Fire, breath, and the eye of a tea master
Gao Liuzhou was already a respected tea judge when he grew frustrated with metal kettles that dulled the subtle sweetness of spring water. Determined to bring visual brewing back to centre stage, he left the competition circuit and spent three years apprenticing with a borosilicate glassblower in Huizhou, Guangdong — a region where tea culture runs deep and craftsmanship is a form of meditation.
Each kettle begins as a gather of molten soda-lime borosilicate at 1200°C. Gao shapes the bowl with wooden blocks, blows the neck by mouth, and trims the spout with shears while the glass still glows. The process leaves tiny tell-tale ripples — proof that no two are exactly alike. After shaping, the kettle is annealed in a lehr oven for eight hours, slowly cooling to prevent stress fractures.
The result is a vessel that invites the brewer to slow down. Water climbs the clear walls in stages, a silent show traditionally described as ‘the eyes of the fish’, ‘the strings of pearls’, and ‘the dragon’s well’. Because Gao refuses to add colourants or coatings, the water tastes precisely as it should: sweet, soft, and silent.
His studio, hidden behind an old tea house in Chaozhou, produces only a few dozen kettles each year. Each one bears his tiny engraved mark near the base — a reminder that the most essential tool in tea is sometimes the simplest.