Pre‑Exhibition Interview: Kazuhiko Kudo

Hanada: Could you tell us about the path that led you to your current work?

Kazuhiko Kudo:
I was originally interested in painting and enrolled in the design department of a technical high school.
There happened to be a ceramics club there. Most of the members were actually teachers (laughs).
It had this atmosphere of a hobby circle for the faculty, and I happened to join in. The teachers looked like they were having such a great time that I decided to join the club.
Then we had the opportunity to sell our works at the school festival, and the response was unexpectedly good.
I thought, “How amazing that something I made just because I liked it could make people so happy.”
That woke something up in me, and from then on, during summer and winter breaks, I traveled alone to pottery regions around Japan—Shigaraki, Bizen… mostly hitchhiking because I had no money.

Hanada: That proactive spirit is very you.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Nowadays it feels more common for young people, but back then high school students hardly ever visited kilns.
So everyone welcomed me, treated me to meals, even gave me pocket money. Wonderful people (laughs).
That’s when I decided to become a ceramic artist.

Hanada: And that led you to visit Shigaraki potter Ms. Kiyoko Kouyama.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Yes, right after graduating high school. She turned me down at first, but after visiting several times, she accepted me.
I studied under her for three years.

Hanada: And you had many encounters there as well.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Through Ms. Kouyama’s involvement in founding the bone marrow bank, I also connected with people in welfare fields.And there I saw something unforgettable:
Elderly individuals with intellectual disabilities creating objects—works that possessed something instinctive, a certain raw power, a strong sense of presence.
It was fundamentally different from what I had been making.
I think I felt the pure essence of creation there.
Because of that experience, I worked for two years as a vocational instructor at a prefectural welfare facility in Shiga.
Later, a new facility was planned in Kenbuchi, Hokkaido, and I was invited to join.
During the site visit, what I saw was a landscape of pure clay—the entire construction site was clay.
The director and I immediately agreed that we should use that clay to make pottery. It was an instant decision.
I taught pottery there for two years, and in 1996 began the ceramic work I do now.

Hanada: A series of instantaneous decisions . When I look back at my own life, impulsive and intuitive decisions often become major turning points. Now, I’ve heard that developing your Yellow‑kohiki pieces was quite a struggle.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
It took five years to complete.At the time, I was the only one using that clay.
Even in Hokkaido, local clay was mainly used for bricks and pipes, not tableware.
The clay here is difficult to handle—prone to cracking when dried, with low fire resistance.
But it’s unusual and incredibly attractive—something about it pulls you in.
When I consulted the local geological research institute, I happened to meet Mr. Yahata, a specialist in Kenbuchi clay.He told me the clay was 200 million years old.
And that the yellow dust found in it had traveled from Siberia by air currents about 45,000 years ago.
It’s a geological material not found elsewhere in Japan.

Hanada: Two hundred million years—that’s before the age of dinosaurs.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
My imagination just exploded. I was completely fired up.

Hanada: And you were determined to make it your own.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Yes—my switch flipped completely.

Hanada: The clay is very fine‑grained, right? That sounds like it could be an advantage.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
It’s difficult to handle, but if you use its uniqueness well, it becomes a strength. If I could master it, I’d be the first in the world to do so. It would become my original material.
Because the clay is fine and sticky, it allows me to make thin yet sturdy pieces.By using those strengths while gradually solving the problems, I made progress. It’s also important to me to use local materials.
Working with local plants and clay while developing my own techniques deepens my attachment to the work.
Pottery inevitably reflects the climate of its land. If I’m in Hokkaido, I want to use its materials fully.

Hanada: You even dig the clay yourself with a shovel.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Yes. I use only what I can take from the earth myself. If I don’t dig it myself, I feel I would lose humility—and something important might slip away.

Hanada: Your work is simple yet truly one‑of‑a‑kind.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
I try to stay conscious of how the maker’s inner world appears in the work. You must be prepared for that. I aim for strength within simplicity. Excessive self‑assertion isn’t good.

Hanada: Originality and self‑assertion are different things.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
If the maker asserts too much, I feel it becomes harder for the user to connect with the vessel. Once it leaves my hands, it belongs to the user.
I want to leave room—space where the user can bring their own feelings. I don’t want to fill everything with my own expression.

Hanada: A vessel exists in the user’s hands far longer than in the maker’s. Tableware isn’t made to be made or sold—it exists to be used. Of course, making something sturdy is a prerequisite.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Exactly. I aim to make vessels that fascinate people when they plate food or use them.

Hanada: Your warmth and brightness come through naturally in your work. Your fans seem to have grown.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Yes—many people aren’t just customers but supporters. I’m very grateful.

Hanada: That’s because of who you are! (laughs)

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Living in Hokkaido lately, I’ve been thinking—new culture usually enters Japan from the west.
Just as Kohiki came from the Korean Peninsula, it reaches Hokkaido last geographically. Maybe Hokkaido is the anchor of pottery culture.
There are still few ceramic artists here, and to me, working with clay in Hokkaido feels like climbing an unexplored peak.
Having lived in Shigaraki, I feel the contrast between established and non‑established production regions even more strongly.
Being in a developing pottery region means contributing to building a unique Hokkaido identity.
Though maybe that’s just me misunderstanding things, as usual (laughs).

Hanada: Even if it’s a misunderstanding, having ambition or a sense of mission matters in one’s work. Sometimes those seemingly naïve ideas are important.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Exactly. Without a little misunderstanding, you couldn’t keep being a potter.
And I want to create from zero to one, not from one to two.

Hanada: Creating something out of nothing takes power, but it makes each day fulfilling. The process is as meaningful as the result.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
What you build yourself is something you can truly value. People might say I always make similar things, though.

Hanada: Your Kiko‑kohiki katakuchi bowl is a long‑time bestseller.
Being repetitive isn’t inherently good or bad—it depends on the content.
Now, for the February exhibition, your color variations have expanded, and your wheel‑thrown and molded works feel more refined.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
It takes me about ten years to complete one thing.
The green kohiki I’ve been working on for six years—its color has finally improved.

Hanada: I remember when you showed me your research. Green developed from slip has a different feel from the Oribe‑style green applied over the surface—cleaner and softer.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Color is difficult. A slight change can make it better or worse.

Hanada: Yellow, white, green—the three colors enhance each other. You end up wanting all three.

Kazuhiko Kudo:
Thank you. I’m working hard toward February, so I appreciate your support.