“Overglaze Painting and Me”

Every August, Hanada hosts its annual exhibition of works by Mansaku Nakao.
We visited his studio, where he was hard at work preparing for the exhibition, and sat down to talk with him.
The theme of this year’s interview was “Overglaze Painting and Me.” The distinctive rhythm and energy of Nakao’s brushwork are among the defining characteristics of his work. We asked him about his thoughts on painting, what it means to him, and the ideas behind it.

Thinking Hard… Drawing… Thinking Again…

Hanada: Mans-san (Mansaku Nakao is affectionately known as “Man-san” by those around him) originally worked designing patterns for kimono fabrics.

Mansaku Nakao: When I was eighteen, I apprenticed in Kyoto under a designer who created patterns for kimono fabrics. All day long, we would pull motifs from old art books and kimono design references—everything from komon patterns to sarasa designs—and come up with new compositions under our teacher’s guidance.
We had to produce at least ten designs a day, but honestly, at first I couldn’t come up with that many ideas. I’d think as hard as I could… draw… think some more… and then my teacher would say, “No, that’s not good enough.” In the beginning, almost everything I did was rejected.

Hanada： Ten kimono designs a day while still in your teens…

Mansaku Nakao: So at first, my teacher would sketch out a basic framework on paper and tell me, “Fill this area with this kind of motif.” That was my job all day long. There were three apprentices, plus the teacher—four of us together from morning to night. His desk was separate, but he sat right beside us, so there wasn’t much room for complaining. You couldn’t exactly chat either. It was tough. (laughs)
After two or three years of that, though, I gradually began to understand how patterns were constructed and started creating designs on my own. Eventually, some of our work was mixed into the master’s submissions for design exhibitions attended by kimono and textile manufacturers. That was about fifty years ago now…

Hanada： Fifty years ago…

Mansaku Nakao: Back then, I think a design sold for somewhere between 6,000 and 10,000 yen.

Hanada： That’s impressive. If you were producing ten designs a day, that sounds like a pretty good business.

Mansaku Nakao: Only if they sold. (laughs)

Off to Ito, Shizuoka

Hanada： And then you moved to Shizuoka.

Mansaku Nakao: I started getting migraines in Kyoto.
I thought, “I can’t stay somewhere this cold.”
So I started looking for somewhere warmer to live.

Hanada： Is Kyoto really that cold? (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao: Well, I was getting tired of it too…

Hanada： Ah, so that’s what it was.

Mansaku Nakao: I quit my job, went back to Osaka, borrowed train fare from my parents, and headed for Taiyokyo, a kimono manufacturer in Ito. Looking back, it was reckless. I didn’t call ahead or make any inquiries. I just showed up at the workshop and asked, “Would you hire me?” As luck would have it, the company president, who normally lived in Tokyo, happened to be visiting the workshop that day.

Hanada： That was fortunate.

Mansaku Nakao: Very fortunate.
I told him I’d been working in textile design in Kyoto, and somehow I ended up getting hired as an assistant. At that workshop, artists who exhibited at the Nitten and Inten exhibitions would come in as part-time painters. Back then, quite a few mid-career artists charged high prices for their work but still couldn’t actually make a living from painting alone…

Hanada： Thank you for that behind-the-scenes story. (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao: One of my first jobs was going around to collect paintings from those Inten artists. Before long, the president started asking me to design kimono patterns as well.

Hanada： And those designs were actually used on Taiyokyo’s kimono?

Mansaku Nakao: That’s right.

Hanada： What was it like seeing your own designs turned into kimono?

Mansaku Nakao: They became far better than the original drawings. Honestly, it was astonishing. There are so many techniques involved—adding gold leaf here, embroidery there, and so on. The entire garment is built through layers of different processes, so it becomes something completely different.
Being able to watch that transformation all the way through was invaluable. It taught me to design while imagining the finished result, which made the work much easier. And the art books in that workshop were incredible too—rare volumes that ordinary people like us could never have afforded.

Hanada： So you worked your way through them one after another.

Mansaku Nakao: When you’re young, knowledge just sinks in naturally, even if you’re not consciously trying to study. I don’t have any savings now, but that knowledge is still an asset. I’ve got plenty of wealth that doesn’t make any money. (laughs)

Hanada： But you’ve spent your life contributing to other people’s enjoyment and happiness.

Mansaku Nakao: Have I? (laughs)

Fulfilling Days

Mansaku Nakao: The president lived in Tokyo and only came to Ito about twice a week. Which meant, the rest of the time, he wasn’t there.

Hanada： (laughs) Nice. The complete opposite of Kyoto.

Mansaku Nakao: Exactly. Since it was an art-related job, I’d grab a sketchbook and say, “I’m heading out to sketch.” Of course, I wasn’t actually going sketching. (laughs) I became friends with someone who ran a beach house, so we’d borrow a boat and go fishing for horse mackerel.
In autumn, we’d head into the hills to dig for wild yams. There was a local guy a couple of years younger than me at the workshop too, and he taught me all sorts of local pastimes.

Hanada： Though I suppose you had to get some work done before the president showed up.

Mansaku Nakao: I always knew what needed doing, so I’d get it done quickly. As long as that was finished, everything was fine. I studied Nihonga painting, attended tea ceremony lessons… At night, I’d go to the Ito Public Library and spend hours reading.

Hanada： Those experiences really became the foundation of your current work. And it was around this time that you met Hideo Hata. When someone like Hata-san tells you, “You’re good at drawing,” that must have given you confidence.

Mansaku Nakao: He knew exactly how to flatter me. (laughs)

Hanada： You must have been completely fired up after hearing that.

Mansaku Nakao: He was very good at building people up. He’d say things like, “You know, you’d be well suited to ceramics…” in that thoughtful way of his. He was very good at that sort of thing.
Looking back now, I sometimes think, “How did he manage to praise work like that?” Because honestly, I was terrible back then.

Hanada： Maybe it wasn’t technical skill he saw. Perhaps he recognized something else in your work.

Mansaku Nakao: I’m grateful that he noticed something.

Hanada： He seemed to have an eye for young talent and for qualities that others might overlook. I was speaking with his son, Shoichi Hata, recently, and he said Hideo-san could simply “see” things.
Whether it was objects or people, he had a way of noticing things that most people would miss. Perhaps he saw that same spark in your drawings.

Mansaku Nakao: Take those old wire mochi-grilling racks, for example. Most people would never have paid attention to something like that.

Hanada： Looking at them now, they seem remarkably stylish.

Going to Meet Jiro Aoyama

Mansaku Nakao: Speaking of Ito, I also had the chance to meet Jiro Aoyama. It was around the time he bought a villa in Kawana, and I visited him a couple of times. He left quite an impression on me.
I owned the complete set of Shodo Geijutsu books that he had designed, so I carried the heavy volumes over to his place and asked for an autograph. I assumed writers and artists were always happy to sign things.

Hanada： Did he sign them?

Mansaku Nakao: He said, “It already says ‘Book Design by Jiro Aoyama’ on the back. Why do I need to write my name again?”

Hanada： (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao: And that was that. But somehow it didn’t feel unpleasant at all. His wife, who was sitting nearby, kept saying, “Oh, just sign it for him,” but he simply looked away and ignored us. Another time he took me upstairs and showed me a mud painting depicting western Izu, saying, “This is one of mine.”

Overglaze Decoration on Tableware

Hanada: After your fulfilling years in Ito, you moved to Kutani. You mentioned that at first, your work was almost entirely painting, right?

Mansaku Nakao : When people study ceramics, they usually start with forming and production techniques, so it takes a while before they get to painting. I came into it through painting, so my experience was a little different. I was already comfortable holding a brush. You know how people talk about a line having “character” or not? It’s not enough to simply paint. I think I understood that instinctively from the beginning.

Hanada: Did you notice any differences between designing patterns for kimono and painting on tableware?

Mansaku Nakao : Hmm… honestly, I didn’t think about it much.

Hanada: Oh… really? (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao : There were plenty of potters throwing pieces on the wheel, and there was no shortage of blanks. So I just painted everything they made.

Hanada: Did you ever draw on the pattern ideas you had developed while working with kimono?

Mansaku Nakao : At first I tried, but it just didn’t work. Tableware shouldn’t become an art piece. If it does, it stops being tableware.

Hanada: So you tried it, but it just didn’t feel right.

Mansaku Nakao : I realized it almost immediately. (laughs) I thought, “No, this isn’t it.” So I started thinking about patterns that were suited to tableware.

About the Net Pattern

Hanada: Are there any patterns you feel particularly attached to?

Mansaku Nakao : Not especially, but I’ve been drawing net patterns for a very long time.

Hanada: Your net pattern has a very distinctive rhythm to it. Has the feeling you have while painting it changed over the years?

Mansaku Nakao : Not really, but if I do too many, I start to hate it.

Hanada: (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao : You get tired of it. Fifty is probably my limit. As far as quantity goes.

Hanada: After that it starts becoming a chore.

Mansaku Nakao : When you’re drawing the same pattern over and over, you start thinking, “I wonder if I’m going to get tendonitis.” (laughs)

Hanada: That’s understandable. A repeating pattern means making exactly the same movement endlessly. It seems like it would require both patience and stamina.

Mansaku Nakao : In Arita, there are women who paint net patterns incredibly well.

Hanada: They draw them all day long, don’t they?

Mansaku Nakao : As net patterns, they’re probably better than I am. Though that’s a different thing from rhythm or expression.

Hanada: When you say “better,” do you mean closer to the traditional model?

Mansaku Nakao : There are all kinds of net patterns. Mine break off partway through.

Hanada: Sounds like the fish might escape through them. (laughs) Your net patterns are quite different from the ones we usually see. Even your brush sequence seems different. You make each stroke separately and distinctly…

Mansaku Nakao : Then I connect them together.

Hanada: It feels rhythmic and full of momentum.

What Ultimately Matters

Hanada: What is most important to you when painting tableware?

Mansaku Nakao : The clay body. For example, I bisque-fire at a slightly lower temperature than usual. If it’s fired too hard, the gosu(cobalt underglaze pigment) won’t penetrate properly. I also mix sand into the clay to create tiny gaps. That allows the gosu to soak into the body, and after the final firing, the painting, clay body, and glaze become more integrated.

Hanada: So you’re creating the conditions for the decoration to penetrate properly.

Mansaku Nakao : Old Imari ware was often fired for two or even three days straight. That’s probably part of why it turned out the way it did. Nowadays you can finish a firing in twelve hours, but something changes. It shows how important seemingly unnecessary time can be.

Hanada: So there was meaning behind it after all, even if we don’t know whether people at the time consciously intended it.

Mansaku Nakao : Take tofu, for example. In the old days, soybeans were soaked, ground, and strained before making tofu. Today, crushed soybeans are boiled and strained afterward. The unpleasant flavors come out along with everything else. The goal isn’t better tofu—it’s producing a lot at once.

Hanada: When quantity becomes the measure of value, that’s what happens. Of course, things don’t always move in that direction forever. That’s why we also need people who recognize the value of quality.

I Think I’d Be Good at It If I Tried

Hanada: Kotaro Matsuura from Shiga once told me, “I think Mansaku’s work comes closest to capturing the feeling of Ko-Sometsuke.” Not in the sense of direct imitation, but in the atmosphere of the firing and the painting. Many people imitate Ko-Sometsuke, though that’s not what you do. Still, that’s how it struck him.

Mansaku Nakao : As for imitating Ko-Sometsuke… I think I’d be pretty good at it if I tried.

Hanada: You’re saying that yourself! (laughs)

Originality Built on a Foundation

Mansaku Nakao : I choose not to.

Hanada: “Choose not to,” huh? (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao : Creating my own originals is more important to me than imitation.

Hanada: Perhaps the reason you can confidently talk about originality is because of the foundation you built by studying traditional work during your kimono years.

Mansaku Nakao : Those ten or twenty years from the age of eighteen…I guess all that time I wasted turned out to be useful after all. (laughs) It’s funny that things somehow worked out despite all that wasted time. (laughs)

What It Means to Be a Professional

Hanada: Even now, you’re constantly creating new patterns.

Mansaku Nakao : Because I’m always thinking about them. While eating, drinking coffee, taking a walk… I think that’s what being a professional means. It’s always in your head. I think it’s the same with shogi. You don’t need to know much about anything outside your work. A shogi player can devote himself entirely to shogi. Whether he’s in love or not… That’s not something other people need to worry about.

Hanada: You can’t become that absorbed out of obligation alone. In that sense, you were fortunate to find ceramics and painting.

What Makes a Good Pattern?

Hanada: What do you think makes a good pattern for tableware?

Mansaku Nakao : Whether it’s plain or decorated, good is good.

Hanada: I meant patterns…

Mansaku Nakao : A good vessel can be plain, white porcelain, lapis glaze, iron glaze—anything. Glass, woodwork, even a leaf from a tree.

Hanada: That’s true. (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao : If it’s enjoyable, that’s enough. If the person using it enjoys it, that’s what matters. Some people like busy decoration; others prefer plain surfaces.

Of Course There Are People Who Don’t Like My Work

Hanada: I hope many more new patterns continue to emerge.

Mansaku Nakao : Honestly, I’d like every piece to have a different design. Sometimes I’d dash it off quickly, other times draw it slowly and carefully. But there are people on the other side. As a maker, you also have to create things that suit the people choosing them. (laughs) You can’t force your preferences on them.

Hanada: You have to find a balance. It’s not entirely about catering to the user, either.

Mansaku Nakao : I’m fortunate that there are people who enjoy the things I like. Of course there are people who dislike my work. They probably don’t come to my exhibitions, so I simply never have to see them. (laughs)

In the End, White Porcelain

Hanada: Could you tell us about three works you’ve made that are particularly meaningful to you?

Mansaku Nakao : You mean things that have become standards for me?

Hanada: Standard works, yes…

Mansaku Nakao : White porcelain…

Hanada: (bursting into laughter) We’re supposed to be talking about decoration!

Mansaku Nakao : Right, right. Well, I like vine patterns and wari-tsuke patterns. And shinogi pieces without the iron-brown accent.

Hanada: This is a wonderful plate. Though it isn’t painted. (laughs)

Mansaku Nakao : In the end, things like this are the easiest to use.

Hanada: I suppose that’s the conclusion. (laughs) Thank you very much. We look forward to the exhibition.

Mansaku Nakao : I’ve made plenty of new work this time as well, so I hope everyone enjoys it!

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