To Be Honest…

Hanada: What first led you to start working in the field of craft-making?

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: I think it had a lot to do with the fact that my family was a pottery household.
My grandfather also worked in crafts. To be honest, I wasn’t very interested at first.
My father was the first-generation head of the kiln, and he was always busy, so I barely remember ever hearing him talk calmly about his work.
But it’s true that I grew up surrounded by those things.
Also, our family home was near Shumpu Banri-so, and it was part of my playground.
Back then, Rōsanjin’s works were just lying around where even children could touch them.

Hanada: So you grew up with those things around you.

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: After graduating from high school, I came to Tokyo to study design.
In my first year, I studied industrial design. But I hated the rush hour trains in Tokyo, so I often skipped school.
To tell the truth, the real reason I came to Tokyo was because I wanted to play in a band…
In my second year, I studied crafts.
After that, I went to Seto, graduated from the ceramics school, and then worked for five years at a Seto kiln.
I was assigned to a department that made Oribe and Shino pieces by hand.

Hanada: You must have learned many things there.

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: …(long silence).
Sorry, but I hardly remember because we were drinking all the time (laughs).
Seto… you see, the people there are strangely passionate.
They talk endlessly—ceramics theory, material theory—always heated discussions.
And once people start drinking, it turns into fistfights.

Hanada: Did you get into fights as well? (laughs)

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: No, I was always the one stopping them.
Saying things like, “I understand what you’re saying.”
Though honestly, I had no idea what they were talking about—completely incoherent (laughs).

What Gets Chosen, What We Admire

Hanada: Your work has a world uniquely its own.

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: I left Kasama without any preparation and just went independent.
The only confidence I had was in producing quickly. I used to throw about 1,000 teacups in eight hours.
But… no matter how many you make, it means nothing if people don’t choose them.
Looking around, everyone else was making each piece with great care.
So I gradually began spending more time on each piece.
My techniques are a mix of various methods I’ve adapted in my own way.

Hanada: And now you spend more time and effort than anyone, crafting each piece carefully.
Your carved work in particular is extremely precise, yet it also has warmth—that’s the appeal.
The black-and-white Tokusa pattern is something you’ve been making since the early days, right?

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: Originally, I started because I wanted to make a material resembling oniita, but I failed miserably (laughs).
But even though the “fake oniita” failed, it felt like it might be usable somehow, so I kept refining it—and that’s how it was born. Then I thought, maybe I could use it to draw patterns.
Back in Seto, I spent a whole year drawing Tokusa patterns on donburi bowls, so I got to the point where I could draw them even lying down. When I tried drawing with this material, it fit perfectly.

Hanada: So that’s how your style developed.

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: Also, purely classical Japanese tableware felt hard to use in my own home.
Architecture and cuisine have changed so much—something just didn’t feel right anymore.
And I realized that many of my friends’ homes had similar kinds of dining spaces.
But at the same time, there’s also a part of me that admires Shino, Oribe, and Kizeto.

Not Rushing, Not Forcing—Forgetting Time

Hanada: I understand that feeling. What is important to you when you work?

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: Not rushing. Not hurrying.
Carving in particular never goes well if you’re in a hurry.
Especially when making incense burners, I remove clocks from my sight.
I don’t look at anything that reminds me of time, like calendars.
I think it’s important to forget about efficiency.
With that kind of intricate work, if you don’t make that mental separation, you can’t keep going.

Hanada: What is “a good tableware” to you?

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: I think it’s simply one that suits the table it’s used on. It’s not that simple things or ornate things are good *because* of that. Even if something could be called a “good tableware,” it won’t match everyone’s life equally.
Japanese dining tables are wonderful because so many different things coexist. And the fact that they all come together as a whole—that might be the answer.
If one of those pieces happens to be mine, then that makes me happy.

Hanada: Homes and food vary so much nowadays.

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: It’s important to use different things depending on the occasion.
I mean, even if you love swim trunks, you wouldn’t wear them to climb a mountain (laughs).

The Joy of Matching Tableware

Hanada: That’s a very “Masubuchi-like” way to wrap things up—convincing and not convincing at the same time. Before our conversation drifts too far from tableware (laughs), please share a message for the upcoming exhibition.

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: Since it’s a two-person exhibition with Mr. Shimura, I hope people enjoy the combinations. The joy of pairing our pieces, even though at first glance they seem different.

Hanada: Last time, many visitors enjoyed choosing pieces from both of you together.
Any final words?

Tokuhiro Masubuchi: Nothing comes to mind (laughs).

Hanada: You were honest till the very end. Thank you very much.

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