Meet Hiroshi, Agano-yaki Potter
“I realized that even though (traditional crafts) are a narrow world, it’s incredibly deep. Rather than expanding outward, it draws you deeper and deeper. And even as you go deeper, there’s no end. ”
The earthy warmth and quiet sophistication of Agano-yaki have long made it a cherished pottery style throughout Japanese history.
From the hands of Korean artisans brought to Japan during military expeditions, to the tearooms of Edo-era daimyo and the philosophies of Mingei artists, Agano-yaki’s journey reflects the complex web of cultural exchange and regional pride. Rooted in the landscapes of Fukuoka and shaped by the practice of sankin-kotai, which carried its aesthetics across Japan, Agano-yaki evolved as a subtle yet expressive ceramic tradition known for its muted glazes and meditative presence.
Today, in a small studio nestled in the hills of Fukuoka Prefecture, Hiroshi-san, a 12th-generation Agano-yaki artisan, continues this storied legacy. Using clay from nearby deposits and preparing glazes entirely from natural materials, he creates pottery that reflects the stillness and simplicity long associated with the tea ceremony.
Deeper Japan visited Hiroshi-san’s kiln to learn more about his process and the deep historical roots of Agano-yaki—and how one artisan continues to shape its future with every bowl he throws.
Q: What kind of place is Agano, what makes Aganoyaki unique, and also, could you provide us with a brief introduction to this kiln—its history and techniques?
A: Starting with the history, its said to have started in 1602, but actually, just a little before that, there was Toyotomi Hideyoshi's Korean campaign—the Bunroku and Keicho invasions. During that time, the Japanese army invaded the Korean Peninsula. When they withdrew, they brought back a large number of Korean prisoners, especially those with skilled hands—like swordsmiths, textile workers—many such craftspeople were brought back.
One of those brought back, so to speak, is the ancestor of Aganoyaki, named Sonkai. He caught the eye of the feudal lord Hosokawa Tadaoki, who was also a tea master at the time. And it was through that encounter that Sonkai began pottery-making in this Agano region—that marked the beginning of Aganoyaki (Agano ware).
The historical backdrop was the popularity of tea culture. Tea ceremony, yes—it was incredibly trendy at the time. Before the Korean campaigns, Japanese people did use domestic ceramics to some extent, but in the tea world, imported goods—especially Chinese and Korean wares from that era—were extremely fashionable and purchased at high prices. By bringing in such craftspeople, domestic production became possible. So in that sense, I believe it also played a role in promoting local industry.
And that’s how it started in the early Edo period. Throughout the Edo period, potters served the ruling feudal lords and mainly produced tea utensils and related items. Eventually, the Edo period came to an end. There was a time when the tradition declined a bit, but it was revived. Currently, nearly 20 kilns are active here in Agano City, producing ceramics. As for me, as a member of the Aganoyaki family, I've always been drawn to the early works from the initial period. I use those as a foundation while also incorporating new elements into my creative process—that’s how I approach my work.
Q: Your family has been running this kiln for generations, passed down from your father and grandfather. What was the moment when you decided you wanted to enter the world of pottery –is there any particular experience or connection that served as a turning point?
A: From a young age, I was exposed to the family’s work. My father never once told me I had to take over, but relatives and customers would naturally refer to me as the successor. So, I kind of assumed I’d inherit the work. Back then, the Japanese economy was booming, so I didn’t feel negatively about the idea of taking over. As things progressed, I set my sights on an art university and entered the sculpture department. While doing sculpture, I unexpectedly found I had a knack for it. The university I attended had a strong emphasis on figurative sculpture, and working from live models and capturing them accurately really suited me. I found it fun.
By around my second year of university, I was seriously considering becoming a sculptor instead of a potter. During that time, I became close with some classmates who didn’t attend classes much. I hung out with them a lot and went to one of their apartments—it was a tiny one-room place packed with art books I’d never seen before. They were mostly books on contemporary art at the time. Seeing those made me question what I was doing. The figurative sculpture I was focused on at university... I began to wonder if it was just about technical skill—like, being good at copying forms—and maybe not art in the truest sense. Once that thought took hold, my passion started to fade. I thought, 'Maybe I’m not making art after all.'
Then I considered shifting toward contemporary art—I wanted to try it. But it’s not like ideas just come easily, or that I could suddenly do contemporary art well. Before I knew it, I had graduated. I started thinking, 'Maybe I should go back home after all.' And with that half-hearted mindset, I returned. Entering this world, I found that it's very much a craftsman’s world—a narrow one with many restrictions. I thought, 'This isn’t art, either.' But strangely enough, as I continued, I realized that even though it's a narrow world, it’s incredibly deep. Rather than expanding outward, it draws you deeper and deeper. And even as you go deeper, there’s no end. When I realized that, I thought, 'This is the same as art.' By the time I came to that realization, I had come to love pottery. From there, I started to take it seriously—and here I am today.
Q: I know it might be hard to absorb everything in a short visit, but is there anything you’d be especially happy for visitors, especially those passionate about Japanese pottery, to feel or connect with?
A: I definitely want people to come here and see the natural surroundings and environment. Out of this landscape and climate come things like tableware and tea utensils. I’d like them to really look at and feel that connection.
Our kiln carries on over 400 years of history. Whether or not visitors can fully sense that, I don’t know, but they can touch the earth, see old tools and pieces from 400 years ago, and hopefully feel something.
Also, I think there's a global boom in Japanese cuisine right now. Truly delicious Japanese food is spreading around the world. I believe that even in Europe and the U.S., there are now places that use authentic ingredients to serve genuinely good Japanese dishes. But, tableware hasn’t spread in the same way yet. To truly enjoy Japanese cuisine, I think it’s important to use Japanese tableware too. So I’d love for people to also connect with that side of the culture.
Hiroshi-san welcomes guests into his kiln-side studio nestled in the hills of Fukuoka, sharing the warmth and quiet elegance of Agano-yaki. With decades of experience and a deep respect for nature and form, he guides visitors through the history, philosophy, and delicate firing techniques that define Agano ware.
Step into Hiroshi-san’s world and witness the process behind his soft-glazed tea bowls and sake cups, shaped with subtlety and restraint.
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