Akutō — The Rogue Ceramicist — An Interview with Takayuki Kani
by 森一馬I first came across Takayuki Kani's work about three years ago. At the time, he was mainly producing tableware such as plates, but I was immediately drawn to the warmth of his colorful painted decoration and how strikingly cool it looked. I started following him on Instagram.
Then, about two years ago, Chawan and increasingly imaginative sculptural pieces began appearing in his posts. What particularly caught my attention were his Black Oribe Chawan. The red overglaze decoration created a striking contrast against the black glaze, while the forms themselves had a wonderful sense of playfulness. I couldn't resist reaching out to him, and eventually traveled to Toki City to hear his story.
Kani's family business was originally a ceramics wholesale operation.
"Originally, our family business involved buying ceramics and selling them on. But this was around the time Japan's economic bubble had burst, and with the difficult economic conditions, I felt we needed to change the way we did business.
So we started buying undecorated white ceramic pieces and adding decoration ourselves. At first, it was just my mother and me, applying transfer designs or painting simple lines.
As we got more comfortable, we'd try adding colors or painting a little more. I never formally studied painting. It was something I gradually learned out of necessity."
Eventually, the president of a nearby pottery manufacturer approached him and suggested that he learn not only how to decorate ceramics, but also how to make them from scratch. Kani spent the following year training at the factory.
"They showed me every part of the process, from forming the pieces to firing them. Over that year, I learned the entire process of making ceramics.
When I returned home, I left the decorating work to my parents, bought myself a kiln and a potter's wheel, and started making everything from scratch.
I made the forms on the wheel or using slabs of clay, decorated them myself, fired them, and sold the finished pieces. Instead of simply decorating something someone else had made, I was now producing the entire piece myself.
But at that point, I wasn't working under my own name as an artist. I was just selling my work through the local ceramics trade."
After roughly ten years of working this way, invitations to participate in group shows and solo exhibitions gradually began to arrive. Rather than following the conventional path of studying under a master and entering juried competitions, Kani had developed his skills through everyday work. Those skills eventually opened the door to a career as an independent ceramic artist.
His approach to painting, too, had been almost entirely self-taught.
"Sometimes a restaurant would show me an old piece of pottery and ask if I could make something similar. It might be something from Arita, or something from Kyoto. All sorts of things.
I'd have to figure out how to paint it to achieve that particular look. By doing that over and over, I think I gradually absorbed all kinds of painting techniques. It really was all self-taught."
While reproducing historical pieces, Kani also visited pottery studios and exhibitions across Japan. One artist who made a particularly strong impression on him was Kitaoji Rosanjin.
"The president of the pottery factory where I trained for that year was a huge admirer of Rosanjin. I think his influence on me was quite significant.
After that, I started traveling to see Rosanjin's actual works whenever I could. He painted, he shaped the forms, and the overall quality of his work was extraordinary. Even now, he's someone I deeply admire and aspire to.
Speaking of Rosanjin, I was once commissioned to reproduce a piece by Suda Seika. That led me to visit the Suda Seika pottery studio, and I also bought some of their pieces and used them myself.
I think that was around the time I became increasingly interested in red overglaze decoration, or aka-e."
Through years of reproducing historical ceramics, Kani had absorbed a remarkable variety of styles and techniques. But about two years ago, a major turning point came when he visited a gallery in Tokyo.
"When I saw the gallery space, I realized that simply displaying the same kinds of tableware I'd been making wouldn't be enough.
I needed to make something that only I could make.
I'd spent so many years reproducing historical works, but I wanted to take what I'd learned and develop it into something more personal. I started wondering whether I could create a kind of aka-e that was unlike anything else.
So I gradually began introducing more of my own ideas into the work. Some people responded very positively, telling me they really liked what I was doing.
That gave me the confidence to think, 'Ah, maybe it's okay to go in this direction.'"
Another thing that surprised me was learning that Kani has been making his own ceramic pigments for about ten years.
"I used to order my pigments from specialist suppliers. But over time, certain materials became harder to obtain, and some of the people who made the pigments retired.
Even when I ordered what was supposed to be the same pigment, the resulting color would sometimes be different. That started happening more and more often.
I tried finding other suppliers and mixing different pigments to adjust the colors, but there were limits to what I could do.
Eventually, I thought, maybe I'll just have to make them myself."
That decision eventually led to the distinctive reds that characterize Kani's work today.
"In Mino, we have an iron-rich material called oniita. As you know, it's used for iron decoration in Oribe ware and also in black glazes.
I started wondering whether I could turn it red through oxidation.
At one point, when I was experimenting with different materials, I put some iron rust in the kiln and fired it. It turned a brilliant red.
I remembered that experience and wondered whether I could do something similar with oniita.
While researching the subject, I came across studies from Okayama University on recreating traditional bengara, the red iron-oxide pigment. Those materials were very helpful.
I fired locally sourced oniita, crushed it, experimented with different processes, and eventually managed to produce a usable red pigment.
But simply getting a red color wasn't enough. I needed to be able to achieve a consistent color every time, and that was the difficult part.
These days, I use a pigment made from oniita and mix in a little bengara to achieve the exact shade of red I want."
And it isn't just red. Kani approaches his other colors from the raw materials as well. For green, he uses verdigris that he produces on copper plates. Rather than relying on commercially prepared pigments, he works with the materials themselves to create his colors.
I found this astonishing.
It was at this point that the Black Oribe Chawan, which had first drawn me to his work, took on an entirely new meaning.
Both the black glaze and the red decoration painted over it originate from the same material: oniita.
The very same substance produces deep black in one application and vivid red in another. Knowing this gives the contrast within the Chawan an entirely different significance.
"I find that interesting myself. I use the same oniita for iron decoration, black glaze, and the red pigment. The colors are completely different, but the material is the same. I think there's something fascinating about that."
"As for my Black Oribe work, I've never specialized in Momoyama-period ceramics. But having spent my life in Mino, I think the spirit of Oribe is naturally part of me.
The idea of beauty changed dramatically with the emergence of Oribe, didn't it?
People began finding beauty in combinations that hadn't existed before, or in deliberately altering shapes and painted designs.
I combine all kinds of decorative elements in my own work, and I think that freedom owes something to Oribe."
The spirit of Oribe is not simply about green glazes or intentionally distorted forms. It is about discovering beauty from an entirely new perspective, and shifting the conventional boundaries of what a vessel can be.
Perhaps that is where the playful energy I sensed in Kani's Black Oribe Chawan comes from.
Learning from historical ceramics, absorbing their techniques, and gradually transforming them into his own expression. This process is also evident in his Hyakushidō series.
The series began with a commission to reproduce an old Ko-Imari yunomi, but from that starting point, Kani developed the idea into something distinctly his own.
Looking closely at these pieces, one can see layers of blue underglaze decoration, red and multicolored overglaze painting, and finally gold.
Each element is applied in sequence, requiring four or five separate firings before the work is complete. Behind the vibrant, intricate decoration lies an extraordinarily labor-intensive process.
"These days, efficiency isn't what matters most to me. I want to make things that people genuinely want to own, no matter how much time and effort they take.
Because I've taught myself everything, I've taken plenty of detours along the way. But those detours have taught me things, too."
Kani's artistic expression extends beyond ceramics. He also paints on decorative wrapping paper and turmeric-dyed cloth.
On his wrapping paper, he writes the Japanese characters 悪陶 — Akutō, which I would translate as "Rogue Ceramics."
At first glance, the phrase might sound rather provocative, but it carries a meaning that is deeply personal to him.
"I'm not exactly what you'd call an orthodox ceramic artist!" he laughs.
"But I've heard that the character aku (悪) doesn't necessarily just mean something bad or evil. It can also suggest something that stands apart from the ordinary, something exceptional that doesn't fit within the usual boundaries.
I liked that interpretation.
I've always wanted to make things that don't fit into a predetermined mold. That's the kind of work I hope to keep creating."
From his family's wholesale business to decorating ceramics, from decorating to making vessels from scratch, and eventually to producing his own pigments in pursuit of the perfect red.
Looking back, Kani seems to have been carrying out a series of small revolutions, one after another.
Learning from historical ceramics without remaining confined to the past. Taking the materials of Mino and the free-spirited philosophy of Oribe, and transforming them into something entirely his own.
I feel that all of these experiences have found their way into his Black Oribe Chawan.
And if I may be allowed a brief personal reflection, there's something about Kani's approach to life that I recognize in myself.
After graduating from university, I began making music on my own, without any formal training. Later, I ventured into the fashion industry, and now I find myself working with Chawan.
I've never really thought about studying under someone or attending a specialized school. I've simply followed whatever happened to interest me at the time.
A friend once told me, "The way you live is pure street style."
I have to admit, I was slightly embarrassed, but the description somehow made perfect sense to me. I've been rather fond of it ever since.
As I talked with Kani, I discovered that we had more in common than just our approach to making things. Even our taste in cars turned out to be surprisingly similar, which made us both laugh.
We may have come from entirely different worlds, but perhaps we share a similar sensibility.
The unorthodox path. Akutō. Street style.
Different names, perhaps, but all rooted in the same idea: rather than following a path laid out by someone else, trusting your own instincts and finding your own way forward.
I hope that through his work, you will discover something of Takayuki Kani's distinctive sensibility and wonderfully unconventional world.