Some sixty miles north of Tokyo is a village deep in the mountains. It is a quiet, bucolic place for most of the year, swathes of fields and farms interspersed with forests and more concentrated areas of human activity — about as much activity as 22,000-odd people can generate, anyway. But twice a year, the downtown center of this village overflows with life and sound. Some 600,000 visitors descend upon its streets, where as many as 600 temporary stalls have been set up, their shelves stacked with a dizzying array of ceramics in all shapes and sizes, from cups and plates to milk jugs and soup bowls. Some are here to browse. Others arrive with empty suitcases. Yet others are here to meet the makers, to rub shoulders with ceramicists young and old, who have emerged from their studios and kilns for this event.
This village is Mashiko, and this event is the Mashiko Pottery Fair. Held annually since 1966 during the Golden Week holidays in spring, and again in the fall around 3 November, it is one of Tochigi Prefecture’s few claims to fame. (A few others include gyoza, strawberries, and Tokugawa Ieyasu’s mausoleum in Nikko.) Given Mashiko’s proximity to Tokyo, the fair has become a favourite with tourists travelling around the Kanto region. A report published in 2009 estimated the overall economic ripple effect of the fair on Mashiko at JPY1.72 bn (approximately USD11.2m), of which spending on ceramics averaged out at JPY4,829 per person. That was when visitor numbers were half of what they are now.
A primer on Mashiko ware
Broadly speaking, Mashiko ware is functional. Look up any description of Mashiko’s ceramics, and terms like “rustic,” “traditional,” “simple,” “thick,” and “earthy” often crop up. Some of this reflects its practical nature. Early Mashiko ware in particular consisted of kitchenware used by regular working-class folk, which meant robust forms that could withstand frequent use. But more crucially, the characteristics of Mashiko’s ceramics come down to the clay.
People have made pottery in Mashiko for millennia, as seen by local farmers regularly finding shards and fragments dating back to the Jomon period. The land is simply that rich in clay deposits — entire hills of clay strata in various shades of white, ochre, and turmeric that British potter Florian Gadsby describes as resembling “plundered yellow gold”. It is rich in iron, which gives the refined clay its distinctive reddish colour. An oft-repeated claim is that this clay contains a higher-than-normal amount of air bubbles, making it unsuitable for making delicate items — perhaps because too much air would result in a porous and structurally brittle product. One certainly couldn’t accuse a well-made Mashiko ceramic of being anything other than sturdy and reliable.
Straight from the mountains, Mashiko’s clay is coarse and sandy and sticky, requiring long hours of processing and wedging to make it plastic and usable, and not crack or crumble when worked. This is clay that translates beautifully into practical items — plates one might eat from every day rather than save for special occasions, or vessels with heft and presence, things that feel good to hold in one's hands.
It seems fitting, then, that Mashiko ware often features thick glazes, derived from readily-available materials like stone, scrap iron, sand, and rice husks. There is the “standard” creamy white “namijiro” glaze made with sand and limestone, which turns semi-transparent when fired; add 10% manganese oxide to this, and the result is a gorgeous, glossy toffee brown, fittingly named “ame” or “candy” glaze. A mix of wood, husk, and straw ashes from the rice harvest along with fine high-silica clay and feldspar yields the milky white, almost opalescent “nukajiro” or “rice bran” glaze. Add around 3-4% copper oxide, and you have “nukaseiji,” a green-blue glaze resembling celadon.
Most recognisable of all is Mashiko’s signature “persimmon” “kaki-aka” glaze made from Ashinuma stone, a type of tuff (volcanic ash rock) high in iron oxide, which results in a deep reddish-brown when fired. This is often paired with black glaze, which takes the aforementioned persimmon as a base glaze and incorporates other materials. Some potters might blend in a mixture of standard white and rice bran glazes; others, like Australian potter Euan Craig, will add a touch of cobalt to increase the density of the black.
In the beginning
Compared to other schools of Japanese pottery, the story of Mashiko ware is a relatively recent one. It begins in 1853 with a man named Keisaburō Otsuka, who had moved to Mashiko as the adopted son-in-law of local farmer Heibei Otsuka. Born in the neighbouring town of Mogi, he had grown up in Kasama (present-day Ibaraki), and learned about kiln management and ceramic production techniques. Farming alone was not enough to make a living, and finding the local clay eminently suitable, he decided to produce pottery as a side business.
While the government forbade him from using his first kiln — he’d built it on a hill in his garden, which was deemed a fire hazard — the local lord of the Kurobane clan was keen on encouraging the growth of the ceramics industry, and gifted Keisaburo with some land in Negoya where there was less risk of fire. Later, Keisaburo established the Kurobane clan’s first official kiln with the help of a friend, and set about producing daily necessities like bottles, kettles, large water jars, plates, Yukihira pots, and spouted bowls for sake. It was easy enough to transport these goods to Edo (present-day Tokyo) via boat along the Kinugawa River, furnishing its citizens with a steady supply of kitchenware.
The waxing and waning of Mashiko’s fortunes
The number of ceramic manufacturers operating out of Mashiko grew over the subsequent decades. Mashiko ware was highly sought after, so popular that even poorly-made, mass-produced ceramics were sent to market and sold. But the drop in overall quality tarnished the village’s reputation for pottery, and exports of Mashiko ware to the US ceased for a time.
The winds of change continued to blow. Even as the Mashiko Ceramics Association was founded in 1903 to train skilled craftspeople, demand for ceramics was falling, as an increasing number of households transitioned to coal gas — Mashiko ceramics would crack over open fire — and using glass or metal utensils. At one point, sales slowed so much that the village suspended production for a month in 1920.
Then, an unexpected windfall came in the form of the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923: demand for Mashiko ware soared, as Tokyo’s citizenry sought to replace kitchenware lost to the disaster. Mashiko’s ceramics industry would continue to struggle with bouts of recession between the two world wars, but also keep adapting to the demands of modern consumers.
In pursuit of beauty
Mashiko ware might well have remained a purely utilitarian product, had it not been for a certain potter named Shōji Hamada, who is most often credited with bringing Mashiko to a global audience.
Well-travelled and cosmopolitan, Hamada was initially an outsider when he moved to Mashiko in 1924. His arrival came on the heels of three years spent in England, with his close friend Bernard Leach; and several months staying with the well-known potter Kawai Kanjirō. It was around then that Hamada and Kawai met with Sōetsu Yanagi, and the three of them coined the term ‘mingei’ — the ‘art of the people’ or ‘folk craft,’ to express the particular beauty found in handmade, heartfelt (as opposed to coldly intellectual) works in the mode of the anonymous craftsperson. This was the seed of the Mingei movement, which would greatly impact the evolution of traditional craft industries over the course of the 20th century.
For the first six years of his life in Mashiko — and perhaps even longer — the locals suspected him of being a Communist, and it was difficult for him to rent a place to live. Even after marrying and becoming a father of two, the Hamadas still had to move to a new place every year; they eventually solved this problem by becoming landowners. Their first house was purchased from a local drunkard, moved piece by piece in its entirety, and reassembled on the ground. It is still there on the 16-odd acres of land now owned by Hamada’s descendants, who followed in his footsteps and became ceramicists themselves.
Hamada’s way of working upset the community of established potters and wholesalers in Mashiko. He used traditional techniques, but improved upon them, for example, by using a clear glaze underneath the traditional persimmon to enhance its colour and luster, an approach now used by other potters. He produced ceramics in his own style rather than the purely practical objects made by his peers. He held exhibitions — international ones, no less! — and his pieces sold for far more than pottery made in the village. Steadfast in his ideals, he continued to champion individual handmade crafts at a time when others looked towards more efficient modern production methods.
Time would allow him to have the last laugh. The Mingei movement helped shine a light on not only his works but also Mashiko itself; so extensive was his influence that he was designated a Living National Treasure in 1955, the first person in a craft-related field to receive this title. Inspired by Hamada, other potters in the village began consciously making ceramics that weren’t purely utilitarian. Young artists flocked to Mashiko to apprentice under the man himself. One of these was Tatsuzō Shimaoka, who would become the village’s second Living National Treasure in 1996.
Present-day Mashiko
Today, Mashiko thrives as a domestic and international hub for ceramics. Indeed, it would not be an exaggeration to say that much of Mashiko’s identity in the present day revolves around its ceramic culture. At the time of writing, there are around 250 active workshops and 50 kilns in the town, not to mention various museums and galleries dedicated to ceramics. Of particular note are venues like the Shōji Hamada Memorial Museum, where visitors can see his former studio and climbing kilns; and the Mashiko Museum of Ceramic Art in Jonaizaka, whose exhibitions often feature local ceramic artists.
What does the future hold for Mashiko? Half a century after Hamada’s death, aspiring potters from within Japan and around the world continue to make the pilgrimage to Mashiko, hoping to apprentice with local masters, or perhaps sell their wares at the Pottery Fair. There is a far greater variety of ceramics produced here now than during Hamada’s time — not only “traditional” Mashiko ware with persimmon glaze and slipware decoration, but also individual, expressive styles that reflect their makers, and more formulaic factory-made commodities. One thing is certain: The effects of Shōji Hamada’s legacy will continue to make themselves felt, as the story of Mashiko ware continues to unfold.
Written by Florentyna Leow
SOURCES
Gadsby, Florian. By My Hands: A Potter’s Apprenticeship. Particular Books, 2023.
Peterson, Susan. Shoji Hamada: A Potter’s Life and Work. Herbert Press, 2020.
Craig, Euan. “Glazed Expression.” Euan Craig, https://euancraig.web.fc2.com/essay-glazedexpr.html. Accessed 3 February 2025.
Kogei Japan. “Mashikoyaki.” https://kogeijapan.com/locale/ja_JP/mashikoyaki/. Accessed 3 February 2025.
Mashikoyaki Kamamoto Yokoyama. https://tougei.net/tougei/detail/dekirumade/%e7%9b%8a%e5%ad%90%e7%84%bc%e3%81%ae%e6%ad%b4%e5%8f%b2. Accessed 3 February 2025.
Sayado Wadagama. “History of Mashiko ware.” https://wadagama.mashiko.com/en/pages/%E7%9B%8A%E5%AD%90%E7%84%BC%E3%81%AE%E6%AD%B4%E5%8F%B2. Accessed 3 February 2025.