Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center

Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center, founded by Jamyang Gelek (འཇམ་དབྱངས་དགེ་ལེགས།), stands at the origin of nearly all the pottery centers scattered throughout Menshod Town. There is a reason for this: it was the first place where anyone could walk in, learn, practice, and eventually become a pottery master. 

However, the roots of this center go back much further than its formal opening, reaching into a family history of more than five generations. During the time of the Dege Kingdom, Jamyang Gelek’s family paid their taxes through the production of clay utensils, and their craftsmanship was so highly regarded that they were given a house near the king. An old story still remembered in the family speaks to the dignity of that work: because firing clay produced a great deal of smoke, Jamyang’s father and grandfather once worried that it might disturb the king or harm his health. When they apologized, the king replied that they were not animals, but people who understood that such smoke was simply part of the labor necessary to create the handcrafts, to practically survive. Smoke was necessary, a part of that highly-regarded manufacturing process.

Jamyang Gelek inherited not only a craft, but a profound sense of its value. Yet his path into pottery was not immediate. Yet his path into pottery was not immediate. When he was young, he became interested in a metalsmith workshop run by an elderly artisan and wanted to learn from him; his father did encourage it, believing that metalsmithing was a better choice than pottery-making. As a pottery master himself, he knew too well how demanding and dangerous this work could be: the exhausting journeys to collect raw materials in remote places, the suffering of the yaks forced to carry heavy loads, and the toll it took on the body. Jamyang’s father himself had suffered greatly, to the point that he was unable to walk for years, and he interpreted that pain as a kind of consequence for the hardship endured by the yaks. He did not want his son to inherit such a difficult life. What really changed Jamyang’s course was the encouragement of an elder physician in the community, Lodrö Phuntsok (བློ་གྲོས་ཕུན་ཚོགས།), who called him one day and asked what he was doing with his life. When Jamyang replied that he was herding yaks, the physician reminded him of his family’s lineage and told him that such a heritage could not simply be abandoned. Someone had to carry it forward. Jamyang then spoke again with his father, and slowly the awareness grew stronger: pottery was diminishing, and if no one took responsibility for it, a vital part of the community’s heritage could disappear. 

He began learning seriously from his father and continued until 2008. By then, what had once been simply a family workshop at home had become a place open to others, where anyone willing to learn could come and study free of charge. Although the center formally began in 2001, its spirit was created in those earlier years of teaching and making within the home. At first, Jamyang himself had little faith that pottery could have a future beyond its traditional use, which was largely tied to monasteries and daily life, and not especially profitable. Yet again, the encouragement of Karpu, the son of Lodrö Phuntsok, and Lodrö Phuntsok himself proved decisive. They urged him to continue and even took him to workshops and factories across China, where he began to see how clay could be shaped not only into traditional crafts, but into a much wider range of products. That journey opened his vision. From there, by blending traditional techniques with innovation in design, Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center began to attract many customers from outside the region, while remaining deeply rooted in Tibetan pottery heritage. 

To be a pottery master here, however, means much more than shaping clay: it also means directly entering the landscape and retrieving the raw material by hand. In earlier times, horses were used for transport; today, motorbikes may help with part of the journey, but in steep stretches of mountain path they often have to be carried on one’s back. The materials themselves are still collected exactly as they always were, from the same places, using the same traditional knowledge. Among the most important stones there is a pale stone called Ratsima (རྭ་ཚིལ་མ།), a name given because of its color, meaning the “fat of gods”. It is considered the finest material, but also the hardest to obtain, as it can only be found locally in one place at around 5000 meters above sea level. It is also known as the golden stone, and when broken it reveals different layers and types of stone within it. Another essential material, the black stone and its related soil, Ser-Dor (གསེར་རྡོ།), can also only be found in one specific place in the Menshod area, at more than 4000 meters. 

There, artisans often need to dig as deep as fifteen meters into the ground, lowering themselves into a rocky pit and collecting the material with a basket. This process is as dangerous as it is uncertain: they dig without knowing whether they will actually find the stone they need. Beyond the physical danger, there is also the possibility of failure, and in the worst case, if someone dies during the process, the body often cannot be recovered, meaning that even the ordinary funeral rites cannot be performed. And yet, despite all this, they continue. They continue because the traditional method is still considered the only true way to be an authentic Tibetan pottery master. In this sense, the effort is entirely worth it. 

Historically, many of the products made at the center developed in response to practical needs and are still closely tied to food and drink. From cups to cooking pots, these objects carry the memory of daily Tibetan life. Importantly, the center’s pottery has also undergone scientific examination by the Foshan Ceramics Research Institute, which certified these products as safe for food use. Among the most meaningful objects is the Chomtik (ཆང་ཏིག), a container for barley wine traditionally used only on special occasions such as weddings, New Year, or the first day of cultivating the land. After filling it with barley wine, people would place butter onto its five openings and slowly pour it into cups. It was especially important during the first day of spring cultivation, a moment when work and celebration came together in the fields through food, drink, and shared labor.

Another vessel, the Saleh (ས་ལེབ།), derives its name from “sa”, meaning soil, and “leh,” meaning “flat; flat pot”. It too was brought to the fields on the first day of cultivation. In earlier times, it served as a tea container, covered with a blanket and sealed with Yuma to preserve the heat. Its ability to keep tea warm was one of its most valued qualities, especially for those working long hours outdoors. Together, these two containers were indispensable companions in the fields, and the latter was also a fundamental object for yak herders, as it could be placed directly over the fire after a long cold day. 

Another remarkable object is an ancient container associated with the Chamdo region. It has been unearthed from the soil not so long ago and believed to carry a very long history. It was traditionally used during weddings, as its shape proves, resembling two hearts joined into one body with a single opening, seems. Although its exact name is unknown, it is said to be among the most valuable pottery items of the Tibet Museum in Lhasa. 

Another deeply symbolic object is the Luse (ལྷུང་བཟེད།), known as the alms bowl of Sakyamuni. According to tradition, when the Buddha renounced everything, this was the vessel he carried. Monks still use this form today to eat tsampa and hold food, especially during the forty-nine-day prayer sessions. Its unusual shape, which cannot stand on its own without support, is linked to a story: Sakyamuni, passing house by house for food, once opened the door to a goddess, who gave him a bracelet, which revealed to be the missing piece for the bowl to stand on. The unity, others’ compassion and help were the key. 

Through such objects, the center does not simply preserve pottery as an art form, but as a living archive of Tibetan domestic and agricultural culture. Today, seventeen people work and learn at Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center, and the workshop remains as much a place of teaching as of production. Jamyang’s own family is part of this continuity: one of his daughters, trained in Tibetan medicine, now works at Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital, while his younger daughter, only 21 years old, is already involved in business management. Knowing Chinese, she supports her father in exhibitions and communication with Chinese customers, and has become increasingly active in the marketing and development of the center. Introduced to the family business from an early age and encouraged also by Dawa Drolma (Khyenle Arts Center), she now holds ten percent of the business and represents an important bridge between the workshop and the outside world. 

Yet perhaps the most distinctive feature of Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center lies in its people-centered business model. Jamyang does not run the workshop with the primary goal of maximizing private profit. Instead, the income generated by the center is shared among the artisans according to their skill, experience, and time of work, while he himself takes only 5% as a master fee. In practice, this means that the center functions more as a collaborative structure than a conventional business. Equal treatment and shared benefit are central to the way it operates. Among his students, six or seven have already become skilled masters and chosen to remain with him, supporting the life of this collective workshop. New students are still welcomed: during the first year, there is neither salary nor teaching fee, but from the second year onward they begin receiving income according to the same shared system. In this way, the center continues to sustain both the craft and the people who dedicate their lives to it. Looking to the future, Jamyang Gelek says that he will continue to work for as long as he is able. More importantly, he is determined to preserve this model of working fairly and collectively, where the aim is not money for money’s sake, but the sustaining of people, knowledge, and dignity. In this way, the products of Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center continue to carry a soul: the soul born from traditional techniques, rare and demanding materials, and a workshop built on sharing rather than individual gain.