No one visits the Shigaraki valley by chance. Its location in the deep south of Shiga Prefecture, at the terminus of a single, minor local train line where trains arrive once an hour, ensures that all travel here is deliberate. It is all the more remarkable, then, that this quiet valley is home to one of Japan’s oldest and most prominent ceramic traditions — one that has survived, and at times even thrived, over the last eight centuries.
Clay determines form, and this is especially true of Shigaraki pottery. Shigaraki clay is suited to large, sturdy, practical objects. Indeed, through the ages this type of pottery was the workhorse of Japanese ceramic traditions, its utility far outshining its aesthetic qualities until recent decades. This clay is coarse-grained — containing a mix of sand, feldspar, and trace metals — so much so that many Shigaraki objects feel rough and gritty to the touch.
The same mix of elements also accounts for its appearance when fired: Unglazed objects take on fiery shades of golden-orange and russet, as if they have absorbed the inferno of the kiln. With enough heat, their surfaces sometimes take on a scattering of white speckles from feldspar particles in the clay, an effect described by tea practitioners in the 15th century as resembling stars or crab’s eyes. Should wood ash in an extremely hot kiln fuse with the surface of a Shigaraki clay object, the result may be irregular patches of glassy green glaze.
Shigaraki ware in the early medieval period
There were a few, fleeting years during the mid-eighth century when it seemed as though Shigaraki might become the new imperial capital. After an insurrection led by a member of the Fujiwara clan in 740, Emperor Shōmu relocated from Heijō-kyō (present-day Nara City) to Kuni-kyō (now part of Kyoto), and ordered a palace (named “Kōka” in 744) to be built in the valley. Kōka’s roof tiles, fired with local clay, are often thought to be the origin of Shigaraki ware, although archaeological evidence remains somewhat inconclusive on this point. He briefly declared Kōka the capital in 745, before a series of natural disasters forced his return to Nara.
This short-lived period of political excitement aside, people had been trickling into the valley for at least a few centuries prior — native Japanese from elsewhere, as well as refugees from dynastic upheavals in Korea. They settled along rivers and built their homes on the valley slopes. In time, clusters of homes turned into villages. Shrines and temples were built, fields of rice grew tall and golden in autumn, and the giant trees of Shigaraki’s forests were felled for timber and sent by river to the imperial capital — first to Nara, and then later to Kyoto. Rural life in the valley carried on in much the same manner for some centuries thereafter.
Early potters were usually farmers. They made stoneware between the farming and foresting seasons, and sold the surplus at local markets. Until the early sixteenth century, the potters of Shigaraki primarily produced kame (wide-mouth vats), tsubo (narrow-necked jar), and suribachi (mortar or grating dish) — simple, practical shapes that were surprisingly versatile in their uses. Kame and tsubo, small and large, were used to store all manner of things — seeds, miso paste, soy sauce, home-brewed sake, vinegar, salt, pickles, honey, salted plums, even indigo dye. They also had ceremonial uses as ritual vessels and cinerary urns.
The impact of tea culture on Shigaraki ware
The first known references to tea in Japan date back to the eighth century. By at least the fifteenth century, if not earlier, tea drinking had spread from the monasteries and nobility to the social classes below, and tea itself had become a commercial item. With a growth in tea consumption came a corresponding need for storage jars, and Shigaraki, well-connected to cities like Uji, Kyoto, and Osaka by a network of rivers, was well-placed to supply the urban populace with vessels.
During the early decades of the fifteenth century, the preference was to store fine tea in imported Chinese jars for reasons of prestige, while lower-quality teas were stored in locally-manufactured jars. The average shopper in Kyoto had their choice of jars from Shigaraki, but also other pottery centres like Seto, Bizen, or Tamba. However, the decade-long Ōnin Wars (1467–77) would have significant economic and spiritual consequences. Chief among these for tea-drinking culture in Kyoto society was the adoption of Japanese-made tea jars for the best grades of tea. This was in part due to economic necessity. The war had left Kyoto devastated, with thousands of houses and residences reduced to ash, along with the innumerable Chinese treasures stored in monasteries and noble residences.
At the same time, a new — dare I say, fashionable — aesthetic emerged in the post-Ōnin decades. A new “wabi-suki” (or “wabi-cha”) tea style was developed by tea practitioner Murata Jukō and his circle, and it brought native stoneware like Shigaraki and Bizen ware into the fold of tea ceremony, rendering them aesthetically acceptable for the upper classes, who had until then exclusively used imported Chinese tea utensils. Regular tea jars became “found objects,” repurposed as flower vases and water jars in the tea room.
However, Shigaraki ware (or indeed most natively-made utensils) did not immediately nor completely displace the prestigious imports, and would not do so for centuries. Rather, as Jukō wrote, the aesthetic centered around “dissolving the boundaries between native and foreign,” and in practice one or two fine imports were surrounded by a mix of modest local pieces.
Shigaraki ware enjoyed a century or so of use for display and storage in the tea room, but this was not to last. The rustic “wabi-cha” style of drinking as championed by the tea masters Jukō, Takeno Joō, Sen no Rikyū flourished and declined in the space of around a century; to wit, it had become unfashionable to display Shigaraki jars in the tea room by the second quarter of the 17th century. After this, Shigaraki ware would only come to be appreciated once again on its aesthetic grounds with the Shigaraki boom of the late 1960s and early 1970s, bolstered by the grip of the “wabi-sabi” aesthetic on the global imagination.
Edo Japan: Tea jars become Shigaraki’s bread and butter
Fortunately, Shigaraki was not dependent on producing teaware for economic survival. The valley came under the control of the Tokugawa government that rose to power in 1603, and from around 1622 or 1632 (depending on which source one consults) Shigaraki kilns were tasked with making attractively glazed tea jars in which new Uji tea would be stored, and then presented annually to the government in Edo. These jars would be carried in a stately procession every year by dozens of porters and officials along the Tokaido highway that linked Kyoto and Edo, and this would continue until the end of the Edo period (1602-1868).
A large number of “official tea jars” were required; demand only grew over time. They were delineated according to the recipient’s status. “Superior” jars made from fine clay contained tea of the highest grades, and used for the shogun’s tea, or presented to the imperial court, as well as various shrines and temples (such as Nikko Shrine, where Tokugawa Ieyasu was interred). “Ordinary” jars made from coarser clay were for everyone and everything else. To name a few specifics, there were small jars for the pages and jars for general leftover tea, but also for the bakufu section officers’ leftover tea, the two Edo commissioners’ and various officials’ leftover tea. Lest one should have the slightest doubt about the importance of tea to the government (and the fastidiousness of these orders), there were also jars for “spare tea supply” and “emergency supply.”
Production of high-quality official tea jars meant that Shigaraki potters were no longer mere part-time potters, but now held professional status, although it is likely that many of them continued farming alongside. Thanks to their skill, these potters enjoyed high status and privilege within their communities. Most of their workshops were located in the village of Nagano, which is still the physical and cultural centre of pottery in Shigaraki today.
Besides the official tea jars, the Shigaraki kilns also continued to produce ordinary utilitarian wares — variants on the three shapes cited above — over the course of the Edo period. The use of simple glazes was commonplace across Japan by the late 16th century. In the valley, cobalt blue, copper green, mirror black glazes joined the standard repertoire of iron and ash; while the Nagano kilns were also noted for turning out russet-glazed “red wares.” The Edo period was a time of growth for the Shigaraki pottery industry, with 5 kilns in 1810 burgeoning to 26 by 1871. Its goods were shipped and sold all over the country; 17th-century tea jars have been found in places as widely scattered as Saitama, Ishikawa, Okayama, and Kumamoto.
Reimagining Shigaraki pottery during the Meiji era
In 1854, Japan was forced into trade with the United States, effectively marking the end of several centuries of highly limited relations with the rest of the world. A new era of trade had begun, with profound effects on patterns of daily life — and on the output of the Shigaraki kilns. Kerosene lamps and metal teapots supplanted their pottery counterparts within a few years. Not only did the collapse of the shogunate in 1868 eliminate Shigaraki’s monopoly on official tea jars, the jars themselves were already being replaced by tin-lined wooden chests.
In the late 19th century, Shigaraki kilns faced the question of what to make in this new world order. They experimented with new ideas and products, with varying degrees of success. Jars for storing acids for industrial use were launched in 1878 to great acclaim, and became a staple product at the kilns well into the first quarter of the 20th century. The ceramic silk-reeling kettle was another useful invention. By the turn of the century the Shigaraki kettles had replaced the French metal pots used at most silk-reeling factories, as they did not discolour the silk threads. (Non-tarnishing brass kettles would in turn oust ceramic kettles from popular use, but not until the 1930s.)
Another innovative Shigaraki first was the kisha dobin, or train teapot. Train passengers were able to purchase boxed lunches from station vendors by 1885, but one vendor by the name of Hagiyama Heibei realised accompanying his wares with hot green tea would improve sales. The first kisha dobin were made in 1892 by Murase Otojirō on Hagiyama’s request, and proved enormously popular and profitable. Other pottery centres such as Seto and Mino quickly caught on and began producing their own. The Shigaraki kilns would continue to produce kisha dobin until 1965, after which the pots were replaced by flimsy plastic versions.
Perhaps one of the most iconic creations to emerge from the early 20th century is the tanuki statue — the amiable, rotund, giant-testicled raccoon-dogs standing outside many restaurants.* Tanuki are the tricksters of Japanese folklore, and appear in all kinds of art throughout the centuries. But their contemporary appearance was the brainchild of the potter Fujiwara Tetsuzo, also known as Rian, who began making them shortly after the Russo-Japanese War (1904-5). In 1935, he settled in Shigaraki, and continued turning out tanuki figures. Other Shigaraki workshops began to produce their own, to the point where the tanuki became indelibly associated with the town.
Wartime Japan: Shigaraki enters its hibachi era
Americans may be familiar with the “hibachi” either as a small, charcoal-powered cooking stove or iron hot plate of the kind used in teppanyaki restaurants. In Japan, however, a hibachi refers to a brazier, essentially a cylindrical open-top container designed to hold burning charcoal, rather like a portable fireplace.
Shigaraki had been producing hibachi as early as 1792, but had previously focused on smaller objects due to the difficulties of transporting large, heavy wares. The rapid development of Japan’s rail network in the Meiji era eliminated these logistical issues. In 1920, the introduction of moulds on electrically-powered wheels allowed the kilns to dramatically increase production — and this was after hibachi had come to make up 50% of Shigaraki’s yearly output in 1918. By 1923, 70% of the valley’s total pottery production consisted of hibachi.
This continued well into the war years; Shigaraki was especially known for “namako” (sea cucumber) mottled blue-glazed hibachi. Many of them were exported overseas as Japan colonized Korea, Manchuria, and Southeast Asia. In 1942, the imperial palace ordered ceramic hibachi from Shigaraki to replace their bronze hibachi, which they had donated to the war effort, which the potters saw as a tremendous honour — “the privilege of their lifetime,” notes a memorial album published that same year.
Hibachi production subsequently took a backseat for a few years as the kilns prepared to manufacture brown-glazed grenades and mines on the government’s order — this was in case American forces should land in Japan. But no sooner had they started production in earnest that the war ended, and they were ordered by visiting American soldiers to destroy all of them. The postwar years saw a boom in hibachi sales as the nation rebuilt itself. Like so many times in Shigaraki’s history, this was not to last, as increasingly Westernised modes of living (and more efficient heating methods) led to a sharp drop in hibachi sales by the mid-1960s.
Shigaraki during the postwar years
The Mingei (folk craft) movement of the 20th century saw a widespread revival of interest in many rural craft traditions across Japan. It is rather characteristic of the Shigaraki potters as a whole that they had little interest in the movement, preferring to focus on how they would respond to changing market forces and better their economic circumstances. Conversely, most Shigaraki ceramics did not rouse the interest of mingei enthusiasts, save for a type of teapot with a brushed-on landscape design.
Shigaraki began manufacturing architectural tiles in the mid-1950s; it was clear by the 1960s that the kilns could no longer survive on hibachi production. The kilns also took to making glazed flower pots, planters, and other garden furniture, the demand for such items fuelled by a huge campaign that encouraged urban planting in the lead up to the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. Apartment dwellers, restaurants, coffee shops, and hotels all needed containers for their plants.
The Shigaraki boom of the 1960s and 70s described earlier in this piece inspired some to revive the early techniques of old Shigaraki ware, and others to take a more artistic bent to their ceramic production. Native-born potters, as well as outsiders who moved to the valley, began to consciously make tea ceremony wares and sculptural work that highlighted the qualities of local clay. For the first time in Shigaraki’s history, artists would begin to use its clay to make art.
Shigaraki ware in the modern era
The question of what to make remains as relevant as ever for Shigaraki in the modern age. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the town still produces the largest number of tanuki figures in Japan, supplementing architectural tiles and building materials which account for a little over half of the town’s total ceramics output. But there is now a greater diversity of Shigaraki ware than ever, including all kinds of tableware, and the creations of individual artist-potters operating in town.
Like many other pottery towns, it has also turned itself into a cultural and tourist destination for ceramics, beginning with the opening of the Shigaraki Ceramic Cultural Park in 1990. Since 1992, the yearly Artist-in-Residence program at the Institute of Ceramic Studies has welcomed a steady flow of contemporary ceramic artists from around the world, ensuring that Shigaraki remains relevant on the global stage.
Indeed, it seems to be in the artistic sphere where Shigaraki’s clay continues to break exciting ground. One recent example that comes to mind is Hyogo-born potter Keiko Masumoto’s creations for the Pokemon x Kogei exhibition: large, dramatic vessels, Fire-type Pokemon such as Charizard, Vulpix, and Moltres emerging like phoenixes from their voluptuous curves. The fiery shades of scarlet, brown, and white of Shigaraki ware proved an ideal match for these iconic creatures, breathing fresh life into this centuries-old tradition. Appropriately, this seems to echo Shigaraki’s story — how it has had to rise from the ashes time and again, and reinvent themselves for the future.
*Confusingly, tanuki are neither raccoons nor dogs.
Writer’s note: This essay draws heavily on art historian Louise Allison Cort’s seminal work, Shigaraki: Potter’s Valley, which I strongly recommend for further insights into this ceramic tradition. Any errors are my own.
Written by Florentyna Leow
Sources and further reading
Cort, Louise Allison. Shigaraki: Potter’s Valley. New York: Weatherhill. 2000.
Karasawa, Masahiro., Imai Yoko. “Masumoto Keiko [Ceramics].” Pokemon x Kogei: Playful Encounters of Pokemon and Japanese Craft. Tokyo: Ohkohchi Masahiko. 2024: 110-115.
Otsuki, Noriko. “Shigaraki Ware: Ceramics with two faces: industrial and artistic.” https://artsandculture.google.com/story/shigaraki-ware-art-research-center-ritsumeikan-university/fgUx6r1pabGzLQ?hl=en Accessed 1 March 2025.