“An Artist Who Weaves Memory” — An Interview with Shogo Nunoshita

“The moment I saw his work, I thought: So, a maker like this has finally appeared.”

I spent nearly fifteen years in the music world, and later in fashion. In music, sampling—reconstructing new works from fragments of existing sounds—was already a firmly established technique in 1990s Japan, particularly in hip-hop. Today, it is completely commonplace. In fashion as well, remake culture has surged in recent years, and even luxury maisons have embraced remade garments. We are clearly living in the age of reconstruction.

Ceramics, of course, has long had its own forms of reconstruction—Momoyama or Joseon-inspired reinterpretations, and the philosophy of yobitsugi as a form of repair. Yet in the sense of directly sampling an actual historical vessel and reconstituting it into a new, authorial work, Nunoshita represents something truly new. It would not be an exaggeration to say he has introduced an entirely new cultural language into the ceramic world.

When I contacted him to see the works in person, he happened to be participating in a group exhibition at a department store in Tokyo the following week. Meeting him, his artistic presence and calm, measured voice were striking. Within ten seconds, he began passionately explaining the works we would later present for sale—embracing damage. His ability to clearly articulate the philosophy behind his making reflected the fact that he is a true artist, holding a doctoral degree from Tokyo University of the Arts. I knew immediately I wanted to understand him more deeply, and later visited his studio to conduct this interview.

From childhood, he had an interest in making things—drawing pictures, crafting objects from newspaper. He joined a pottery club in high school almost by chance and discovered he simply enjoyed making vessels. With a competitive spirit, he set his sights on entering the top institution, and was accepted into the Crafts Department at Tokyo University of the Arts.

There, he studied glass, lacquer, and various crafts before ultimately choosing ceramics. Interestingly, what troubled him was precisely what most potters find fascinating: the transformation inside the kiln. He found it difficult to accept that parts of the process escaped his control. While studying nerikomi, he became obsessed with the impossibility of achieving perfect flatness. Even glaze, due to surface tension, could never be completely flat. That frustration led him toward lacquer. With lacquer, he realized, one could control surfaces with precision.

Yet once immersed in lacquer, he found himself missing the romance of the kiln’s unpredictability. This tension led him to totai shikki—ceramic bodies combined with lacquer. From his master’s through doctoral years, he fired works in anagama kilns and applied lacquer afterward, deliberately juxtaposing the uncontrollable and the controllable.

The turning point toward his current style came during a leave of absence from his doctoral program, when he spent a year and a half studying lacquer intensively. There he discovered that lacquer was not merely a coating but a material capable of forming structure. Wood powder lacquer and dry lacquer techniques could function almost like clay. Suddenly, ceramic and lacquer were no longer separate materials but shared a common sculptural language.

At the same time, through art projects and workshops, he began to question whether he needed to make the ceramic portions himself at all. What would happen, he wondered, if he removed his authorship from the ceramic part and heightened the contrast with lacquer’s expressiveness?

After graduating, he began researching ceramic shards and was eventually drawn to early Imari porcelain.

He told me he is not an archaeologist, but early Imari felt closer to people than to art—objects used in daily life, carrying anonymity yet full of quiet artistry. His long-standing theme in art projects has been “weaving memory,” and these fragments, once used and forgotten, aligned perfectly with that concept. Rather than producing new ceramics in a world already filled with master ceramicists, he felt it more meaningful to incorporate these forgotten historical objects into his practice, allowing them to live again in contemporary memory.

He also shared a profound experience during an art project in Quilmes, Argentina. Learning of the tragic history of forced relocation and unburied deaths, he began collecting soil along the journey—not as material, but as a gathering of scattered souls. Shortly before departing for Argentina, his grandfather passed away, collapsing onto the earth in the garden. That moment changed his perception of clay forever. Soil was no longer material—it became memory, spirit, human presence.

Listening to this, I was reminded of my time in fashion, questioning why we constantly produced new garments in a world overflowing with clothes. In discussions of sustainability, he questioned whether sustainability should be judged materially at all. Craftspeople use plastic wrap, various materials—nothing is perfectly sustainable. Instead, he believes true sustainability is emotional: valuing objects because of who made them, who used them, and what memories they carry.

This philosophy is deeply embodied in his work. By joining early Imari fragments with lacquer and gold, he creates objects that feel entirely new yet strangely familiar. The gold maki-e staples and lustrous lacquer merge with the humble ceramic shards into a visual language unlike anything seen before.

After the interview, I visited my family home in Kanazawa. Drinking tea from a cup I had used since childhood, his words returned to me: “Vessels are containers of memory.” Not photographs on the wall, not old clocks or furniture—but vessels. Something about them evokes memory in a way few objects can.

Nunoshita, a Ph.D. in ceramics who paradoxically chose not to make ceramics, has arrived at a new expression through dry lacquer techniques and historical fragments. His work does not merely repair the past; it reconnects memory. Watching how he will continue to reshape the ceramic world through this perspective is something I greatly look forward to.