It was February when I first carved Japanese linden wood to make my wooden brooches.

Kingfisher, grey wagtail, three subspecies of robins, cow, and horse — my brooches reflected things that I would encounter in the mountains and highlands near my apartment.

With five newly made brooches in my palms, I headed to small inns and bed-and-breakfasts in nearby tourist sites.

“These are just samples. I’ll make them and deliver them to you by April.”

In spite of walking in without an appointment, with much luck I got several orders.

I continued making and selling brooches to clients, and gradually, it became my career for ten years to deliver them to tourist spots like Hakuba, Tateshina, and Kamikochi in Nagano.

The “Children’s Scene” series in this photo were my homage to the little tin toys from former East Germany. I thought they would be a fun sight if I came across such little toys on my travels, so I made them based on this idea.

When I was in high school, I came across the book Women! by Juzo Itami on my brother’s bookshelf. In the book, the author — who lived in Europe and learned the Western way of life — tried to find faults in the Japanese lifestyle and called for improvements.

In the book, Juzo writes, “First of all, I’d like to say that spaghetti is not udon.” “Let’s spend more money on tableware. At least, don’t put chopsticks in glasses or used bottles of mayonnaise.”

Many people who were shocked and inspired by Juzo’s book have written about its impact. We were fascinated with his distinct, colloquial writing style, his unique perspective on the details of everyday life, and his assertiveness. In the passage "Things in Every Morning” in his book, he said,

“Why haven’t we designed a container that won’t make a mess of butter?”

I immediately looked into the fridge while holding the book and found a butter case that was cloudy with oil and looking pitiful.

Juzo continued, “How about thick, yellow pottery for a butter case?” I was struck by how pertinent his observation was that it left a scar on me.

It was a long time later, after I started woodworking, that the butter box suddenly came to mind. It was then that I finally resolved the butter box challenge.

I made the music box in the photo when my two daughters were around 3 years and 5 years old.

I used to go to the city to buy gifts for my daughters, but that often ended in failure. After several unsuccessful attempts, I started to make toys for my daughters like wooden animal figures, a spinning top, a music box, a child’s chair, a rocking horse, and a bowl and spoon for baby food.

The mechanism I installed in the music box is from Switzerland and makes sounds by turning the handle either right or left. It is well designed so that toddlers who are not good at turning handles can also enjoy music.

Toys remind me of the film Circus by the American sculptor Alexander Calder.

In the film, Calder shows off miniature circus figures and animals from a large suitcase. Like a puppeteer of Joruri (traditional Japanese puppet show), Calder demonstrates horse acrobatics, tightrope walking, and lion taming with his toys in his grim wild-like face.

The film conveys how free his spirit was, traversing easily between making big, modern sculptures and children’s toys. It seems that for Calder, there was no distinction between the two.

Jindainire is wood derived from the parts of trees that have been buried for a long time, often downed by typhoons or floods and then covered underground for over 1000 years.

I visited a lumber storage yard where only buried wood is stocked. The wood was more like a fossil than it was wood. It took on a black color and crumbled with the slightest touch. I thought the wood might return to soil. Jindainire changes by the power of nature underground, lending it a distinctive appearance and subtle nuance in color.

When I changed direction and specialized in tableware, I took it as a great opportunity to accomplish another task I had considered for a long time. Painting — that was what I wanted to do.

I had never learned to paint nor had I hoped to be a painter. I just liked the idea of painting for a long time. When I turned 40 years old, I thought the time had come. I would need to be full of energy if I want to paint for the rest of my life, so the timing was just right.

First I gathered and patched wooden boards and then painted them in white. I made tempera paint from scratch by mixing fresh egg yolks, resin, and pigments. It doesn’t have to be great. I just wanted to paint what I like and that would be fine.

Painting should be for oneself.

A snow scene is the most familiar landscape for me.

Snow through the windows, shimmering snow blanketing the roads, icy snowflakes falling on my face when I look up at the black sky. When I was a kid in my hometown Fukui, we had heavy snowfall every year that covered the first floor of the house completely.

White wall, white paper, white canvas, white shirts... when someone asks me about my most favorite color, I always answer white.

A long time ago, people all over the world were fascinated with the brilliance of Hakuji white porcelain. Attempts were then made to make white pottery using clay that resulted in different types of white vessels, like Kohiki (white slip ware), Shino ware, and Delft ware.

Like many people, I longed for white tableware.

Eventually I made this plum blossom dish and applied white urushi for the first time.

In regions where winter is long, plum blossom is an eagerly awaited sign of spring.

I made the plum blossom dish to bring such joy and anticipation for the warmer season, as if to adorn the room with a single flower.

A tree, once rooted, stands forever at the same spot. A tree grows leaves in spring, never forgets to absorb the water in summer, endures strong winds in autumn, and hibernates in winter. Animals may wonder if a tree gets bored, but the tree would answer, “We’re busy all year round doing one thing or another.”

Animals with strong desires are easily bored when they have the same routine every day. If we didn’t get bored and get jealous, we would be more than happy and peaceful everyday. Being an animal is nothing like being a plant.

Our lives are based on routines repeating every day, so it is important that we find a way to live happily without getting bored. As one solution to this, humans might have invented cooking and creating tableware to enjoy every meal as much as possible.

That’s why in my home, fukinotou tempura (battered then deep-fried butterbur sprout) or deep-fried spring rolls are served on this white urushi, rounded square plate.

In 2012, I participated in an event^* under the name of 12cm Shop. 12cm is often used as the size of Japanese rice bowls and soup bowls.

Such measurements, which are determined by human bodies and actions, are fun to know. The diameter of the pitcher in the left photo is 7.5cm, which is the same diameter as the large bottle of beer. It is said that 7.5cm is easy to grab with one hand.

In the same year, I participated in the inaugural Seikatsu Kogei Festival in Setouchi, a region along the Seto inland sea.

Another craft festival called Rokku Craft Street was also held on the street in front of 10cm Shop.

So many events have happened in the world in the 28 years that I was a part of the Matsumoto Craft Fair.

Finally, I thought it was time to do something different.

For the Seikatsu Kogei festival, I often visited Takamatsu. After arriving at Takamatsu station, I got on a small ferry to Megijima island at a port near the station. The sea breeze felt nice. I loved the quiet but sparkling surface of the Setouchi sea.

It has been a while since I last visited. I really want to see the sea again.

*Ginza Mekiki Hyakkagai at Matsuya Ginza

I have handled many types of wood out of curiosity, but zelkova was the only exception. I had tried not to use it, as it was honestly not my favorite at all.

For example, the powerful grain in Funa-dansu (shipboard chest) made with zelkova is emphasized by urushi finishing. And because of its iron hardware, which looks like armor fixed firmly to wood, the appearance of Funa-dansu seems just as aggressive as a Samurai of the Sengoku period. I would say that’s too much.

As another example, Agarikamachi—the thick wood board at the front edge of the entranceways on Japanese houses—is also made with zelkova. Its presence dominates the entrance as if it owned the place and ruins the harmony of the interior.

Zelkova always seemed selfish, self-centered, and ostentatious in its luxury.

One day, I asked Kijiya (Japanese woodworkers particularly engaged in wood turning) to make a few small plates using their zelkova wood. Once I applied urushi over the small zelkova plates, its rough grains repelled the glaze to express a distinctive and beautiful character (the natural effect is called Mehajiki).

I admit, I might have had a prejudice against zelkova. When zelkova is used for small woodcraft by the right person in the right context, it can be pretty decent. After all, it depends on how it is to be used.

Now I feel like I want to apologize to zelkova.

My morning ritual is to brew pour-over coffee.

I fill the kettle halfway with fresh water and then put it to boil. A canister in my kitchen is always filled with my favorite coffee beans.

The accurate ratio of coffee beans to water is 4 scoops to 400cc of water for two. After grinding beans with a coffee mill, I then put the ground coffee into a paper filter over a dripper.

The first step is letting the ground coffee bloom with a little hot water.

The liquid then slowly drips a rich, chocolate color while I pour the remaining amount of hot water. This process seems most important. Curiously, every day I do the same steps, but the taste of coffee always varies.

I use the white urushi soba choko as my coffee cup.

I would say, the more I am fascinated with something, the more I am curious about the tools around it. Gradually my collection of tools for making coffee grows.

The Japanese have cherished both the weak and the poor simultaneously.

It means that we admire beauty in the way of Wabi-sabi or in things just found at our feet, rather than valuing perfection or its justification.

We adore a cup of tea in a humble tea room rather than at a fancy dinner in a luxurious banquet. We appreciate someone who lives frugally and supports disadvantaged people, instead of a person who is a great leader with power.

Many people were uncomfortable with the vanity, greed and extravagance associated with the bubble economy before it burst. To regain our lost sense of self from the illusions we indulged about the economy, we spent more time with families and focused on living within our means. Seikatsu Kogei was born to meet such demands and needs.

Most things created as Seikatsu Kogei, like daily tableware, are simple, plain, and quiet—without golden glow or excessive decoration to feast our eyes upon.

However, such things might have been necessary for us to recover a lifestyle that was lost in the modernization of Japan. The rooms in a house really only breathe and become lively when people live in it. Similarly, our hollowed-out life might just need crafts of the weak and poor to be fulfilled yet again.