Runela & Keiko
Runela
I was sifting through a stack of old tea bowls and found one with a faint inscription that looks like a forgotten script; have you ever come across such markings in your journals?
Keiko
Yes, I've seen those. I jot them down in the margins of my journal, along with a note about the season it was found and a tiny reference to a forgotten poet. The marks are often a clue to the bowl’s maker, so I treat them like a little historical breadcrumb.
Runela
That sounds fascinating—tell me, which forgotten poet did you reference? I’ve never had a margin note that clever.
Keiko
I referenced a little‑known poet named Shōtō, who wrote in the early Heian period. I slipped his name into the margin with a sketch of a drifting cloud, hoping future tea‑makers might feel the same quiet reverence that I felt when I first read his verses.
Runela
Shōtō—such a delicate name for a poet of that age. I’d love to see your cloud sketch; it sounds almost like a silent witness to his words. How often do you find such direct traces in everyday objects?
Keiko
I’ve sketched that cloud a few times now—just a loose swirl, a hint of mist, the way the ink bleeds in the corner of the bowl. I usually find such direct traces only a handful of times a year, when a bowl’s glaze lets the old hand‑mark sit in a faint silhouette. When I do, it feels like a quiet witness to the poet’s voice.
Runela
That’s a beautiful way to honor Shōtō—each swirl feels like a little breath of his poetry. Do you think the glaze’s composition affects how the ink bleeds?