Shikamaru Takeshita interview

The first time I heard the name Shikamaru Takeshita was from the Czech ceramic artist Daniel Seko, whose works we also carry at our gallery. Deeply drawn to Japanese ceramics, Daniel once came to Japan wanting to experience wood-firing firsthand, and it was at Takeshita’s kiln that he stayed and immersed himself in the process.

Looking back, I had actually been hearing his name here and there for quite some time. I later learned that he was a high school classmate of Kan Matsuzaki, who describes him simply as “someone profoundly versed in kiln firing.” Another artist, Sen Matsumura, known for his Kiseto works, speaks of him as “a highly knowledgeable figure, deeply familiar not only with clay and wood kilns, but also with the historical background of ceramics.”
I had long associated Takeshita primarily with Namban-style vessels, but one day, when I happened to open his Instagram, I found an array of beautiful porcelain tea bowls. At that moment, I knew I had to go and meet him. So I made my way to Mashiko at once.

“In simple terms, I grew up among social misfits,” Takeshita says with a laugh. “When my father first came to Mashiko, it was during a boom time, when student movements were active and the country had a restless energy. A lot of rough-edged people came to Mashiko chasing the dream of striking it rich. Mashiko is known as a pottery town, but I’d say maybe ninety percent of the people here came from elsewhere. Ever since I was a child, those kinds of people were always gathering at our house, drinking together. So the ‘adults’ I knew were never really what you’d call proper adults. I grew up without ever seeing the model of a person who goes to work in the morning and takes weekends off. I never knew what a conventional adult was supposed to look like.”

Surrounded from an early age by spirited, unconventional adults, Takeshita naturally found himself close to fire and clay, helping with kiln work as he grew up. After graduating from high school, he went on to study at the Mashiko Ceramic Support Center.

“I had always found pottery fascinating, so I went to ceramics school for just one year, and after that I started on my own. We had a climbing kiln at home, but what I really wanted was to fire an anagama kiln. So I broke open the mouth of the first chamber and began using it as an anagama. I saw the Namban works of Fujio Koyama and Takashi Nakazato, and I was captivated by those surfaces. That’s what led me to focus mainly on Namban-style stoneware.”

After the earthquake destroyed his kiln, Takeshita built a new anagama and continues his work there today. In pursuing Namban-style firing, what he ultimately arrived at was not some distant clay from elsewhere, but the clay beneath his feet in Mashiko itself.

“I searched for all sorts of clays that would suit Namban ware, and then I realized there was actually a good clay right nearby. Generally speaking, though, Mashiko clay isn’t especially regarded as superior clay, and even locally it isn’t used that much. It has low heat resistance, and if you push the temperature too high it tends to blister quickly. It’s a rather unusual clay, but I’ve kept working with it through trial and error.”

What is especially intriguing is that he fires porcelain in the same kiln.

“Yes, I fire it together with the stoneware. An anagama is built so that wood is fed only from the front, so the back tends to stay cooler. I place Namban works and similar pieces toward the rear, and put large jars and porcelain in the hotter front area. That way, there’s no need to force the entire kiln to an even temperature—I can make use of the differences within it.”

The porcelain works we introduce at our gallery overturn the conventional image one might have of porcelain as simply white, pristine vessels. Their surfaces carry a soft sheen, marked by kiln effects and hints of carbonization. The foot often holds especially vivid traces of flame, and some pieces are even joined with clay in an aitsugi construction.

“Yes. For the porcelain I mainly use kaolin clay, and many people find the idea of ‘white unglazed firing’ unusual, so I’ve continued making it for many years. With tea bowls, the kiln effects around the foot are one of the highlights, and I wanted to bring even more variation to that area, so I began making pieces where only the side of the foot is joined with clay. For that I use clay obtained from the Joban coalfield in Kita-Ibaraki. The kiln transformations on pure porcelain are compelling in their own way as well, so I think each approach has its own different kind of appeal.”

As the Mashiko artists mentioned earlier suggest, his firing method is indeed highly distinctive. This is, above all, where the essence of Takeshita’s work lies.

“First of all, I use an absurd amount of wood. I’m not using it simply to raise the temperature—I’m using it to create a strong reduction atmosphere. I burn large amounts of wood and build up a bed of embers, then introduce air as the temperature rises and ash swirls through the kiln and settles onto the work. Once the embers burn out, the temperature drops and the ash that has adhered to the surface stabilizes. Then I load in a large amount of wood again, raise the temperature, and push it back into reduction. I repeat that cycle four or five times in a single firing. The image I have in mind is one of building layers of ash on the work.”

Hiroshi Goseki, who has helped with Takeshita’s firings on various occasions, says he was astonished at first by just how much wood he used. “It’s the exact opposite of the way I fire my own kiln,” Goseki says, “but that’s precisely why I learn so much by helping him, and why the results are completely unlike anything I could make in my own kiln.” The bowl we presented in our previous Kantō Jūwan exhibition, Goseki’s Sōhen-kuro Chawan “Singularity,” was truly a one-of-a-kind work born only because it was fired in Takeshita’s kiln.

And there is one more thing that cannot be left out when speaking of Takeshita: the now well-known Shikamaru BAR, which appears during the Mashiko Pottery Fair.

“When I was a child, the Mashiko Pottery Fair had the feeling of a real festival, partly because the economy was still strong. But by the time I became independent, that kind of energy had faded, and I felt that this wasn’t the pottery fair I remembered. So I thought, if people are going to enjoy themselves drinking anyway, why not put out a small counter and serve drinks myself? Over time the number of seats increased, and it gradually became what it is now, even serving a bit of food. I’ve always loved eating out, too, and I enjoy going to all kinds of restaurants. When you do that, you also learn what kinds of vessels are being used, and what sizes people prefer. …Well, that’s my excuse, anyway,” he adds with a laugh.

On that note, Goseki shared a now-legendary story. One day, during a firing when everyone was tending the kiln together, Takeshita suddenly said, “I just remembered—I made a reservation at a restaurant in Kyoto several years ago.” And with that, he left for Kyoto and came back the same day. “I remember thinking, Is he serious?!” Goseki laughs. Yet Takeshita returned after enjoying his meal and resumed firing the kiln as if nothing had happened. It is perhaps this kind of boldness, too, that leads Goseki to affectionately call him “the big brother of North Kantō.”

For many years, Shikamaru Takeshita has continued to read the fire, study the clay, and stand before the kiln. His work naturally reflects both the depth of his accumulated experience and a spirit of inquiry that has never faded. Because of his striking appearance and his bold way of living, I have half-jokingly referred to him as “Mashiko’s kiln renegade.” Yet what emerges from his sincere engagement with clay and flame is a bowl of remarkable presence. I would be delighted if you had the chance to hold one in your hands and experience its landscape for yourself.

Click here to view all works by Shikamaru Takeshita.