Ryosuke and Yuki Sasaki, whose lives were transformed in Okinawa, create nothing but highly stylish designs that incorporate traditional techniques. Behind their works—which bring an involuntary smile to anyone who holds them—lies the couple’s characteristic, down-to-earth way of life.

The Creative Spirit and Way of Life Inspired by Life on Hateruma Island

Hirosaki City in Aomori Prefecture, where the townscape and culture still bear traces of its history as a castle town, is a place where traditional crafts such as Tsugaru lacquerware and Kogin embroidery remain deeply rooted to this day. “Snow hand made,” a studio based in Hirosaki, is run by the husband-and-wife team of Ryosuke and Yuki, who specialize in dyeing and weaving, dividing their work between them.

Ryosuke dyes fabrics and threads using indigo and safflower as dyes, while Yuki creates woven textiles and crocheted accessories. Their work has gained popularity for its intricate, delicate designs and vibrant colors—which are so refined that one would hardly believe they are hand-woven—and many people reportedly purchase their pieces every time a new collection is released.

The dyes are made from ingredients such as bamboo and cherry blossom branches sourced from their own garden and nearby mountains. They pair well with nature-inspired accessories and offer a charm distinct from trendy designs. The couple says their creative concept is to make items that will be cherished for a long time.

“She creates based on her intuition. That intuition is amazing,” “Even if you understand the principles of dyeing, sometimes you can’t achieve the desired color. But he figures it out and manages to get close to that color,” the two say, praising each other. It is precisely because they recognize and trust each other’s skills that such high-quality works are born.

An Encounter in Okinawa That Felt as If I Had Been Led There

Ryosuke, who is from Kanagawa Prefecture, and Yuki, who is from Hirosaki City, met on Hateruma Island in Okinawa Prefecture—Japan’s southernmost inhabited island. Ryosuke had visited Hateruma Island during his student days and, captivated by the people and the island’s atmosphere, decided to move there. It was around that same time that he met Yuki, who had come to visit a friend.

“I wanted to learn dyeing and pottery techniques. “On my first visit, I wondered if there was any way to preserve Okinawa’s vibrant natural colors, so I tried dyeing thread with flowers I found by the roadside. I was deeply moved when it turned a pale purple. I thought, ‘So you really can preserve the colors of nature,’” says Ryosuke.

Yuki, who was also looking to acquire a craft, was introduced through an acquaintance to Akiko Ishigaki, a dyeing and weaving artist working on the neighboring island of Iriomote. Ms. Ishigaki studied under Fukumi Shimura, a Living National Treasure known for “tsumugi-ori”—silk textiles woven using tsumugi yarn—and has been working for over 40 years to revive the dyeing and weaving culture of Iriomote Island.

However, she felt it would be difficult to instruct two people with absolutely no prior knowledge, so she introduced us to someone on Hateruma Island who knew how to use a “genshibata” loom. A genshibata is a loom that can be considered the foundation of weaving; one end of the warp threads is attached to a “waist strap” around the weaver’s waist, and the tension of the warp threads is adjusted using the strength of the weaver’s hips.

It was these two—who would later co-found a workshop with her—who provided her with instruction. She learned the gen-shibata technique from them, continued weaving at home to ensure she didn’t forget what she’d learned, and even brought her finished pieces to Professor Ishigaki’s workshop. From there, she was given assignments, and the four of them lived and studied together at the professor’s workshop, clinging to the opportunity with all their might.

Among them, Yuki’s weaving skills stood out in particular, and she reportedly demonstrated exceptional talent.

“I’ve loved knitting and drawing since I was a child. I think that played a part, but coming to Okinawa was a major turning point. In Okinawa, everyone took an interest in the things I made and recognized my work—that probably helped build my confidence.” Yuki explains that her creative work stems from discovering her own way of life in Okinawa and gradually building upon it over time, leading her to where she is today.

Furthermore, from her teacher, Ishigaki, she learned something that could be called the very essence of craftsmanship—that “dyeing and weaving are not merely crafts”—a lesson that goes beyond simply honing her technical skills. She explains that her teacher personally dyes the thread and weaves the fabric to make hand towels, and places great importance on the idea that these practices are an integral part of daily life. While preserving these works as crafts is certainly a necessary endeavor, Yuki says this was a crucial period for her to learn that these creations are “born from everyday life.”

From launching their studio to striking out on their own: Creating works that reflect their unique style in Hirosaki

With Professor Ishigaki’s support, the four of them launched a dyeing and weaving studio in 2008. The space also served as a restaurant, but as their carefully selected ingredients and elaborate catered meals gained popularity, it became difficult to balance that work with their dyeing and weaving. After discussing it with their colleagues, Ryosuke and Yuki decided to branch out on their own from the studio so they could devote themselves more fully to their work as dyeing and weaving artists. That’s when they chose Hirosaki City.

“It was my wife’s hometown, so we were already familiar with the area, and the fact that it’s a region rich in traditional crafts was also a deciding factor. To be honest, there might not have been any other option besides Hirosaki,” the couple laughs.

They chose not to fly but instead drove north from Kagoshima to Hirosaki. Hoping to refine their sensibilities while visiting acquaintances along the way, they stopped at World Heritage sites and other places to experience the distinct characteristics of each region. As the landscape changed, so did the climate and local culture. One of Professor Ishigaki’s teachings was that craftsmanship involves incorporating elements that suit both the land and oneself.

Taking those words to heart, they headed to Hirosaki with the desire to create works that were true to themselves and unique to that region—and thus, Snow Handmade was born.

Techniques that spare no effort and bring out the best in the ingredients

“Many people think indigo dyeing is prone to fading and color bleeding, but that’s not actually the case. After exploring this further, I settled on the traditional method.”

Snow Handmade’s indigo dyeing uses techniques established during the Muromachi period: “Jigoku-zuke” and “Sho-ai-zome.” After drying indigo leaves, they are fermented over two to three months while being periodically moistened with water. Through repeated turning, the mixture is transformed into a compost-like substance, which is then sun-dried to produce “sukumo,” the raw material for indigo dyeing. The finished sukumo is thoroughly kneaded with lye made from apple tree ash. This wood ash comes from branches pruned or cut down in nearby apple orchards; they are burned in a wood-burning stove during the winter to produce ash, which is then stored. The lye is made by adding boiling water to the ash and stirring, then skimming off only the clear liquid on top. Since the remaining wood ash can also be used as glaze, he says he gives it to a potter he knows.

“This is the kind of cycle I wanted to create. There’s absolutely no waste,” Ryosuke says with a smile.

One of the most important steps in indigo dyeing is the process of preparing the dye bath, known as “aitate.” Indigo leaves and lye are placed in an indigo vat, and the mixture is allowed to ferment over about 10 days, gradually increasing in volume to create the dye bath. However, this process requires a large amount of water, and if the water and indigo do not mix well, the dye may not set properly. For this reason, when searching for a property in Hirosaki, the ability to use well water was the top priority. The current location has an abundant supply of spring water, which works well with the indigo, and it seems we’ve been blessed with good fortune regarding the land itself.

Once the dye bath is ready, the indigo dyeing process finally begins. The fabric, which has been soaked in lye, is gently lowered into the indigo vat, taking care to prevent air from entering. The dyed fabric is rinsed with water, sun-dried, and rinsed again. This constitutes one cycle, which is repeated until the desired color is achieved. Finally, the fabric is thoroughly sun-dried to remove any off-flavors from the lye, and the process is complete.

Since they grow their own indigo, the entire process—from sowing the seeds to harvesting and sun-drying—takes over a year. Currently, they blend in Tokushima’s “Awa-ai” indigo, which boasts one of the highest production volumes in Japan, but their dream is to dye exclusively with Hirosaki indigo in the future. Since they work as a team of just two, expanding their operations isn’t easy, but they’re currently experimenting and refining their methods in hopes of making this a reality someday.

The reason they go to such lengths is their desire to maximize the benefits of indigo. Traditional indigo dyeing is resistant to fading and color loss, and offers strong deodorizing and antibacterial effects. Although it takes time, they believe this is the best technique for bringing out the true qualities of indigo.

Nature is the inspiration for the design

The dyed yarn is shaped by Yuki’s hands. In addition to crocheting, she uses a loom called a “gen-shibata” to weave straps and cords. She has been using this loom since her time on Hateruma Island; it is a primitive-style loom in which one end of the yarn is tied to the weaver’s waist, and the tension of the yarn is adjusted using the strength of the weaver’s hips as she weaves.

Her inspiration comes from nature. She says she was deeply impressed by the islanders in Okinawa, who wore accessories made from local materials as talismans, and that this experience has greatly influenced her own work. She incorporates into her pieces a worldview inspired by the microcosm seen under a microscope and the universe—where naturally formed elements are arranged in orderly patterns or create a sense of beauty. That is precisely why Yuki’s designs possess a meticulous beauty that defies belief that they are handmade.

Both the dyeing and weaving are created entirely from materials found in her immediate surroundings. This can be said to be the very foundation of Snow Handmade’s creative process.

Staying true to ourselves while incorporating the best ideas

Although the two create their works using traditional techniques, they aren’t limited to just those of the past. They also incorporate dyeing methods that utilize modern technology, applying them to bring their artistic visions to life.

“It feels like we’re taking the best of both worlds,” says Ryosuke. “The best approach is to make the most of each method’s strengths and bring out the inherent qualities of the plants.” Whether it comes to techniques or materials, they aren’t bound by preconceived notions and incorporate whatever they believe will work best. Perhaps staying true to themselves is what matters most to the two of them.

“One of our goals for the future is to dye using only the indigo harvested here. We’re currently thinking about what kind of system to set up to create one-of-a-kind pieces using the soil, water, and air of this place,” says Ryosuke. “I’d also like to work on pieces that aren’t for sale. We once rented a large space to exhibit big works, and it was so much fun to create exactly what we wanted to express. It helped us reconnect with our original passion, so we’d like to hold exhibitions like that again,” says Yuki with a smile. Without feeling pressured by traditional techniques, the two approach their creative work as a natural part of their daily lives. The works of Snow Handmade reflect their very way of life.

The post “Snow hand made,” a textile artist who incorporates the natural “colors” and “shapes” of the land into her work / Hirosaki City, Aomori Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

A transparency reminiscent of glass. “Hakuji Yuzogan” (white porcelain inlay), one of ceramic artist Shin Egami’s series, is striking for its translucent appearance—despite being a ceramic piece. Born into a kiln that traces its roots to “Takada-yaki,” a traditional craft representative of Kumamoto, Egami is exploring new possibilities while preserving tradition and pursuing his own unique form of expression.

He took over the kiln his father had established and became a potter.

“Koda-yaki Ryugen Kiln” is located on the banks of a spring-fed pond in the Yatsushiro Plain. Mr. Egami is the second-generation head of “Koda-yaki Ryugen Kiln.” He has won awards at exhibitions such as the Kumamoto Prefectural Art Association Exhibition, the Western Japan Traditional Crafts Exhibition, and the Japan Traditional Crafts Exhibition.

Mr. Egami graduated from a local high school and went on to attend a university in Kumamoto City. His father, Gen, who opened “Kodayaki Ryugen Kiln” in 1987, never once asked him to take over the kiln, and because their home and workshop were located far apart, he rarely saw Gen at work making pottery. As a result, he says he never even considered becoming a potter. The turning point for Mr. Shin came during his job search.

“When I thought about what kind of work I wanted to do, memories of my grandfather, who was a Western-style painter, came flooding back,” says Mr. Egami. Recalling how he had been moved by the beauty of the oil paintings and sculptures he saw in the studio he visited as a child, he realized that, deep down, he had always harbored a longing and interest in creating things. It was then that he first recognized he was in the ideal environment to pursue ceramics.

After graduating from college, she studied the basics of ceramics at the Saga Prefectural Arita Ceramic College and returned to her hometown at the age of 26. There, she began devoting her days to creating pottery alongside her father at “Takada-yaki Ryugen Kiln.”

“Ryugen Kiln,” which carries on the legacy of the “Higo Imperial Kiln”

“Takada-yaki Ryugen Kiln” traces its roots to Takada-yaki, a traditional craft that represents Kumamoto. Takada-yaki has a long history; it is said that in 1632, during the early Edo period, Sonkai established a kiln in what is now Yatsushiro City. Sonkai was a Korean potter who was taken into the service of Hosokawa Tadaoki, lord of the Buzen Kokura Domain, in 1602. Although he initially built a kiln in Ueno (present-day Fukuchi Town, Tagawa District), which Tadaoki governed, he moved to Yatsushiro following the Hosokawa family’s transfer of their domain. Takada-yaki, also known as “Yatsushiro-yaki,” was protected as the official kiln of the Higo Domain but lost that patronage after the Meiji Restoration. The three surviving Takada-yaki kilns are the “Ueno Kiln” (the head family), the “Den-shichi Kiln,” and the “Ryugen Kiln.” Mr. Egami’s father, Motosan, trained at the “Den-shichi Kiln” before opening the “Ryugen Kiln.”

An attempt to reinterpret tradition and create something new

Mr. Egami’s father, Moto, sought to create Takada-yaki that broke free from conventional molds while preserving ancient traditional techniques. Mr. Egami, too, is exploring new possibilities for Takada-yaki and pursuing his own unique style, all while carrying on the tradition.

“I believe that by preserving and simultaneously reconstructing the three elements that define Takada-yaki—‘clay, glaze, and inlay’—I can present a vision of ‘Takada-yaki for today,’” says Ms. Egami. These three elements are the essential core of Takada-yaki and serve as the starting point for her creative process.

Among these, clay preparation is one of her greatest passions. While many contemporary potters use commercially available clay, Egami goes into the mountains himself to dig up raw clay. He transports the raw clay to his studio, mixes it with water, and sifts it through a fine-mesh sieve to remove impurities. This process is both time-consuming and labor-intensive, but by selecting the clay with his own eyes and refining it with his own hands, he produces clay with a finer texture than commercially available varieties. This clay is then transformed into works free of imperfections such as spots.

Egami’s philosophy is reflected in his body of work. His pieces can be broadly divided into three categories: “Celadon Inlay,” “Yakisime Inlay,” and “White Porcelain Glaze Inlay.” “Celadon Inlay,” which accounts for the majority of his award-winning works, is characterized by the striking contrast between the brown clay he produces himself and a uniquely formulated celadon glaze that brings out its beauty. “Unglazed Inlay” is created by applying inlay to the base material and firing it in a pit kiln without glaze, resulting in a texture that conveys warmth and strength. Finally, “White Porcelain Glazed Inlay”—mentioned at the beginning—involves pouring glaze into indentations made in white porcelain; the glass-like transparency and the shadows cast within the indentations create a beauty of subtle mystery.

Tradition is not something to be preserved, but something to be created.

In 2018, Mr. Egami was certified as a “Full Member of the Japan Crafts Association”—a status granted only to artists who have been selected for the Japan Traditional Crafts Exhibition four or more times. The Japan Crafts Association is an organization composed primarily of Holders of Important Intangible Cultural Properties, commonly known as “Living National Treasures,” and full membership is highly selective, with only about 1,300 members nationwide. The Japan Traditional Crafts Exhibition is considered the nation’s premier open-call craft exhibition, and being selected for it four or more times signifies not merely a fleeting recognition but a sustained and public acknowledgment of one’s skill. Yet Ms. Egami is not content to rest on her laurels; she continues to explore new forms of expression to this day.

“Within the framework of Takada-yaki, I want to pursue ‘ceramics unlike anything seen before.’ I believe tradition is not something to be preserved, but something to be created,” says Egami. These words have been forged amid the tension inherent in a craft deeply rooted in the local community. While unveiling new works at department stores in the Tokyo metropolitan area, he also holds solo exhibitions every year without fail in his hometown of Yatsushiro City. There, he faces the watchful “eyes” of the local community, which has watched over Takada-yaki for some 390 years. “In Yatsushiro, there are people who take pride in Takada-yaki as a local treasure. They are well-acquainted with my father’s work and have been observing Takada-yaki for even longer than I have.” Although her new artistic style sometimes draws harsh criticism, Ms. Egami does not dismiss it; instead, she accepts it as a learning experience for her next step.

In the world of traditional crafts, change is not always welcomed. That is precisely why her attitude—challenging herself to find new forms of expression while discerning what must be preserved—serves as a guiding principle for the artisans who will follow in her footsteps. As Ms. Egami speaks, gazing at both her father’s works and her own, her eyes show respect for the past while firmly looking toward the future. The challenge faced by this single kiln, rooted in the local community, overlaps with a universal question confronting the craft world as a whole: how to pass on a tradition spanning approximately 390 years to the next generation.

The post Pottery that carries on and reinterprets tradition. “Takada-yaki Ryugen Kiln,” Shin Egami / Hikawa Town, Yatsushiro District, Kumamoto Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kochi Prefecture boasts the highest production volume of binchōtan in Japan. Muroto City is at the heart of this industry. Tosa binchōtan is made from freshly cut Ubame oak and is fired over a process lasting about 20 days. The leading charcoal maker in this field is dedicated to activities that look toward the future of Muroto, including training the next generation, securing raw materials, and environmental conservation.

The Climate of Muroto: Nurturing a Treasure Trove of Charcoal

Muroto City, located in eastern Kochi Prefecture, was once famous for being repeatedly hit by major typhoons. While the coastal area thrives as a fishing town, deep in the mountains, kilns for Tosa Bincho-tan charcoal are still scattered about, quietly giving off smoke. One of these is the workplace of Seichō Morimoto, a charcoal maker who has been producing charcoal for over 47 years.

The kiln where Mr. Morimoto burns Tosa Binchotan is located upstream along the clear Hane River, which flows through Muroto City. The history of white charcoal production in Tosa dates back to the Edo period. Here in Muroto, heavy and hard woods—including Ubame oak, which grows in the harsh environments of the coastline and rocky areas, as well as Arakaashi and Urajiro oak—grow wild. During the Meiji era, charcoal burners from Kishu moved to the Hane area, passing down their advanced techniques. Local artisans worked diligently to further improve the kilns, and eventually, Muroto gained national attention as a production center for Binchotan.

Research on earthen kilns is a lifelong endeavor.

Mr. Morimoto, who is now a prominent figure in the charcoal industry—having been selected as a “Master of the Forest” by the Public Interest Incorporated Association for the Promotion of National Land Greening in 2017—had actually aspired to become a pilot in his teens. After graduating from high school, he enrolled in a vocational school specializing in avionics, but gave up on that dream partway through. He worked as a salaryman in Tokyo until he was 30, then returned to his hometown with an eye toward the future.

At the time, while running a rice farm and raising livestock, he would cut down trees such as Ubame oak in the mountains and sell them to paper companies as raw material for pulp. The turning point came when a senior colleague—the only person in the area producing binchōtan—suggested, “It’s a waste to send this to be made into pulp. I’ll teach you—why don’t you try making charcoal?” That was his first encounter with binchōtan.

     By the Showa 30s, the charcoal industry was rapidly declining due to the development of household appliances and other products. As a result, many charcoal makers left the mountains. Mr. Morimoto restored an earthen kiln that had been left behind in the mountains and, seeking advice from his senior, went through a process of trial and error. Although he was a novice, he managed to produce charcoal of reasonably good quality. “Even my father was surprised,” Mr. Morimoto laughs.

“Even though I was following the same process, the quality of the charcoal gradually began to decline. When I investigated, I found cracks in the kiln walls that were letting the heat escape. After repairing them and trying again, the charcoal turned out to be of such high quality it was unrecognizable. That sparked my interest in the kiln itself, and I began to study the craft in earnest.”

At the time, there were many veteran charcoal burners in the area, and he says he drew inspiration from their individual techniques—even down to the shape of the kiln ceiling, noting that some specialized in “tokkuri” (sake flask) shapes while others preferred circular ones. “The heat retention capacity of the kiln floor, the kiln’s airtightness, and its structural strength—these three points are the most crucial elements in kiln construction,” Morimoto explains.

A blazing furnace. Standing there, feeling its heat with every fiber of my being.

Black charcoal and white charcoal are distinguished not so much by the type of wood used as by differences in “firing and finishing methods.” White charcoal, which includes Tosa Bincho-tan, is carbonized rapidly at temperatures exceeding 1,000 degrees, then scooped out of the kiln while still red-hot and rapidly cooled by covering it with soil and ash. The white ash that forms on the surface due to this rapid cooling gives it its name. The charcoal is hard and dense; when struck, it produces a clear, metallic ring, and it burns with intense heat for a long time. In contrast, black charcoal is burned slowly at a relatively low temperature; after being carbonized in a sealed kiln, it is left to cool inside the kiln. The finished product is black and soft; because it ignites easily and is simple to handle, it tends to be preferred for leisure and household use, unlike white charcoal, which is favored by specialty restaurants and other professional establishments.

Muroto became Japan’s leading producer of binchōtan—arguably the quintessential white charcoal—due to a confluence of several factors. These included an abundance of naturally growing oak species, particularly Ubame oak, which is ideal for use as raw timber; and in Meiji 40 (1907), Kuraji Ueno, a charcoal craftsman from Kishu who visited Muroto on the Shikoku Pilgrimage, recognized the shortcomings of Tosa’s rudimentary kilns at the time and taught the region the charcoal-making techniques used for Kishu Binchotan; and the fact that kilns were modified to suit Tosa’s climate, leading to the establishment of techniques for mass-producing high-quality charcoal in large kilns.

Above all, the establishment of a sustainable production system—achieved through the efforts of Mr. Morimoto and others to train successors and plant new trees—has been of immense importance.

So, how is this Tosa Bincho-tan charcoal made? First, Mr. Morimoto harvests Ubame oak from the mountains and arranges the logs side by side in the kiln, as if tossing them in. In doing so, he deliberately leaves gaps between them to create air pathways. He then lights the fire and heats the wood, steaming it for about a week to drive out the moisture from the logs. Mr. Morimoto emphasizes that managing this stage is crucial. If the moisture content of the logs remains too high, cracks will form later on, resulting in charcoal of inferior quality. During the initial stage when moisture levels are high, white smoke emerges from the chimney, but as drying progresses, the smoke gradually becomes transparent. While enduring the heat, he holds his hand over the smoke; if it feels damp, it’s not ready yet, but when it feels dry to the touch, that’s a sign the drying has progressed.

Once drying is complete, the kiln is sealed, and a very small amount of air is introduced to steam-bake the logs, carbonizing them. This process is called “nerashi” (refining) and is a crucial step for burning off impurities contained in the charcoal. Once carbonization is complete, the kiln door is opened to let in air, generating temperatures exceeding 1,000 degrees inside. The wood, now glowing red like iron in a blast furnace, is scooped out, and “subai” (a mixture of soil and ash) is applied to rapidly extinguish the fire and cool the charcoal, causing its surface to turn whitish.

This hard charcoal, unparalleled anywhere in the world, produces a beautiful, clear, metallic ringing sound—like “keen”—when struck.

The process from loading the kiln to unloading it takes about 20 days. The finished charcoal is sorted according to shape and thickness, standardized by size, and then placed in a dehumidification chamber to prevent moisture from re-entering.

The World’s Finest Charcoal, Supporting Culinary Culture

“Good binchōtan looks beautiful and burns for a long time,” Mr. Morimoto says, gazing straight ahead. High-quality charcoal can continue burning for three or even four hours. However, he candidly admits that it’s difficult to produce perfect binchōtan. If the “nerashi” (carbonization process) is overdone, the charcoal may look beautiful, but too many combustible components are lost, causing the heat output to drop. His words, “You have to strike that delicate balance,” reveal the depth of charcoal-making backed by years of experience. Then, his eyes sparkle like a young boy’s as he adds, “This binchōtan contributes to food culture—it’s the world’s finest charcoal.”

Binchōtan not only burns for a long time but also produces no smoke, so it doesn’t impart any unwanted odors to the food, allowing the natural flavors of the ingredients to shine through. Demand from high-end restaurants, eel restaurants, and yakitori shops—all seeking delicate flavors—is constant, and the charcoal is perpetually in short supply. While being pressed by wholesalers for more stock, he says he plans to fire up the kiln three times every two months this year as well.

We warmly welcome successors

Of course, things haven’t always gone smoothly. Starting in the late Showa era, inexpensive Chinese-made binchōtan began flooding the market, dealing a severe blow to domestic producers. Even Mr. Morimoto, who was still a young craftsman at the time, reportedly went through a prolonged period when his charcoal wouldn’t sell. Later, in the 2000s, China banned the export of charcoal; however, in the less than 20 years since then, the number of charcoal makers—which had been around 60—has dropped to about 20, with two-thirds of them having left the trade.

Currently, while production volume is limited, demand continues to come not only from within Japan but also from overseas, resulting in a persistent shortage of binchōtan. “If there are young people who want to make binchōtan their career, they’re more than welcome,” said Mr. Morimoto, expressing his desire to expand his ranks. To make it easier for newcomers to take that first step, he has promoted the adoption of labor-saving kilns that generate a steady income and the use of mechanization. He also lobbied the mayor of Muroto City, leading to the creation of a successor training program in 2011 that accepts about three trainees each year. Even after they become independent, he continues to provide ongoing support, including assistance with procuring ubame oak, the raw material for charcoal.

More than 30 people have already learned the craft from Mr. Morimoto, and about 10 of them have gone on to establish their own kilns both within and outside Kochi Prefecture. Currently, there are about 30 charcoal makers in Muroto City.

Experiencing the Harshness of the Mountains Firsthand

About a 10-minute drive from Mr. Morimoto’s kiln lies a mountain he owns. To reach the summit of this obviously rugged mountain, he personally operated heavy machinery to carve out a zigzagging path and graded it so that transport vehicles, such as four-wheel-drive light trucks, could climb it. Everyone uses chainsaws to cut down the Ubame oak trees located deep within the summit area. In places where transport vehicles cannot reach, they use wires to hoist the logs out.

Connecting the Future of Tosa Bincho Charcoal

In addition to planting “layering cuttings”—which are created by making incisions in the branches or trunks of parent Uba-megashi trees to induce rooting—the cooperative also commissions forest cooperatives and other organizations to plant saplings. A single charcoal maker uses approximately 5,000 Uba-megashi trees per hectare annually, and a 40-hectare area is sufficient to ensure a stable cycle from growth to harvest.

The reason for this is that Uba-megashi, the wood used for Bincho-tan, regenerates over approximately 20 years through “sprout regeneration,” in which new shoots sprout from the stump after felling. If the 40 hectares are harvested sequentially by section in accordance with this cycle, by the time the cycle is complete, the first section will have grown sufficiently. This eliminates the need for replanting or land clearing, thereby maintaining an environment where a single charcoal maker can continue working.

“Last year, we planted 40,000 saplings over 8 hectares, but we still need to plant about another 100 hectares,” he said as he led me to an area lined with rows of seedling pots. “This is Ubame oak; over here are Urajiro oak and Kunu oak. We plan to focus on planting these three species. Urajirogashi can be used for medicine and makes good charcoal. Kunugi is used for kiku-sumi charcoal in the tea ceremony. The acorns serve as animal feed. If we’re going to protect the natural environment, broadleaf trees are definitely better. They put down deep roots to prevent landslides, and even if the trees are cut down, the area returns to its original state,” he explained.

Registration as an Intangible Cultural Heritage: Toward the Dreams That Lie Ahead

Although this marks their third attempt, the prefecture and the charcoal makers are aiming to have Tosa Bincho-tan registered as an “Intangible Cultural Asset.” Mr. Morimoto says, “Preserving the technique and ensuring consistent quality. As long as we bear the name ‘Tosa Bincho-tan,’ we want to maintain a certain standard of quality.” He adds with a smile, “If it’s designated as an Intangible Cultural Asset, I feel like we might even be able to aim for World Heritage status.” “We aim to ensure the semi-permanent sustainability of the raw material—Uba-megashi oak—across the entire region and make this industry viable. We’ll reduce carbon dioxide emissions and protect the environment. I feel there is no other circular model quite like this,” he said, expressing his vision.

Training the next generation, securing raw materials, and preserving the environment. While tackling these three challenges, the veteran charcoal makers continue to forge a path toward the future of Tosa Binchotan and the region, showing no signs of stopping.

The post “Sumino Morisei, LLC”—a charcoal master dedicated to preserving the techniques of Tosa Bincho-tan, expanding its community, and actively promoting the afforestation of raw materials / Muroto City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Eastern Shimane Prefecture is a region where the culture of “tatara ironmaking”—an ancient Japanese method of iron production—remains deeply rooted. In Hirose-cho, Yasugi City, there is a blacksmith’s workshop that has been in operation since the late Edo period. Building on the foundation of sword-forging techniques, the workshop now crafts tools that fit seamlessly into modern life, such as flower vases and frying pans. Shūsuke Kotō, the 11th-generation master blacksmith, continues to demonstrate through his craftsmanship why warmth resides in iron—a material that should be cold.

The Blacksmiths of Yasugi, Descendants of the Tatara Tradition

Shimane Prefecture has long been known as one of Japan’s leading iron-producing regions. “Tatara ironmaking”—the process of producing iron from iron sand and charcoal—is still preserved today as a Nationally Designated Preservation Technique. This technique, which reached its peak during the Edo period, is known as the only method for producing “tamahagane,” the material used to make Japanese swords, and flourished primarily throughout the Chugoku Mountains region.

The roots of the Hiromitsu Blacksmith Workshop date back to the late Edo period. From the first to the third generation, the family worked as “tatara masters” engaged in the tatara ironmaking process. Amid the changes of subsequent eras, they adapted their craft—shifting from forging cutlery and farming tools to the forging of Japanese swords—while keeping the blacksmith’s fire burning for ten generations.

Once indispensable to local life, blacksmiths were responsible for manufacturing and repairing kitchen knives and farming tools. However, after World War II, as mechanization and mass production advanced, the way of life centered on “repairing and using farm tools and cutlery for a long time” gradually disappeared. As inexpensive products became readily available, the number of blacksmiths across the country declined. It became difficult even to continue the work of ironmaking alone. Even so, Hiromitsu Blacksmith Workshop has continued to create iron crafts suited to the times, passing on its traditions to the present day.

Discovering the Joy of Bringing Art to Life Led Me to the World of Ironwork

Mr. Shūsuke Kotō is the 11th-generation head of the Hiromitsu Blacksmith Workshop. He did not pursue blacksmithing right from the start; after graduating from college, he worked for a company in Tokyo and later at an art museum in Shimane Prefecture. The turning point that led him to blacksmithing came when he helped out at an exhibition for his family’s business. As he spoke directly with visitors and witnessed the moment when the items his family had crafted found their way into people’s daily lives, he realized not only the joy of creating but also the immense joy of seeing his work reach its users. He says that was the moment when the family business—which he had vaguely thought of as something he “would have to take over someday”—began to take shape as his own career.

Committed to handcrafted details, we infuse iron with warmth

The current workshop is home to four artisans, including my father, Hiroya, the 10th-generation master. They create crafts such as candlesticks, vases, paper lanterns, and fire-related items, utilizing techniques derived from sword forging. Just as in the forging of Japanese swords, they heat the iron to high temperatures and strike it repeatedly with a hammer to remove impurities and bring out its strength and toughness. Since even slight differences in temperature or the force of the strikes can alter the iron’s appearance, the artisans proceed with their work while carefully observing the color of the flame and the condition of the iron. Although the items they create have changed, the craft of forging iron and transforming it into functional beauty has remained unchanged since the first generation.

“Forging”: A Time-Honored Tradition of Ironworking

At the heart of their craftsmanship lies “forging,” a traditional method in which iron is heated over a charcoal fire and shaped by striking it with a hammer. In an era where casting—melting iron and pouring it into molds—and machining—shaping metal under pressure—have become commonplace, “forging” is labor-intensive and unsuitable for mass production. However, the process of hammering and shaping the metal increases its strength and toughness, and the hammer marks and subtle variations allow each piece to be uniquely expressive.

Assess the condition of the iron by feel

Iron can only be shaped while it is still soft, immediately after being heated. The working temperature range is approximately 800–1,000°C. If it is heated too much, the iron will melt; if it is heated for too short a time, it cannot be shaped even by hammering. Therefore, the metal is repeatedly placed in the furnace, removed, hammered, and reheated. This process is repeated over and over.

While the iron is heating, the craftsman visualizes where to strike next and how to bend it. Drawing on a sense honed over many years, he assesses the condition of the iron. The timing of when to remove it from the furnace is the most critical moment—it is the moment when the craftsman’s experience is truly put to the test.

The Joy of Handcrafting: Creating One-of-a-Kind Pieces

No two items crafted using the traditional ironworking technique of “forging” are exactly alike. The “tabletop wind chime,” with its striking supple iron ring, produces a unique tone for each piece—even within the same model—due to slight variations in the thickness of the iron and the curves of the ring. The subtle variations inherent in handcrafted work lend each piece a distinctive tone, creating a rich expressiveness not found in mass-produced items. 

An iron skillet named “Tangetsu.” Taking advantage of iron’s excellent heat conductivity, it cooks food so that it remains tender on the inside while developing a fragrant, crispy crust on the outside. Designed without any chemical rust-preventive treatments, it allows you to enjoy the changing character of the iron as you use it. The subtle, uneven texture created during the forging process remains, giving the iron its unique character.

The ability to sell is also part of the craft.

The role of the 11th-generation artisan extends beyond simply crafting objects. At the gallery attached to the workshop, new commissions and projects often begin through conversations with visitors who actually handle the pieces. Through repeated dialogue with customers, the artisan discerns their intended uses and spatial needs, then creates sketches to present proposals. The perspective cultivated in other industries informs not only how the pieces are sold but also the crafting process itself. 

In addition to holding exhibition and sales events about once or twice a month at department stores and galleries outside the prefecture and in Tokyo, the studio has also been participating in overseas exhibitions in recent years, including the “Maison & Objet” trade show held in Paris. Iron crafts may not be a material that feels immediately approachable, unlike wood or glass. Nevertheless, the fact that there are quite a few repeat customers and collectors who keep coming back is likely due not only to the inherent power of the handcrafted pieces themselves but also to the studio’s careful cultivation of relationships with its users.

The Future of Hiromitsu Blacksmith Workshop, as Envisioned by Its 11th-Generation Master

The next challenge Mr. Shūsuke has set his sights on is charcoal-making. Charcoal, which is indispensable to blacksmithing, varies in quality depending on the raw materials and the duration of the heating process. By making his own charcoal, he aims to ensure a steady supply of high-quality charcoal while completing the entire crafting process from the very source of the materials. Mr. Shūsuke’s insatiable spirit of inquiry is poised to propel his blacksmith’s workshop to a whole new level.

The post Infusing the beauty of daily life into forged iron. Mr. Shūsuke Kotō, 11th-generation master blacksmith at “Hiromitsu Blacksmith Workshop” / Yasugi City, Shimane Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

“When I was in elementary school, I used to enjoy finding fragments of earthenware and piecing them together. That’s where it all began.” These are the words of Manabu Yamagami, who runs the “Jinjin-yō” pottery studio in Takazato, Ogimi Village, Okinawa Prefecture. After traveling throughout Japan, what “form of his own” did he discover at the foot of the Yanbaru mountains?

The Place I Kept Searching For

About a 45-minute drive north from the northern terminus of the Okinawa Expressway—Kyoda Interchange—lies a nature-rich area known as “Yanbaru,” where Mr. Yamagami’s studio, “Jinjin-yō,” and the adjacent “Gallery TATI” are located.

Mr. Yamagami, a native of Osaka Prefecture, was inspired to become a ceramic artist after finding a fragment of pottery near his home when he was a child. That formative experience sparked a deepening interest in clay and pottery, leading him to choose the path of ceramics as his career.

For the young Mr. Yamagami, collecting pottery shards was a pastime that captivated him just as much as riding his bike or playing baseball. Every time he dug into the land being developed for the World’s Fair, ancient pottery would emerge from the soil. His heart would race at the moment when traces of human hands from long ago would emerge. By the time he entered high school, it had become a habit for him to gaze at pottery from around the world in museums, and he began to vaguely imagine what it might be like to be a potter.

He considered pursuing higher education through baseball, a sport he was deeply committed to, but he sensed he had reached a limit. Although attending an art university was another option, he felt that a world spent endlessly drawing for entrance exams wasn’t right for him. Around that time, through a connection with his father—who was well-versed in the arts—he visited a potter who encouraged him, saying, “You can become a potter even without graduating from an art university.” Thus, Mr. Yamagami chose a path of traveling from one pottery-producing region to another, seeking only the necessary skills. He learned the potter’s wheel at the Seto Ceramic Training School in Aichi, studied glazes and Kiyomizu-yaki in Kyoto, and further honed his craft at a school in the tradition of the Vienna Workshop.

Having honed his skills in this way, Yamagami worked at a Kasama-yaki pottery studio in Ibaraki Prefecture before striking out on his own at the age of 27. He later moved through Mashiko, a pottery-producing region in Tochigi Prefecture, before settling in this area in 2004. It was a place he finally arrived at around the age of 45, after traveling through pottery-producing regions from Hokkaido to Kyushu and Okinawa.

When it comes to Okinawan pottery, known as “Yachimun,” it is characterized by its thick, substantial forms and dynamic designs. Among these, “Tsuboya-yaki”—which has been produced for generations in Tsuboya, Naha City—is synonymous with Yachimun. “Tsuboya-yaki has its own unique traditional production methods, so I was interested in it,” says Ms. Yamagami. She came all the way to Yanbaru not to pursue traditional craftsmanship, but to create her own original works. Captivated by the natural surroundings, the play of light, the unique culture, and the customs and events of each village, she began her creative journey in the Yanbaru region.

The environment shapes things

Mr. Yamagami, who had previously worked with Kasama-yaki and Mashiko-yaki, also created traditional pieces reminiscent of Mashiko-yaki and so-called “Yachimun” when he first arrived in Okinawa. “But once I came here, I wanted to recreate colors like green and the color of the ocean,” he says. “I thought it might be okay to explore the opposite of ‘beauty through function.’” As a result, his work began to evolve, incorporating the beauty of the ocean and stunning sunsets—the things he experienced—into the “function” (usability and practicality) of his pieces.

“I believe it’s the environment that shapes what we create.” These words resonate with the spirit of Matsuo Bashō, who once traveled throughout Japan, visiting beautiful landscapes and famous sites, and captured his impressions of the local nature in haiku. “As a ceramic artist, I don’t just strive to master technique for its own sake; rather, I strive to master the techniques needed to express what I see and feel in nature. That’s what makes it so irresistibly fascinating, and I believe that is the true, wholesome way to create.” Feeling nature and capturing it in form—this was the approach to creation that Mr. Yamagami had discovered.

A Fusion of Jomon and Coral

Mr. Yamagami’s pottery-making process begins with a trip to the ocean to collect shells and fragments of coral. He then creates the base of the vessel using a clay mixture of his own original blend—combining Okinawan clay with clays from Mino, Shigaraki, and other regions—and presses the collected coral fragments, both large and small, into the surface to create patterns. The technique is reminiscent of that used to make Jomon pottery.

“I thought it would be interesting to combine Jomon pottery with coral.” Jomon pottery features patterns created by braiding rope and pressing it firmly against the surface of the vessel. It’s also said that pressing the rope against the clay compacts it, making the pottery less prone to cracking. Rather than using only Okinawan clay, Yamagami creates thinner-walled vessels and applies patterns one by one using shells and coral instead of rope to compact the clay.

When I’m creating, I envision the ocean. The random patterns formed by coral reflect the beauty and transience of nature, which changes its appearance in the blink of an eye. I also intuitively add delicate bubble-like patterns using thin metal tubes. By using just a touch of an artificial tool, the effect becomes even more realistic—much like a chemical seasoning.

Finally, he applies pigment with a brush to each individual pattern. While imagining how the piece will look once fired, he varies the placement of the colors and their shades, and in this way, Mr. Yamagami’s work is completed.

Yanbaru-yaki

It has been over 20 years since Yamagami moved to the Yanbaru region and began creating her work. “It’s finally taking shape,” she says. Her pieces evoke the beauty of Okinawa’s ocean and have garnered a strong response from travelers who encounter them at Gallery TATI and at craft fairs such as “Igimi Teguma,” held annually in Ogimi Village, where the gallery is located. “While it’s wonderful to bring joy to others, I don’t create solely to please them; I believe that when I create with the intention of bringing joy to myself, others will be pleased as well.” Recently, she has also produced pieces that incorporate playful elements beyond mere practicality, such as beer mugs designed with hollow interiors filled with ceramic beads to produce a ringing sound. Although these are still in the prototype stage, they have been well-received by those around her, and she hopes to develop them into a series in the future.

Mr. Yamagami has long drawn attention within Okinawa for creating works that differ slightly from traditional Yachimun. The years he has spent engaging with the clay of various regions and conversing with the flames are now taking deep root in this land.

“I hope to give shape to ‘Yambaru-yaki’ here as the culmination of my pottery experiences across Japan. There’s still so much I want to do from here on out.”

The clay nurtured by the forests of Yanbaru, the light and wind of Okinawa—Yamagami’s work, which seeks to imbue all of these elements into the form of his pottery, is still a work in progress. Gallery TATI will continue to quietly yet steadfastly showcase the creations that emerge from this journey.

The post Pottery that emerges like haiku amidst the nature of Yanbaru. Manabu Yamagami of “Jinjin-yō” / Ogimi Village, Okinawa Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

In Hirosaki City—where it is said there were over 100 blacksmith shops during the feudal era—the Nigara family is known as a “prestigious” blacksmithing lineage that has carried on a 350-year tradition since first being commissioned by the Hirosaki Domain to forge swords. The Nigara family’s philosophy, embodied in the motto “Fine craftsmanship speaks for itself,” continues to guide their blade-making to this day.

From Sword Smithing to Farming and Fishing Tools, and On to Kitchen Knives

Japanese swords are primarily made of tamahagane, a type of steel with a higher purity than ordinary iron. While Western swords “cut by striking,” Japanese swords “slice through”—this is the key difference. Japanese kitchen knives have inherited this sword-making technique.

The Nigara Blade Forge was originally located near Hirosaki Castle. In 1949, the fifth-generation master blacksmith, Mr. Nigara Kunitoshi, transformed the family blacksmith shop into a limited liability company and moved it to its current location. At that time, in addition to farming tools such as sickles and hatchets, the forge also produced blades used on fishing vessels for Pacific salmon and trout; however, as demand for these products declined, the company began manufacturing kitchen knives around 1965.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kunitoshi is known nationwide as a swordsmith and has been designated as a Prefectural Intangible Cultural Property. Sword-making reportedly continued until the sixth-generation head, Mr. Shun Nigara.

The 6th-generation owner who laid the foundation for the “Nigara” brand

To create high-quality kitchen knives, Mr. Shun established his techniques not only through a craftsman’s intuition but also by grounding them in academic research. He studied metallurgical engineering and various theories, leaving behind a legacy of modernized knife-making techniques. When he began producing and releasing the Japanese kitchen knife brand “Yoshihisa,” infused with the techniques and spirit he had cultivated over the years, its popularity soared. He laid the foundation for the “Nigara” brand. This was born from the spirit of the Nigara family, whose motto was “Quality speaks for itself.”

Furthermore, in 1974, he established a steel division specializing in construction materials and incorporated the business as a corporation, which led to the refinement of welding techniques.

Since Shun had no heir, his nephew, Toshihisa Yoshizawa, succeeded him as the seventh-generation head of the family. “The Shun I remember was a man of few words. During the ‘Uchi-hajime’ Shinto ritual held on the second day of the New Year, he would forge knives alongside my father,” says Tsuyoshi Yoshizawa, the current president and eighth-generation head of the family.

“The act of creating things and the craft of making blades are a culture. This craft is born from tradition—it was created by our ancestors—and we cannot let it die out.”

Mr. Yoshizawa has expanded the company’s product range to include custom-made kitchen knives tailored to individual users and outdoor knives. He is also the driving force behind preserving the Nigara brand and its spirit to this day.

Judging the browning while navigating through 24 steps

“Knives are made by combining two materials: jigane and tamahagane,” says Mr. Yoshizawa. This is done to compensate for the weaknesses of each material, but he explains that it takes as many as 24 steps to complete the process.

The process begins at the First Factory, where a special powder is applied to bond the two materials together, and the blade is then placed in a 1,200-degree furnace for about 2 to 3 minutes. Once the iron turns orange, it is removed with tongs; Mr. Yoshizawa explains that judging the color of the heat at this stage is the most difficult and crucial step.

The iron is removed from the furnace and gradually shaped into a knife by hammering and stretching it with a mechanical hammer. Subtle adjustments are then made by hammering it further, followed by heating it to a high temperature and quenching it in water. To create a knife with both hardness and toughness, it is then tempered again at a high temperature.

Once this stage is complete, the next step is sharpening. “I’m not particularly dexterous, so it took me more than twice the effort of others, but it takes at least a year—though it varies by person—to get to the point where I can shape a knife to a certain degree. But it’s very rewarding,” Mr. Yoshizawa says firmly.

Light Edging to Improve Sharpness

Once the knives have taken their final shape, they move on to the sharpening process at Plant No. 2. The grinding machines used here were reportedly manufactured by the welding department of the Steel Structures Division.

First, hold the knife with your finger against the grinding wheel, starting from the end known as the “chin” and working toward the tip. While doing so, tilt the knife at an angle of about 25 degrees and sharpen it by sliding it sideways in small increments, taking care not to apply excessive force. Once both sides have been sharpened, the process moves on to “koba-zuke.” “Koba-zuke” involves sharpening the tip thinly on both sides to create a double-beveled edge, which improves the knife’s sharpness—an entire process that requires master craftsmanship. The finished knife features a pattern that stands out, resulting in a gleaming finish.

“Currently, we have a total of 30 employees across the Steel Structures Division and the Cutlery Division. While their levels of skill vary, we generally have each craftsman take sole responsibility for finishing a single knife. Of course, a senior craftsman performs the final inspection.”

A major characteristic of Nigara Cutlery Forge is that each craftsman is free to experiment with designs and other creative aspects. This freedom serves as the foundation for the “Nigara Brand.” Another defining feature of their in-house brand is the consistent quality of their products.

A facility dedicated to crafting specialized knives for cakes and pies, as well as preserving and passing on the skills of master craftsmen

“Fortunately, overseas demand from Asia, Europe, and the United States has been growing in recent years, and about 95% of our production is exported,” says Mr. Yoshizawa. “Most of these exports are thin, lightweight stainless steel knives that are known for their sharpness.”

Stainless steel knives are also made by combining two types of materials, but they are difficult to process and require nearly twice as much time to craft as iron knives. However, their main features are that they are lightweight and resistant to rust.

Furthermore, another major project has come their way: a collaboration with the French outdoor brand Opinel. This appears to be a first in Japan; the handle is designed by Opinel, while the blade is crafted by “Nigara Brand,” and the knives are part of a limited edition of just 2,500 pieces worldwide.

“Going forward, I’d like to take on the challenge of creating knives that can slice through cakes and pies cleanly,” says Yoshizawa, his dreams expanding. “Also, in the future, I hope to establish a facility dedicated to passing down the craftsmanship of master artisans, a tradition that is gradually being lost.”

The post “Nigara Cutlery Forge,” Carrying on a 350-Year Tradition of Cutlery Making / Hirosaki City, Aomori Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Izumo Taisha is known as the shrine of matchmaking. The massive shimenawa rope displayed in its Kagura Hall is an iconic sight that draws visitors’ eyes upward. The organization responsible for crafting this grand shimenawa is the Tonbara Branch of the Izumo Taisha Kan’no-kō Society, located in Iinan Town, Shimane Prefecture. The craft of shimenawa-making, which supports this land of myth, has been passed down as a source of pride for the town.

Giant Shimenawa Ropes Crafted in a Mountain Village Workshop

Iinan Town, located in Shimane Prefecture, is surrounded by the mountains of the Chugoku Range. It is a quiet place where snow falls in winter and is blessed with clear water and fertile fields. The “Izumo Taisha Kanno-kōsha Tonbara Branch” is responsible for crafting the large shimenawa (sacred straw ropes) at the “Oshimenawa Creation Hall” in the town. Mr. Wada serves as the branch’s representative, supporting the long-standing tradition of offering these ropes in this region.

The Tradition of Making Shimenawa Passed Down in the Mountains

The Tonbara Branch of the Izumo Taisha Agricultural Promotion Society is responsible for crafting one of the largest sacred straw ropes in Japan. Its destination is the Kagura-den Hall at Izumo Taisha, which attracts worshippers from all over the country. It measures approximately 13.6 meters in length and weighs about 5 tons. Its sheer scale is so impressive that first-time visitors instinctively stop in their tracks and look up in awe. However, the place where this magnificent shimenawa is created is a workshop located in a mountain village, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the tourist area.

The Connection Between the Giant Shimenawa and Iinan Town

The connection between Iinan Town and the giant shimenawa dates back to the 1950s. At that time, a branch of Izumo Taisha was located in the area. It is said that, as a result of this connection, local residents and worshippers began crafting shimenawa to dedicate to the shrine.

Later, in 1981, when the Izumo Taisha Kagura Hall was constructed, a request was made to create a new shimenawa. The result was a massive shimenawa measuring approximately 13.6 meters in length. To create a shimenawa of a size befitting the Kagura Hall, local residents joined forces to undertake the project. Work on the shimenawa continued, moving from the auditorium of Tonbara Elementary School to the gymnasium of the junior high school. Finally, in 2015, the “Great Shimenawa Creation Hall” was completed as a dedicated facility for shimenawa production.

The “Great Shimenawa Creation Hall,” which preserves the tradition of shimenawa to this day

Essentially, shimenawa serve as a “barrier” separating the realm where deities dwell from the world in which we live. Since ancient times, they have been displayed at shrines, household altars, and home entrances, becoming deeply ingrained in Japanese daily life. At the “Oshimenawa Creation Museum,” visitors can view photographs and materials that trace the history of shimenawa and learn about the local tradition of shimenawa-making that has been passed down through the generations.

Shimenawa woven with skilled craftsmanship

As you proceed further inside, a workshop opens up before you. There, artisans are busy weaving shimenawa ropes. Some weave, others prepare the core, and still others craft small components. The work progresses as each person fulfills their specific role. The scent of dried rice straw fills the air, and the soft sound of twisted straw bundles echoes quietly. The artisans take the straw in their hands and twist it with all their strength, shaping it into a single rope.

At first glance, making shimenawa may seem like a simple task, but creating ropes of uniform thickness requires skilled craftsmanship. How much force to apply when tightening the bundles of straw, and at what angle to twist them together—these nuances are acquired through years of experience.

Making a giant shimenawa to be hung at the Kagura Hall

While the creation of standard shimenawa ropes usually takes place in the back room of the Creative Center, the atmosphere inside changes dramatically when crafting the giant shimenawa to be hung at the Kagura Hall of Izumo Taisha. To create this massive rope, which measures approximately 13.6 meters, the entire building is utilized for the production process.

The giant shimenawa is not made from a single rope. It is completed by braiding multiple thick ropes and combining them. The process of bundling straw, twisting it together, and then assembling the structure requires a great deal of time and manpower.

Rice cultivation for rope-making also takes place in Iinan Town

The production of the giant shimenawa begins in the spring, with the rice planting. The basic principle is to use materials produced locally in Iinan Town, and there are rice paddies within the town specifically designated for shimenawa. The variety of glutinous rice grown here is called “Akaho Mochi.” It is stickier than ordinary glutinous rice and is characterized by its resistance to breaking when twisted into a rope. Such sturdy rice is essential for making massive ropes like the giant shimenawa.

Unlike rice grown for consumption, the rice used for shimenawa is harvested before the grains mature. This is because the stalks, while still green and with strong fibers, produce a stronger and more beautiful rope. The harvested rice is dried, bundled, and eventually twisted into rope. Freshly made shimenawa retains a faint hint of the rice’s green hue. Over time, the color fades, eventually transforming into the familiar, subdued brown seen at shrines.

The Kagura Hall will be renovated this summer

Toward the end of the production process, there is a stage known as “grand twisting.” This involves bundling together numerous thick ropes and twisting them into a single, massive rope. Since this is difficult to accomplish with machinery alone, it requires the combined strength of many people. In Iinan Town, volunteers are recruited to participate in this stage, and local residents and other willing helpers work together to complete the rope. It is said that a total of 800 people are involved in the creation of the giant shimenawa. The massive shimenawa is completed not only by the craftsmen but also through the efforts of the townspeople.

Shimenawa Making: From Iinan Town to the Whole Country

Once the craft center was established and the production process was opened to the public, the technique gained widespread recognition. Today, the center reportedly receives orders for shimenawa from shrines and facilities across Japan, as well as from overseas.

As a result, shimenawa production continues year-round at the center, even during periods when large shimenawa are not being made. The ropes come in a variety of sizes and serve various purposes; from those displayed at shrines to those used for decorating public facilities, the ropes woven in Izumo are shipped to locations all over the country.

Sharing our local pride with all of Japan and future generations

“Making shimenawa is a source of pride for this region,” says Mr. Wada. The shimenawa-making techniques developed here in Iinan Town have now spread throughout the country, becoming an integral part of places of worship across Japan.

At the same time, Iinan Town is facing an aging population. How to pass on the art of shimenawa-making to the next generation is a major challenge. Nevertheless, even today, straw is being bundled and ropes are being twisted in this town. This traditional craft, along with the pride of the community, is being passed down to all corners of Japan, overseas, and into the future.

The post The Tradition of Shimenawa Making Passed Down in Iinan Town, the Birthplace of Japan’s Largest Shimenawa—Izumo Taisha Kan’nōkōsha Tonbara Branch / Iinan Town, Shimane Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

The creators of large-scale Nebuta floats, known as “Nebuta masters,” are the artisans who shape the face of the Aomori Nebuta Festival. Among them, Hiroo Takenami is one of only seven people ever to have been awarded the title of “Nebuta Master”—a distinction granted to creators who have contributed to the Aomori Nebuta Festival through their exceptional skills over many years. While preserving the centuries-old tradition of Nebuta as a folk festival, he is also an artist who pushes the boundaries of Nebuta as a sculptural art form.

One of Japan’s premier fire festivals, a source of pride for Aomori City 

The Aomori Nebuta Festival is a summer festival held annually in Aomori City, Aomori Prefecture, from August 2 to 7. More than 20 large Nebuta floats parade through the city streets, accompanied by dancers known as “Haneto” who perform wild dances to the chant of “Rassera,” as well as musicians playing flutes and drums. During the festival, the city attracts more than 1 million visitors.

From a Local Folk Event to a Major Festival

Although it is now one of Japan’s most iconic festivals, its origins lie in a folk tradition. Throughout Aomori Prefecture—excluding the Nanbu region—various local festivals known as “Nebuta” or “Neputa” are held. While the names and forms vary by region, they share the same roots and are believed to have evolved from Tanabata customs. While there are various theories, one suggests the influence of “nemuri-nagashi” (a ritual to dispel drowsiness that hinders farm work), and that the name evolved from “neputē” (meaning “sleepy” in the Tsugaru dialect) to “Nebuta” or “Neputa.”

As for records of the Nebuta in Aomori City, an ancient document remains indicating that Nebuta floats were paraded in Ohama (present-day Aburakawa, Aomori City) in 1730 (the 15th year of the Kyōhō era). While this is considered the first recorded appearance of “Aomori Nebuta,” it is believed that the festival had actually been held as an annual event long before that, even if it was not formally documented.

“The Nebuta festivals throughout the prefecture, including Aomori City, have been passed down for hundreds of years solely through the dedication of the townspeople. I believe it is a truly rare and precious festival,” says Mr. Takenami. Over the long course of time, even as social conditions and the shape of the town have changed, Nebuta has been passed down and has continued to evolve. Behind this must surely lie the passionate dedication of the people of this land.

In modern times, while each neighborhood created and paraded its own Nebuta floats, the trend toward commercialization led to increasingly larger floats. Although the traditions of local Nebuta remained, the focus of the festival shifted to the “Aomori Nebuta Festival,” which is organized by corporations. Regarding the float builders, while the floats were originally crafted by skilled, Nebuta-loving locals, the larger floats came to be created by specialized builders—known as Nebuta-shi—who had honed their technical skills.

“Nebuta masters,” the creators of large-scale Nebuta floats

In the past, Nebuta and Neputa floats were made of washi paper and bamboo, with candles lit inside. They came in both doll-shaped and fan-shaped varieties, with the Aomori Nebuta primarily featuring the doll-shaped design. After World War II, as national highways were widened, the floats gradually evolved into their current wide, horizontal shape, and the materials used also advanced. Today, washi paper is attached to a wire frame, and LED lights are used for illumination.

As of 2025, there are about a dozen “Nebuta masters” who create these floats, and Mr. Takenami is one of them. Mr. Takenami says he begins thinking about the theme for the following year even before the current festival ends. The themes are primarily drawn from Kabuki, history, and legends. He coordinates the theme with the sponsoring company, researches literature and historical materials, develops a concept, and then draws the original artwork. Mr. Takenami describes this process of creating the original artwork as “the most important part of a Nebuta master’s work.” “Even with the same subject or scene, the expression varies depending on the creator’s individuality. It requires sensitivity in turning a captured scene into a painting, as well as a sense of color,” he explains. He completes the pencil sketch of the original artwork by around New Year’s and prepares the details, such as the face and limbs, in advance. In May, he moves to the “Rasseland,” a workshop dedicated to Nebuta. They build a framework using square timber pillars as a base, install lighting, apply Japanese paper, and proceed to the “kakigiri” stage, where they draw the faces and outlines in ink. The kakigiri stage is also a crucial part of the process; Takemura says that drawing the facial expressions, which determine the character’s look, “makes me nervous no matter how many times I do it.” Once this is finished, they apply patterns with wax and then use a mixture of paints and dyes to color the float using brushes, paintbrushes, and spray cans to complete it.

The Nebuta master does not perform all the work alone; carpentry, paper application, and lighting installation are handled by specialists and staff, with the Nebuta master serving as the on-site supervisor during these phases. The moment when the Nebuta, completed through the efforts of so many people, is loaded onto a cart—known as “taage”—is said to be exceptionally moving. From conception to completion, it takes a full year to create a Nebuta. While Mr. Takenami is one such example, there are also masters who handle multiple floats, and being a Nebuta master demands that level of skill.

“I was born to make Nebuta floats.” A life captivated by Nebuta

Mr. Takenami is originally from the former town of Kizukuri (now Tsugaru City). That town also had its own small, community-based Nebuta Festival, and the neighborhood association where Mr. Takenami was born and raised would send a float every year. He was captivated by those Nebuta floats from a young age. “I think it started when I was three. Apparently, I was a child who talked about nothing but Nebuta, Nebuta. Eventually, my family took me to see the big Nebuta floats in Aomori. And that’s when I became completely obsessed.”

At the age of 19, he began visiting the nebutah workshop of Chiba Sakuryu (the fifth-generation master) and started helping out. “Among the many creators, Mr. Chiba’s nebutah floats looked very stylish and fresh. So, I wanted to try assisting him. When I knocked on his door, he accepted me.” From then on, he devoted himself entirely to the craft, making his debut with a large-scale Nebuta float in 1989 at the age of 30. Since then, in addition to creating floats for the Aomori Nebuta Festival every year, he has played a central role in the industry, including working on Nebuta floats for tours to Budapest in 1996, the Tokyo Dome in 1998, and Los Angeles in 2007. In 2010, he established the “Nebuta Research Institute” to facilitate year-round activities. In 2023, at the age of 63, he was certified as the seventh-generation Nebuta Master.

“The things that were as precious to me as toys when I was a child remain just as precious to me even as an adult,” says Takenami with a smile. “Perhaps my values haven’t changed since I was three or four years old.” He adds, “Now, I believe I was born to make Nebuta floats.”

The three-dimensionality and colors breathe life into the Nebuta floats

Mr. Takenami says he doesn’t particularly like to depict battle scenes. “Most of my work features guardian deities that ward off evil and drive away demons, such as Kongo Rikishi and Nio statues,” he explains. Even when he depicts figures holding swords, he says they are often held not so much as weapons but to ward off evil. This is Mr. Takenami’s unique style and artistic expression. “It’s really hard to decide on a theme every year,” as Takenami says. Since approximately 23 Nebuta floats are produced for the Aomori Nebuta Festival each year—amounting to about 230 over a decade—it’s inevitable that themes will overlap with past floats, and scenes may repeat. “In the world of creation, where everyone has idols and ideals, the challenge lies in how to express my own unique voice,” he confides.

Amidst this, Takenami’s “sense of self” lies in creating a sense of depth and three-dimensionality in the Nebuta floats. “How do I arrange and fit the characters’ body parts within a cube measuring 9 meters wide, 7 meters deep, and 5 meters high? The way they’re placed completely changes how they look, so I’m particularly meticulous about that aspect,” he explains. Furthermore, he notes that the arrangement of colors is crucial. Takenami explains that he uses a single primary color—such as his favorite red—as a core, then arranges other hues around it as if scattering them out from that point. He uses color to convey a sense of power so that, during the actual festival, the Nebuta floats appear vigorous as they sway slowly toward the spectators lining the streets from afar. “I also make a conscious effort to draw ink lines that have a strong presence,” he adds. While painting the colors is often a collaborative effort with my staff, I draw every single ink line myself. That’s because the ink lines are what give the design its distinctive character.” It can be said that the heroic grandeur of the approaching Nebuta floats is brought to life through the ingenuity and hard work of the Nebuta masters.

It’s better not to lose to yourself than to lose to others

At the 2025 Aomori Nebuta Festival, Mr. Takenami won the Nebuta Grand Prize and the Best Creator Award for the Aomori Ryoyukai’s float, “Kaiō.” “Kaiō” will be on display at the Aomori City Culture, Tourism, and Exchange Facility, Nebuta no Ie Wa-Rasse, until August 9, 2026, when it will be replaced by the next award-winning float.

The year 2025 marked the 400th anniversary of the opening of Aomori Port. With this theme in mind, the float depicted the majestic figure of Poseidon, the guardian deity of the sea, rendered in a traditional Japanese style, as a way to reflect on Aomori City’s history—a history shaped by the sea—and to express hopes for its continued prosperity. Surrounding Poseidon, dressed as a Japanese warrior, are shachi (mythical creatures with the body of a fish and the head of a tiger) and fish-bodied dragons. At the rear, dolphins—which inhabit the waters off Aomori—were placed to emphasize that the setting is the Sea of Aomori. “The contrast between the color of the waves and the yellow tones of the shachi creates a strong visual impact,” said Takenami. “Additionally, for the ink-wash sections, I deliberately drew the lines representing Poseidon’s arms and ribs to be strong and rough,” said Takenami. Upon receiving the award, he commented, “I was able to express something truly powerful and impactful—this is what Nebuta is all about.” The award was a testament to Takenami’s unique artistic vision.

The Grand Prize-winning Nebuta float is placed in the most prominent spot in Wa-Rasse’s “Nebuta Hall.” Standing in front of “Kaiō,” Mr. Takenami said, “Every time I come here, it motivates me to return to this spot again next year. I create a Nebuta float every year, and I really struggle with it every time, but that struggle is also part of the fun. It’s not like a sport where you get clear, numerical results, so rather than aiming to beat others, I set a goal for myself: not to lose to myself. I refuse to compromise on anything when it comes to what my intuition tells me I want to create. I don’t tell anyone this, but I hold that principle—not losing to myself—in high regard.”

Thinking of the future, we’re giving Nebuta a new look

When Mr. Takenami first entered this field, being a Nebuta artist was not yet established as a profession. Even if he spent a year on a single piece, he couldn’t make a living from it. However, Nebuta has continued to grow and has become something we can be proud of on the world stage. People even come to Mr. Takenami, willing to relocate just to make Nebuta. “The people who come to us are the ones who will support the future of Nebuta. To ensure Nebuta’s legacy lives on, we must establish it as a profession so that these people can make a living as Nebuta artisans. By recognizing Nebuta’s value not just as a festival prop but as a work of art, can’t we expand its possibilities?” It was this conviction that led him to establish the research institute.

However, he says the institute faced strong opposition when it was first established. Many argued, “Nebuta is not art; it is, after all, just a festival.”

Nevertheless, Mr. Takenami continued to explore new possibilities for Nebuta based on the concept of “sculptures of paper and light.” He launched “NEBUTA STYLE,” a brand featuring interior goods and apparel made using Nebuta techniques, and created decorative objects for restaurants and hotels. By embracing this role as a sculptor, he built a sustainable livelihood. Moreover, these new products help spread the appeal of Nebuta. Mr. Takenami feels that as his dreams gradually come true, the attitudes of those around him have also begun to change.

Mr. Takenami’s goal for the future is to promote Nebuta more widely around the world as a form of Japanese culture and as a work of art crafted from washi paper. “When I’ve taken Nebuta to places like the United States and Budapest, the crowd gasped in awe the moment the lanterns were lit. Everyone was truly amazed and delighted. I’d like to take it to other countries, such as Europe, where people aren’t yet familiar with Nebuta.” As he spoke, Mr. Takenami’s eyes shone brightly, as if the eyes of the young boy who had always admired Nebuta were still there.

The post Carrying on tradition while embracing creativity. Nebuta artist Hiroo Takenami / Aomori City, Aomori Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

In the gallery of “Mifune Kiln,” nestled in the mountains, two types of pottery crafted by twin brothers are on display: “yakishime,” in which clay and fire create a powerful texture, and “seiji,” which captures light within its layered glazes. The younger brother, Hitomu Tsugane, chose the path of seiji, considered the most difficult form of pottery.

My Father’s Kiln: The Era of Everyday Tableware

The Mifune Kiln is located in a forest nestled in the mountains, a short distance from the city center. About 40 years ago, my father left his corporate job to study the techniques of Takada-yaki—a ceramic tradition with a history of some 400 years in Yatsushiro City, Kumamoto Prefecture—and eventually struck out on his own. That was the beginning of his journey, when he built his kiln here. While Takada-yaki is known for its celadon, my father did not pursue celadon. Instead, he focused on creating everyday tableware, such as ash-glazed pottery—using glazes made from plant ash derived from straw and wood—and powder-coated ware. It was an era when pottery studios were springing up everywhere amid a pottery boom, but my father’s pieces gained popularity, and on weekends, so many people visited the kiln that the parking lot could not accommodate them all.

From Pottery Studio to Artist: The Gamble of Celadon 

Raised in such an environment, Mr. Tsugane studied the fundamentals of ceramics at the nation’s only vocational school specializing in ceramics, located in Arita, Saga Prefecture, and returned to his hometown after graduation. Following graduation, he worked as his father’s right-hand man, producing dozens of tea bowls for daily use and receiving a lump-sum payment once the exhibition was over. It was a “craftsman”-like way of working, producing the required quantities in a predetermined form. However, the times had changed, and it had become difficult to sustain the kiln by simply making everyday tableware in a kiln nestled in the mountains and waiting for customers, as had been done before.

“We can’t go on like this.”

Realizing this, Tsugane began to consider a path focused not on quantity, but on engaging with the works themselves.

“If so, what should I do as an artist?”
When he asked himself this question, he arrived at celadon. It is considered one of the most difficult genres in the world of ceramics, and few potters attempt it. That is precisely why he wanted to master it. The origins of celadon date back to ancient China. When a transparent glaze is applied to the clay body and fired in an oxygen-deprived kiln, the iron in the glaze reacts to produce a blue hue. However, since glazes made from natural raw materials have unstable iron content, the final color varies depending on the clay body and the conditions of the fire. Producing the exact shade of blue one envisions is no easy task. Due to this difficulty, celadon was once said to be a craft that “ruins your livelihood if you try it.” With virtually no formal training available, Tsugane collected books and, supplementing his understanding of difficult concepts with other texts, pursued his research into celadon entirely on his own.
“I started working with celadon because I felt I couldn’t go on as I was, but once I began, I found myself becoming more and more engrossed in it.”

Thick Glaze, Thin Clay—The Art of Crafting Celadon 

At first, things went surprisingly smoothly. I even won an award at a regional exhibition. But when I entered the world of the Japan Craft Association, I was told, “That’s not celadon. Have you ever seen the real thing?”

In the world of the Japan Crafts Association, the evaluation criteria are completely different from those of regional exhibitions. It is a world where “whether it is authentic craftsmanship” is rigorously scrutinized, taking into account not only the quality of the work but also the materials, techniques, and historical context. Tsugane’s understanding was completely overturned. Celadon is not simply about appearing blue or green. Its defining characteristic is the application of an astonishingly thick layer of glaze. While the glaze on ordinary pottery is less than 1 millimeter thick, on celadon it is 2 millimeters or more, and in some cases exceeds 4 millimeters. Within this thick layer of glaze, light reacts with the iron content to produce that deep hue.

Because the glaze is so thick, the underlying vessel must be made extremely thin to achieve the desired elegance. However, the thinner the vessel, the more likely the clay is to collapse or warp during firing.
This is where the process of creating the clay itself becomes essential. Mr. Tsugane tested clays from all over Japan, gradually adjusting factors such as strength to withstand firing, ease of shaping, and stability in the finished piece to develop his own unique blend. Even when he thinks, “This is good,” he feels compelled to make further adjustments. It is a constant cycle.

The lines drawn by time. An expression called “crazing” 

Applying the glaze is just as labor-intensive. Three coats on the inside—drying and building up each layer—and three on the outside. Before firing, the piece looks so far from the finished product that one might doubt it will ever truly become celadon. Moreover, even the slightest change in conditions inside the kiln can easily throw off the color. “Depending on the oxygen levels alone, celadon can even take on a yellowish hue. It’s not about creating the color; rather, it’s about drawing out the coloration of the iron within the thickly applied glaze. That, I believe, is what celadon pottery is all about,” says Mr. Tsugane.

Among Tsugane’s works, the most distinctive are those known as “crazed celadon.” Crazing refers to the fine cracks that form on the surface of a piece as it cools after being removed from the kiln. In celadon, slight differences in the shrinkage rates of the clay and the glaze cause fine cracks to appear in the glaze. Some pieces look as if a thin layer of ice has formed, while others feature red lines created by rubbing vermilion into the cracks. Generally, these cracks are considered to occur by chance. However, Tsugane meticulously adjusts the thickness of the glaze, as well as the firing and cooling conditions, to deliberately shape the pattern of the cracks themselves into an integral part of the work’s expression.
Crackling does not necessarily occur the moment the piece is removed from the kiln. Sometimes, several days or even a month later, it may appear with a sudden “crack.” The red lines that emerge and the transparent lines that appear later—their interplay transforms the vessel’s appearance the more it is used.

What Defines the Quality of Celadon

Since being selected for the first time for the “Japan Traditional Crafts Exhibition”—Japan’s premier open-call exhibition organized by the Japan Crafts Association—Tsugane has gained increasing recognition, with his works even being purchased by the Imperial Household Agency. Furthermore, through achievements such as winning the “Japan Crafts Association Award,” he has established a solid reputation in the field of celadon. At the same time, however, he notes that attitudes toward awards have changed significantly over the past decade or so. In the past, winning an award would attract department store events, and customers would visit specifically to see the winning pieces. Now, however, more people choose tableware based on their personal taste, and Tsugane notes, “We are no longer in an era where awards decide everything.”
Nevertheless, what remains unwavering for him is the “dignity” expected of celadon. His goal is to achieve a water-like, clear blue known as “Uka-tensei” (the blue of the sky after rain). To approach this ideal, he studies the lineage of Chinese celadon and travels to China. He believes that understanding the roots provides a solid foundation for new forms of expression.

He uses a gas kiln. His philosophy is not to be particular about the type of kiln, but to choose the flame that best suits the work. For celadon, a strong, stable flame with few impurities is essential.

Furthermore, in recent years, the raw materials themselves are becoming scarce. Fewer people are digging for clay, and he has even been told that the clay he has used for many years “can no longer be obtained.”
Tsugane secures whatever clay he can while searching for new sources, and he meets with suppliers on-site to build relationships. “If there are no longer people digging for clay, we won’t be able to make our work either.”

It is perfected through use

My goal is to become a potter who makes people think, “Tsugane celadon is beautiful. I’d love to own one.” I don’t want to make pieces that are simply displayed in a box; I want to create tableware that is actually used at the dinner table—the kind that makes someone ask, “Whose is that?”

Celadon is understated, and the apprenticeship is long. The yield rate is by no means high. Yet, drawn to the dignity that lies beyond the difficulty, I never gave up. “Even master craftsmen over 70 have mountains of failed pieces in their scrap piles.” When I heard that, I felt the tension melt away.

“I’ll do this for the rest of my life.” I quietly savor those words.

A piece of pottery isn’t finished once it comes out of the kiln; it is gradually completed through use. Tsugane’s work, too, is being built up slowly in that same way.

The post “Mifune Kiln”: Where Light Shines Through in a Mountain Kiln / Mifune Town, Kamimashiki District, Kumamoto Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

“Yoheho~, yoheho~.”The “Yamaga Lantern Festival” features about a thousand women dancing gracefully to the folk song “Yoheho-bushi.” The lights flickering above the dancers’ heads are Yamaga lanterns, traditional crafts. Hirotaka Nakajima is the fourth-generation master of Yamaga lantern making. While grounded in tradition, he is not afraid to adapt to the times.

The ethereal lights flickering above the dancers’ heads are traditional crafts

————No bones, no flesh, Yoheho, Yoheho————

The “Yamaga Lantern Festival” features approximately 1,000 women dancing gracefully with supple movements to the folk song “Yoheho-bushi.” Held every August, it is a major event in Yamaga City that typically attracts over 100,000 visitors annually. Legend has it that the festival originated when the villagers of Yamaga guided Emperor Keiko, the 12th emperor, who had lost his way in thick fog, by holding torches aloft.​​The source of the fantastical light flickering above the dancers’ heads in the darkness of night is the “Kin-tōrō,” a type of Yamaga lantern that is a traditional craft.Although they appear to be made of metal from a distance, they are actually made of paper. Without using any wood or metal fittings, they are assembled into three-dimensional forms using only Japanese paper and a small amount of glue, weighing a mere 180 grams. Achieving the substantial and luxurious appearance that defies belief that they are made of paper requires exquisite craftsmanship, and their creation is entrusted to artisans known as “lantern masters.”

Hirotaka Nakashima is the fourth-generation member of a family of lantern makers with a history spanning over 100 years. While his great-grandfather and grandfather ran both a lantern-making business and a clock shop, his father’s generation focused solely on lantern-making, and today he operates “Yamaga Lantern Shop Nakashima,” a specialty store along the Buzen Kaido.Born as the second son in a family of lantern makers, Nakajima worked as a company employee until the age of 33. However, realizing that the craft would die out if none of his brothers took over the family business, he made a determined resolution. He became his father’s apprentice, entered the path of lantern making, and has continued on that path to this day.

He switched careers from a different industry and mastered the craft under his father, his master

Making the career switch from a different industry was not easy. Although he had watched his father create lanterns up close since childhood and had been training even before the switch, the skills of a traditional craftsman are not easily acquired. The production of Yamaga lanterns involves a continuous series of meticulous tasks that cause pain in the fingertips, eye strain, and stiff shoulders. It requires extraordinary concentration and perseverance. Moreover, he received relentless criticism from his father, his master.“But looking back now, I’m grateful to my father for treating me as a disciple rather than going easy on me just because I was his son,” says Nakajima. To be recognized as a lantern maker, one must undergo about 10 years of apprenticeship and have one’s skills acknowledged by other lantern makers. Nakajima received his certification in 2017, after he had already entered his 40s.

Yamaga lanterns feature traditional styles, including the aforementioned gold lanterns, as well as “Miyazukuri” (shrine-style), which takes inspiration from shrine and temple architecture such as main halls, gate towers, and five-story pagodas, and “Zashikizukuri” (parlor-style), which mimics traditional Japanese houses.In addition, there are many works created by the lantern makers themselves, resulting in a diverse and extensive range of styles. These are primarily used for the “dedicatory lanterns” described below, and some are designed to be displayed without a light. Furthermore, they are often displayed in local homes as substitutes for lanterns during the first Obon memorial service, and custom orders featuring family crests are also available.

There are three criteria for Yamaga lanterns: “use only hand-made Japanese paper and starch paste,” “the main components of the lantern must be hollow,” and “do not create overlapping edges on curved sections.”Consequently, the designs are free and diverse, with examples ranging from Benkei from the *Kanjincho* to trains and battleships. Among these, the gold lanterns attract particular attention, not only because they are the symbol of the Yamaga Lantern Festival but also because they represent a rite of passage for lantern artisans. They embody the full range of skills required of a lantern artisan, and successfully completing a gold lantern is considered the first step toward certification.

A traditional craft deeply rooted in the life of the local community

The creation of a gold lantern involves endless work precise to the millimeter.Thick washi paper, onto which the design has been traced, is cut and assembled. While this may sound simple, because the lantern is hollow and lacks a framework, its shape and structural integrity must be maintained solely through the layering of washi paper. This is why the Yamaga lantern is nicknamed the “boneless lantern.” This is also the reason behind the line in the folk song mentioned at the beginning: “No bones, no flesh.”

Since there are neither bones nor flesh, even the slightest misalignment in the layered washi paper causes the structure to collapse. And to ensure a perfect fit, the washi paper must be cut with absolute precision, without the slightest deviation. A gold lantern consists of approximately 200 parts and takes about three days from preparation to completion. Hearing Mr. Nakajima say, “To create a Yamaga lantern, you need the perseverance to see it through without losing focus,” I find myself nodding in agreement once again.

The lanterns made in this way are placed atop the dancers’ heads and are also used as dedication lanterns. Dedication lanterns are those commissioned by neighborhood associations and other groups from lantern artisans specifically for the festival; they are so named because they are dedicated to the local Ōmiya Shrine after being displayed during the festival period. There are no regulations regarding their shape, and the motifs are decided through consultation between the group and the lantern artisan.Every year, 27 to 28 lanterns are made, and after the dedication, they are stored and displayed in the “Lantern Hall” within the shrine. They are replaced with new lanterns one year later in August. “It happens every year, but it truly makes me happy when the clients are pleased. It’s the moment when I feel rewarded for all my hard work,” says Mr. Nakajima.

To Pass Tradition On to the Future, We Must Ask Questions

Legend has it that Yamaga lanterns originated about 2,000 years ago when the 12th Emperor Keikō was on a royal tour of the Tsukushi region and his path was blocked by thick fog; the people of Yamaga guided him using torches.Afterward, the people continued to offer torches to Omiya Shrine, which enshrines Emperor Keikō, and during the Muromachi period, these torches evolved into Yamaga lanterns. Then, in the Edo period, influential figures in the town began competing to create the most lavish lanterns for their offerings, leading to the full blossoming of the Yamaga lantern culture.

Currently, there are seven active lantern makers in total. Five of them are women and two are men, with most in their 50s and 60s.There are three apprentices aiming for certification. While the number of lantern makers has remained stagnant over the past few decades, all the apprentices are in their 20s. Nakajima believes, “The future of Yamaga lanterns is by no means a situation to be optimistic about, but it’s not one to be pessimistic about either.” However, he also notes that “questions” are necessary to pass the tradition on to the future.

“I want to expand the occasions where people purchase them not just for festivals, but as traditional crafts for everyday use. If their usage is limited, the tradition will only dwindle. To achieve that, I need to ask: What kinds of products will sell? How can we make Yamaga lanterns feel more accessible to consumers…?”

By constantly asking these questions, Nakajima strives to bring new creations to the world. “By making gradual updates in line with changing times and needs, there are surely traditions we can preserve.” Continuing to craft lanterns while holding these questions in mind—it is this accumulation of effort that will carry the light of Yamaga into the next generation.

The post Asking questions and keeping the light alive. “Yamaga Lantern Shop Nakashima” – Hirotaka Nakashima / Yamaga City, Kumamoto Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.