help it). Like all good pots, it’s about the relationship between all the parts, the surface treatment, and the firing. Although I used to fire my pots in a salt kiln, without access to a gas or salt kiln, I now fire exclusively in an electric kiln. Adjusting to this change has been a challenge, but I’m slowly learning.
Building the Teapot Body
Roll out a slab, approximately 8 in. × 4 in. (20.3 × 20.2 cm), onto a dry piece of unfinished plywood. This slab should be thin, approximately ⅛ in. to ¼ in. (3.2 to 6.4 mm) thick, and be fairly soft and damp.
Once the slab for the teapot body is soft leather hard, shape it into a cylinder while leaving the seam visible (1). Then, placing it onto another prepared slab, cut a base slab, scoring and slipping the connection points to attach. Next, do the same to cut a top slab that fits the pot, but before attaching, gently pinch out the edges of the top slab (2). Attach the tapered top slab to the body of the teapot (3).
Rolling the Spout
Once the initial body form has been created, form the spout from a tapered cylinder using a chopstick (best tool ever). Roll out a conical coil, roughly 1½ in. (3.8 cm) in diameter at its widest point, and insert your chopstick. Rolling against your work surface will thin the wall of the coil while widening the opening (4). Use your teapot body to check spout proportions (5), and once the desired length and diameter are reached, pinch the edges to create a thin, tapered lip. Next, holding the spout against the teapot, mark where it will attach and cut a hole within the marks. Reach inside the hole to smooth and secure the wall/top slab connection point. Then score and slip around the cut hole and join the spout to the body. Attach a paper-thin slab over the top plane of the spout to make a smooth transition to the teapot body (as shown in 11).
Cut a 1½-inch (3.8-cm)-wide hole in the top slab of the teapot, which will become the main entry point for the liquid. Placing your finger inside while compressing with a metal rib from the outside, secure the rest of the circumference of the wall/top slab connection (6).
Cutting the Lid
Next, cut a rectangular slab for the lid neck, measuring approximately 1 inch (2.5 cm) wide and long enough that it will rest outside the diameter of your cut hole, and score and slip to make a cylinder (7). Cut a circular slab slightly larger than the neck opening, adding a coil to the underside to act as a flange, and press the center slightly to create a soft convex curve (8). Adjust the fit of the lid to ensure a stable, snug fit. Once fine tuned, score, slip, and attach the lid to the teapot body.
Pinching the Handle
Cut a slab approximately 7 inches (17.8 cm) long, or long enough to span the distance from the top vertical surface of your teapot to an inch from the base with plenty of space for use, and ⅜ inch (0.8 cm) thick. Taper the handle by pinching each side, creating a spine down the middle. Cut a rectangular peephole, ⅓ of the handle width, midway down and attach several thin coils to span and reinforce the gap. Attach the handle—it’s important to attach it high enough for good balance (9).
Preparing the Tea Infuser
The tea infuser is a small cylinder attached to the top of the pot just behind the neck and lid. Cut a rectangular slab about 2 inches (5.1 cm) wide by 3½ inches (8.9 cm) long and score and slip to connect in the round. As you did with the teapot neck, cut a circular slab for the lid, add a coil flange, and softly press out to make a concave lid for the tea infuser. Next, cut 4–6 holes in the top slab of the body of the teapot near the handle (10). Slip, score, and securely attach the tea infuser cylinder to the top slab around the holes (11). When in use, hot water should be poured in through this hole slowly and with care.
Developing a Surface
I treat the surface of my pots as a blank canvas. Begin by attaching very thin, wrinkled slabs and incised lines to add dimension to the surface (12). When nearly dry, I begin to add color with Amaco underglazes and watercolors (13) as well as Mason stains. I start by penciling in rough sketches, which I later paint with a fine-tipped brush for details and wider brushes for color. I usually mix two or three colors of Amaco watercolors and Mason stains to paint in different areas of the pot. Since moving to California, I have realized I am using more colors, as well as images, from the sea and sky. Often, I scratch through some of the painted areas (sgraffito) to create an etching-like line quality. I then cover the pot and allow it to dry slowly before bisque firing to cone 06. After bisque firing, I may add more color and drawings (14) before glazing with a clear glaze and firing to cone 6. If certain areas don’t turn out as expected, I touch them up and re-fire at a lower temperature—cone 04.
I prefer using Laguna Frost-5 porcelain for its whiteness, translucency, and the way colors look over it. I use a simple, clear glaze, which works between cone 04–6.
As most of us know, glazing and firing can be unpredictable. That’s why I make a lot of pots, hoping some will turn out as expected. I’m still learning, still experimenting, and still feeling a bit anxious when it’s time to unload the kiln. Some might say that at 75, I’m a slow learner—but I enjoy the uncertainty of the entire process of making and firing teapots.
Ted Saupe earned an MFA from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He taught ceramics for forty-four years between the University of Tennessee and the University of Georgia. He is now a studio ceramic artist living in San Juan Capistrano, California. You can find his work at In Tandem Gallery, Nevica Project, Northern Clay Center, and Schaller Gallery.
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