Entering the World of Ceramics

Hanada: When did you first become interested in ceramics?

Kan Kishino : My father was an ink wash painter, but none of my five siblings showed any sign of becoming an artist, so I thought I would step up. I could subtly sense that he hoped at least one of us would follow in his footsteps. However, as a student, my passion was Western painting, and a fine arts program with a focus on Western oil painting was my top choice for high school. In the end, I ended up entering my second choice, the ceramics department, which was how it all started.

Hanada: Western painting and ceramics are quite different fields.

Kan Kishino : Yes. While I was feeling rather discouraged about it, my uncle happened to take me to the Museum of Oriental Ceramics.

Hanada: How did you find it?

Kan Kishino : I was completely blown away. From the bottom of my heart, I felt incredibly grateful to be in the ceramics department.

Hanada: You certainly owe your uncle a debt of gratitude. What was it exactly that struck you as so amazing?

Kan Kishino : It was closer to pure astonishment. Some pieces had intricate paintings, some had attachments, and others felt sculptural. It made me realize that in ceramics, absolutely anything goes. After that, I started reading books by Tokuro Kato and exploring various works. I found myself deeply drawn into the world of clay and fire.

The Presence of an Object

Hanada: So that was the period when ceramics became truly irreplaceable to you.

Kan Kishino : Rather than aspiring to be a prominent ceramic artist, my feeling was simply that I wanted to live my life involved with ceramics. I wanted to dig my own clay, burn firewood, and live that kind of lifestyle.

Hanada: How would you describe your own work in words?

Kan Kishino : In my case, I do not have a strong desire for self-expression, so I feel closer to a craftsman. Although I never actively aimed to create something entirely original, I now realize that when you thoroughly pursue the things you love and look for, that distinct presence of an object only truly emerges when the piece is uniquely your own.

Hanada: What kind of presence do you seek in an object?

Kan Kishino : This is a short piece I wrote for a past exhibition.

Hanada: “Antique ceramics that harbor a sense of reality within never grow old; they naturally stay close to people’s hearts throughout changing times. Through exploring various firing techniques, I aspire to create such works in my daily practice.”

A Sense of Reality…

Hanada: What do you mean by “a sense of reality that harbors within”?

Kan Kishino : My tastes are quite diverse, spanning Karatsu, Joseon dynasty ware, Shigaraki, and more. Yet, in every antique piece I love, I can perceive a distinct soul or character radiating from it.

Hanada: Staying close to people’s hearts throughout changing times without ever growing old…

Kan Kishino : People go through all kinds of emotional states. A truly great object can offer comfort when you are going through hard times or feeling sad, and conversely, it can match your energy and stand confidently beside you when you are in high spirits. Even as time passes, as you age, and as your values or sense of beauty evolve, an exceptional piece remains steadfast. Its meaning to you never changes. Put simply, it is something you never tire of. To me, that is the definition of a genuinely good object.

Excitement in Every Firing

Hanada: One major difference between painting, which you originally pursued, and ceramics is the degree to which nature intervenes in the process. When considering the tension between what you can control and what you cannot, was it that uncontrollable element that shocked you most at the Museum of Oriental Ceramics?

Kan Kishino : A huge reason why I became so deeply immersed in ceramics is the realization that the actual making is just one small step in the entire process. Before making, there is the clay; after making, fire and glaze are introduced. The fact that invisible forces play such a significant role is incredibly appealing, and it is likely why I can still fire the kiln with a sense of excitement today. It is the frightening part of a wood-firing kiln, but also the most fascinating.

Hanada: It must be rare for everything to go exactly as planned.

Kan Kishino : With ceramics, even if you make a piece that strictly follows a set pattern, a subtle variation in the firing completely alters the atmosphere dwelling within it.

Hanada: So much depends on forces beyond your control.

Kan Kishino : Even so, I reflect deeply on the exact conditions that caused a specific outcome. I examine the state of the clay and review how the kiln’s temperature was raised and lowered. I think about it constantly, though there are always things you can control and things you simply cannot. Also, with unglazed stoneware (yakishime), the kiln is filled with items of various sizes, from large jars to small dishes, so deciding which piece to prioritize as your standard is crucial. For this exhibition, I tried something new by filling the kiln almost entirely with jars, allowing me to fire it specifically for them. I fired it for a day longer than usual. If I did that with everyday dishes, they would end up completely shiny and over-fired.

Hanada: So each type of work requires its own suited approach.

Kan Kishino : While studying the surface characteristics of ancient jars and wondering what kind of firing created those effects, I came to the conclusion that it could only be achieved by firing jars all together in a single batch.

Hanada: What do those surface characteristics of ancient jars look like?

Kan Kishino : To speak of specifics, take a look at this jar, for instance. Notice how the ash has accumulated horizontally across the middle of the body without melting completely, and how ash has settled right around the neck. This pattern is frequently seen on ancient Shigaraki jars. Achieving this effect was something I had long sought in my unglazed stoneware jars, and that distinct quality has clearly emerged this time. This piece was fired near the back of the kiln, where nature took its course. But I suppose I am getting a bit sidetracked.

Time at Doraku Kiln

Hanada: After graduating from your ceramics program, you moved on to Doraku Kiln.

Kan Kishino : The guidance I received from Mr. Fukumori is deeply ingrained in me. The reason I am strongly committed to making functional tableware for daily use today, rather than leaning toward abstract expressionism, is entirely due to his influence.

Hanada: A strong commitment to objects meant to be used.

Kan Kishino : I want objects used in daily life to bring joy through their use and to enrich our lives from within. I view objects as things that deepen our daily experience. I also grew up watching my parents interact with objects in exactly that way.

Hanada: Your upbringing certainly played a major role.

Kan Kishino : Another big reason I did not take the path of pure artistic expression is that I started my own family quite young, during my apprenticeship. I would bring home pieces from Doraku Kiln that were considered seconds—items with minor flaws that made them unsellable but still perfectly functional—and use them at home. As a user, I was constantly asking myself whether a piece felt slightly off, uncomfortable, or easy to handle.

Hanada: So even during your training, you were able to look at your own work from an objective perspective.

Object Against Object

Hanada: What is your ultimate goal for functional objects?

Kan Kishino : This might sound like a joke, but even after I leave this world, my work will remain. My pieces will have to stand their ground, object against object, alongside works that have survived for up to two thousand years, like Jomon pottery. I hope to create things that can endure in that way.

Hanada: What defines an object that endures?

Kan Kishino : It sounds abstract, but perhaps it is a sense of comfort. I believe that is where the true value of an object lies, and establishing that quality is my ultimate goal.

Thoughts on Each Form

Hanada: You create a wide variety of items, including jars, tea bowls, sake ware, and everyday dishes. I imagine the thoughts, goals, and creative processes behind each one have their share of similarities and differences.

Kan Kishino : The common thread is that I am always aiming to make things that I would want to use myself, but my mindset shifts completely depending on the object. Looking back to when I first went independent, I used to switch between different forms constantly. I would make a jar, then a tea bowl, then move from unglazed stoneware to white glaze, all in a completely random order. Lately, it takes me much longer to get into the specific mindset required for each type of work, so my progress has slowed down considerably.

Hanada: Does that mean your vision for each specific form has grown stronger?

Kan Kishino : Yes, because my intentions for each type of work have intensified, and I feel this shift is simply a natural progression. Consequently, there are times now when I find myself simply waiting until I am fully immersed in the mindset required for a jar, for example.

A Vessel for the Mind

Hanada: First, what is the appeal of jars to you? Would you say that jars embody that sense of reality you mentioned more than anything else?

Kan Kishino : With a jar, that presence is everything. I believe a jar is defined entirely by the atmosphere contained within it. The form and shape are merely results that follow naturally. While I occasionally arrange flowers in them, most of the time jars are simply placed in a room to be admired. It might sound strange for me to say I make functional items while also creating jars or urns that are meant purely for viewing.

Hanada: Did you ever find an answer?

Kan Kishino : It sounds a bit overly poetic and embarrassing, but I came to think of it as energy, or qi. The quality of that energy is quite different between Joseon ware and Shigaraki ware. The internal atmosphere, or the way they exist, is distinct. Ultimately, I feel they are like vessels for the mind, since you spend your time just quietly gazing at them. Yet, they are things I absolutely want to have present in my daily life.

Insights Born from Action

Hanada: Moving on, what kind of tea bowl do you strive to create?

Kan Kishino : (Thinks for a moment) It simply comes down to making the tea taste wonderful. I want to make a bowl that makes someone think, “I want to drink from this!” and leaves them feeling that the tea was simply delicious once they finish. That is what a great tea bowl should be.

Hanada: A tea bowl that makes the tea taste wonderful…

Kan Kishino : I believe the atmosphere inside the bowl as you bring it to your lips is essential. In that moment, the physical presence of the bowl should disappear entirely. It is only after you finish drinking that you strongly feel its presence again, wanting to drink from it once more. I sense that kind of internal atmosphere in the tea bowls made by Handeishi Kawakita, and I absolutely love his work. It is truly remarkable how, despite his incredibly unconventional and irregular styling, you still feel the essence of a tea bowl so intensely. He captured that unique atmosphere perfectly. A long time ago, out of pure admiration, I tried making something similar, but it was completely unsuited for actually drinking tea. That is just how it goes. Now, I have absolutely no desire to mimic his style.

Hanada: Your attraction to Handeishi Kawakita’s tea bowls lies in something beyond their physical shape, and you realized this by trying to copy the appearance yourself. That is the incredible thing about making things. The more skillfully you replicate the exterior, the more the fundamental difference in essence comes to light.

Kan Kishino : I feel the exact same way about Chojiro’s tea bowls.

Making Sake Taste Great

Hanada: How about sake ware?

Kan Kishino : Just like with tea bowls, it is all about making the sake taste wonderful. For me, drinking sake is a time to unwind. I want my sake cups and flasks to accept that relaxation and unwind right along with me. I believe sake ware should be something that helps open and free your mind.

Is Your True Self in the Work?

Hanada: What are your thoughts on ordinary tableware?

Kan Kishino : Whether the food looks delicious on it is everything. It should never be flashy, but rather possess a comfortable, inviting quality—a certain kind of energy. Whether it is a jar, a tea bowl, sake ware, or everyday dishes, that quality is what I am most obsessed with.

Hanada: What is the process like when you are making tableware?

Kan Kishino : I decide on the shapes and dimensions while throwing on the wheel, always visualizing how the piece will be used. In the past, if I wanted to create something inspired by an antique piece, I would focus intently on how closely I could match its form, dimensions, and proportions. Now, however, I have come to realize that those elements should naturally dwell within me.

Hanada: So your work has shifted from forcing a piece into what it ought to be, to letting it build up naturally?

Kan Kishino : On the rare occasions I still do that forced kind of work, it feels as though the piece does not even belong to me.

Hanada: Yet, going through that stage of forced work is also a necessary part of the journey.

Kan Kishino : If I look at an antique and think, “Let’s try making something like this,” but fail to cultivate that true realization of beauty within myself, the piece will not turn out well. Lately, I have felt strongly that if the beauty is fully alive in your own consciousness, the work ceases to be a mere copy, even if it looks like one to an outside observer. What matters to me now is not being strictly faithful to the exterior of ancient ceramics, but whether my true self is present in the work.

Hanada: That applies to far more than just making pottery. Whether in our work or our hobbies, asking ourselves if our true self is present is a question that can make anyone catch their breath.

Being Told I Had No Individuality

Kan Kishino : To change the subject slightly, back in high school, I was told repeatedly that I had no individuality.

Hanada: That is surprising to hear.

Kan Kishino : I worried about it constantly. When I eventually turned to Mr. Fukumori for advice, he comforted me by saying, “What that person calls ‘individuality’ is probably just talking about superficial ideas and concepts.” That realization saved me. I have no desire to create bizarre, shocking things for the sake of being original. The moment I start thinking along those lines, my hands freeze up and I feel like I would grow to dislike pottery. My driving force is simply my love for certain things and my desire to use them.

Hanada: That preference is exactly what defines your individuality. It does not come from logic, nor is it a tool to differentiate yourself from others. I often think that trying to define your own style is just a way of trapping yourself for temporary convenience. In a way, letting go of that is liberating. Forcing individuality only ends up distorting it.

Kan Kishino : My father held an exhibition every year, and my childhood memory of him was that he painted in a wide variety of styles. However, from around the age of sixty-five, his exhibition spaces became entirely filled with paintings that could belong to no one else but him—true Tadataka Kishino art. Seeing that left a deep impression on me, so I feel there is absolutely no need to rush. The fact that I work in so many different styles is simply the result of honestly pursuing the things I want to use myself.

Hanada: Your father might very well look at you now and see a reflection of his younger self.

The Work with White Glaze

Hanada: Working across such a wide spectrum, from unglazed stoneware to white glaze, must have brought you valuable insights.

Kan Kishino : I can feel that my ongoing work with white glazes has been a huge plus for pieces like this Iga lugged jar. It allows me to channel the atmosphere I love. Perhaps because working with white glaze demands a certain sharp focus and tension, it gives me the freedom to take bold risks with the Iga jars. For this piece, I confidently used a spatula to create the central indentation in a single stroke. If you fuss over the details, it leaves an over-refined impression, so you have to make it work powerfully all at once.

Hanada: Doesn’t the overall shape collapse?

Kan Kishino : Now that I understand the physical behavior of the clay, I can visualize the path to success even when working boldly. That is something I learned through working with white glaze.

Hanada: So your work with white glaze has given you many new tools.

Kan Kishino : I think the reason I can create crisp, sharp forms like crane-neck vases or flasks using stoneware clay is precisely because I have spent so much time doing this crisp white work.

Looking Ahead

Hanada: Please tell us about what you would like to tackle in the future.

Kan Kishino : There are many things, but regarding unglazed stoneware, I intend to build a steep-sloped kiln similar to ancient ones. The way ash settles on the neck of a jar is due to the upward direction of the flames inside a steeply inclined kiln. I managed to replicate that effect in my current flat kiln by creating steps inside to direct the fire from below. There are still a few details I need to test with my current setup, but once I sort those out, I hope to build the new kiln within the next few years.

Hanada: How about your white glaze work?

Kan Kishino : For the white glaze, I am aiming for something that is well-fired yet retains a soft appearance—not a softness from being under-fired, but a gentle quality that emerges even when the clay body is thoroughly vitrified. A softness with real depth, you could say. While many solo exhibitions demand more artistic, showpiece elements, preparing for this show has made me intensely mindful of crafting items intended truly for everyday use, just as we discussed.

Hanada: Thank you so much for sharing your insights today. We are looking forward to the exhibition.

Kan Kishino : I have made plenty of tableware for the show, so I hope everyone enjoys it.

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