Two small teardrop vases, narrow at the neck and full through the shoulder, standing close enough together that they read as a pair without being identical. One leans toward deep aubergine with a soft silver mist rolling across the front, almost metallic where the light catches it. The other runs cooler still, a wash of silvery blue-grey shifting into warm rust low on the body. Neither would look complete alone. Together they hold a conversation, one leaning warm, the other leaning bright.

Both carry the maker's mark of Shibaoka Tōsendō, working under the kiln name Kōzan-gama in Imbe since 1912. The kiln has stayed in one family for three generations, currently the third-generation Kōzan, Shibaoka Masashi, working alongside his sons Chikara and Hisashi. A pair like this, thrown at the same time and fired side by side in the same noborigama, is a small, physical record of one firing at a kiln that has kept its own fire burning for over a century.

→ Fourteen days, one fire: what it actually takes to fire a Bizen kiln. A visit to Shibaoka Tōsendō during an active firing, standing at the kiln mouth while the family read the fire by eye and ear alone. Read the full visit in my journal.

There is a moment, turning this bowl slowly for the first time, where you stop trusting your own eyes. From one side, the glaze looks almost calm, a pale, crackled white. Look closer and that white is covered edge to edge in a fine web of cracks, catching the light like a cracked windshield. Turn it a few degrees and that same surface has turned to rust, deep orange bleeding into near black at the rim. Then you tip it, and the inside pools into a deep, mossy green touched with gold, a colour neither side of the outside ever hints at. Somewhere along the thick, generous rim sits a small patch that has turned an unexplained grey-blue, rougher under the thumb than the glaze around it. This is not a bowl that settled on one thing.

This chawan was made at the Kakuzan-gama in Ayabe, a kiln built in 1959 at the headquarters of the Ōmoto religious organisation, and it is signed by Deguchi Eiji, who married into the family that founded Ōmoto and served as its Sōchō, its director, from 1958 to 1962. He was not a professional potter by trade. He was someone close to the centre of a movement that treated making things by hand as part of its own philosophy, working in an ash-glaze tradition brought to the kiln by its founder, the Bizen master Kaneshige Sozan. This bowl is what that looked like when it left his hands. A signed, boxed chawan from a maker with this kind of documented history rarely surfaces outside Japan.

→ Curious about the glaze on this matcha bowl? One glaze, three lives: a wood-fired chawan from a kiln built by a religion is in my journal.

This kokeshi stands taller than almost anything else in the collection: 41 centimetres of smooth, weighted wood, its rounded head resting above a body that tapers in and out again like a figure caught mid movement. Dark maple leaves drift across the surface in loose, hand painted clusters, their veins burned into the wood before the colour was added. At nearly a kilo in the hand, this is not a piece you display and forget. It asks to be picked up.

This is the work of Kano Chiyomatsu, a sōsaku kokeshi artist from Gunma prefecture whose career spans more than seventy years and includes two occasions, in 1981 and 1982, when his work was presented to the then Crown Prince and Crown Princess Michiko. His pieces have been included in Gunma's own middle school art textbooks and he has been recognised as a Prefectural Traditional Craftsperson. This particular piece carries his signature and seal.

The grain does most of the work before the paint even starts. This kokeshi is turned from dark keyaki, Japanese zelkova, and the wood has aged into something close to bronze: warm, dense, with a reddish-brown depth that shifts as the light moves across it. Over that, sweeping black brushwork and horizontal red-maroon banding run the full length of the body. The result is more calligraphy than decoration. It stops you because it looks like nothing else on a shelf.

Kawamura Shōji (川村昭治) was part of the Kawamura family of Yamagata kokeshi makers, a lineage documented across multiple generations in the dentō tradition of Tōhoku. This piece shows his more abstract side: the traditional training is visible in the precise lathe work and the weight of the form, but the decoration is entirely his own, abstract, direct, and confident.

Kawamura’s work sits on the boundary between dentō and shingata. His foundation is traditional Yamagata-kei kokeshi making, but his output ranges from pieces that stay close to that convention to others that drift toward the freer, more individual expression associated with shingata and sōsaku work.

→ Interested to read more about the woodworking on kokeshi like these? I wrote about it in my journal.
→ Wondering where Yamagata fits among the eleven kokeshi traditions? Here's the full picture.

They look down with the kind of stillness that takes a moment to place, heavy lidded eyes under thick brushed eyebrows on the larger figure, the same sharp piercing eyes on the smaller one. A full beard is painted strand by strand rather than filled in flat, while vermilion lacquer sweeps around him in one unbroken line, giving way to a dark, almost black hood at the crown. Beside him, the smaller daruma that carries an deep warm lacquer worn into a darker tone where beside the decades of handling he still holds his shine.

Both take the armless, legless form associated with Bodhidharma, the monk said to have meditated so long in stillness that his limbs withered away, leaving only the seated shape carried in his memory ever since.

Both made by different well-known woodworkers. The larger daruma has a black seal pressed at its base, belonging to Shido Shozan, a Yamagata carver known chiefly for his sōsaku kokeshi rather than daruma like this one. The smaller daruma is made by Seifu Gono. A mingei craftsman known for turning keyaki, the slow growing Japanese zelkova prized for its depth of grain, into figures exactly like this one. Keyaki is not an easy wood to source, it takes centuries to mature, and Gono treated every piece as something meant to outlast him.

Curious where this expression comes from in the flesh? I found a thousand versions of it on one hillside in Osaka. Read about it in my journal.

She stands taller than most kokeshi you will come across, and heavier too, with real weight settling into your palm the moment you pick her up. The head is covered edge to edge in fine combed striping, dark lines cut close together into a rounded cap, with a single red wooden bead perched at the crown like a stray plum bud. Sprays of red plum blossom trail down the body, each one carved first and filled with pigment after, and held against her side is a separately turned wooden kasa, a wide travel hat, raised the way a Heian noblewoman would once have lifted hers to shield her face on the road. Nothing about the proportions is timid: this is a maker working at full scale and full confidence.

The base carries the brush signature of Suigai, a painter who found his real language in wood. He spent a lifetime letting plants speak for people, plum blossom especially, always returning to it the way you return to a word that still means something. That instinct is what earned him Japan's Prime Minister's Award, but it is also simply what makes this particular figure feel considered rather than decorative. You are not buying a doll. You are buying the version of plum blossom one specific person kept coming back to, and decided, of everything he could have painted, this was worth painting again.

→ Interested to read more about the woodworking on kokeshi like these? I wrote about it in my journal.
→ Curious about the theme behind this pose? I wrote about oshinobi dōchū, the Heian tradition of travelling in disguise, in my journal.

He looks caught mid turn. One section of his dark hair is brushed back in short, dry streaks, as if just ruffled, while the rest sits in a neat round cap above a calm, half lowered gaze. Down the long cylinder of his body, four flowers stack in grey and black, each bloom slightly different from the one above it, hanging leaves drifting between them. There is a stillness to him that a mass produced kokeshi rarely has, the kind that comes from a hand working without a template.

At 46.5 centimetres, this is not a doll you tuck onto a shelf and forget, it commands a room the way only a handful of vintage kokeshi can. The name on the base, Tetsuen, belongs to a small, tightly knit Shiraishi workshop where a style was considered worth keeping alive even after its maker was gone. Female kokeshi maker Chiyoko Hamatsu picked up the brush in her brother in law's memory and kept his flowers blooming for another four decades. Owning a piece like this means owning both the scale and the story, a kokeshi large enough to anchor a room and old enough to carry a small piece of a family's determination not to let something disappear.

Want to understand the difference between dentō and sōsaku kokeshi? I wrote about it, with a trip through Fukushima along the way.

There is a quiet violence to how this tokkuri came out of the kiln. No glaze was ever applied, everything you see, the deep olive shoulder, the passages of smoky grey, the flush of aubergine low on the body, happened because ash and flame found this exact spot in the kiln and nowhere else. The form is rounded and a little heavy in the middle, the neck flares just enough to pour cleanly, and it sits with the kind of quiet confidence that unglazed stoneware only earns after firing for days.

This comes from Isezaki Sō, born into one of the defining pottery families of Bizen and a full member of the Nihon Kōgeikai, the Japan Craft Association, since 2004. He trained under Yamashita Jōji from 1987 and has spent the decades since collecting awards at the Nihon Dentō Kōgei-ten and the regional Chūgoku exhibitions that matter most within the tradition. Owning this is owning a piece from someone who has spent a working lifetime answering to that lineage, not performing it.

No glaze, no paint, just fire. I wrote about how Bizen gets its color, in my journal.

This rare temple singing bowl from the Showa era is a heavy, resonant treasure, sourced directly from Kyoto. Cast in solid bronze, its surface features a hand-hammered tsuchime finish that catches the light, shifting from deep graphite to warm amber as you move around it. It is a substantial piece with a grounded presence even before it is struck.

Place it in a meditation room or on a yoga studio altar and it will hold its own. It has the weight and presence of a genuine temple object, which is exactly what it is. If you work with somatic healing, breathwork, or mindfulness practice, the depth of the tone carries well even in a larger space. The set is entirely original and complete, standing 24 cm tall. It includes the bronze bowl, a dark red-brown lacquered wood stand, and a mallet with a matching red handle.

Read more about the objects for your Japanese meditation corner, and why each one matters in my journal.

The tiger lies with its head turned toward you, one paw forward, the weight of the body settled. The glaze is warm amber with dark brown stripes, and the face is painted with enough specificity that you know exactly what kind of animal this is without needing to be told. It is not decorative in the way of a souvenir. It is a studied likeness. Something about the expression, slightly open-mouthed, the eyes directed outward, makes it feel more alert than resting.

Kiyomizu Rokubei VI (六代清水六兵衞, 1901 to 1980) came from a kiln lineage that had been making animal okimono as part of its output since the 18th century. Zodiac animals made at the Rokubei studio were considered collector pieces, sold at high-end establishments throughout Japan. This tiger is signed with the 六兵 personal name seal pressed into the base, and comes in its original tomobako inscribed 寅置物, tiger okimono. A piece likely made for a Year of the Tiger, most probably 1950 or 1962.

Read more about this tiger made for its own year and the kinsai gold Kyoto tradition in my journal.

Notice: This daruma has found a new home. If you are looking for something similar, scroll down.

There is a stillness to this face that stops you before you know why. The lacquer catches the light in a single warm sweep across the rounded body, and out of that glow two eyes stare back with an intensity that has nothing playful about it. Thick black brows, a carved red nose, a beard rendered in fine combed strokes rather than paint alone. This is not the round red good luck charm most people picture when they hear the word daruma. This one is older in spirit, more watchful, carved with the weight of someone who meant it.

This piece was made by Seifu Gono, a mingei craftsman known for turning keyaki, the slow growing Japanese zelkova prized for its depth of grain, into figures exactly like this one. The figure represents Bodhidharma, the monk who founded Zen Buddhism, and in Japan a daruma like this one is kept as a symbol of perseverance and quiet resolve rather than an empty decoration, its stern gaze said to watch over the room and turn away misfortune. Keyaki is not an easy wood to source, it takes centuries to mature, and Gono treated every piece as something meant to outlast him. What you are looking at carries his hand throughout, from the fine combed beard strokes to the deep, glass smooth lacquer.

A grey-green cylinder with a white camellia near the base of the body. The white camellia flower sits brightly against dark brushwork. A branch with leaves painted in loose gestural strokes that look effortless and are not.

Above it, the glaze shifts and pools in variations of green, grey and near-black. The narrow neck rises straight from the shoulder. The whole piece has the quality of something made by someone who no longer needed to think about what they were doing.

The vase is covered in a sophisticated grey-green glaze that shows a fine, well-developed kanyuu crackle pattern. Adding a sense of depth and history to the stoneware. The way the crackle interacts with the speckled underglaze creates a subtle, organic texture that is highly valued in Japanese ceramics.

Kiyomizu Rokubei VI (六代清水六兵衞, 1901 to 1980) was the sixth generation of one of the most significant kiln lineages in the history of Kyo-yaki, a family with nearly 250 years of history in the Gojōzaka district of Kyoto. His work is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

This piece comes with its original signed tomobako inscribed 白椿, shirotsubaki, white camellia, and the original printed shiori documentation tracing the Kiyomizu Rokubei lineage across every generation.

The clay here is warm and gritty in a way that reads almost geological. The glaze deepens to amber-brown at the base and fades toward a pale sandy beige at the rim, and the transition between the two is not a line but a gradual dissolve. The form is slightly irregular, soft-shouldered, made without any ambition to be symmetrical.

This bowl comes from the founding generation of one of Hagi's most recognised kilns. The tomobako carries the hanko of Hirose Nanshū (南州), the man who established the Tsubaki-gama Tenpōzan in Hagi. The telephone notation on the shiori dates the documentation to before direct-dial lines existed in the city. Somewhere in the 1960s or earlier.

The shiori itself was signed by his son Hirose Tanga, who took over the kiln and continued his father's practice. That combination (the father's box and seal, the son's documentation) is a quiet record of how Japanese family kilns pass from one generation to the next. Hagi-yaki has held the second rank in the traditional tea master's hierarchy for centuries, behind only Raku. A bowl from the founding generation of a kiln in that tradition is not a common thing to find.

This bowl has a way of looking complete from any angle. The form is low and wide, the rim gently uneven in the way of something made by hand rather than adjusted toward perfection.

The glaze is a full, dense shining white over most of the body, with orange pushing through directly where the clay asserts itself. It stops you before you know why.

This chawan comes from an earlier generation of Taizan-gama, one of the kilns that has worked in the Tsubaki district of Hagi within a tradition tea masters have placed second only to Raku for four centuries.

The tomobako is inscribed 白萩 茶碗 and the bowl carries the full rectangular 泰山 seal, the older mark of the kiln used before the oven was incorporated as a company.

I work through my finds in small batches as each piece takes time to research, photograph and write properly. But some items are too good to sit invisible in the backlog, and if you have been looking for a significant piece of Shōwa-period award winning studio pottery, I want you to know this one exists.

This is a stoneware kabin (flower vase) by Sakai Yoshito (酒井芳人), second-generation master of the Goshōen-gama kiln in Tobe Town, Ehime Prefecture. He signed his work under the name Yoshimi (芳美), which is the name on the base and on the tomobako. The vase is approximately 30 cm tall and weighs 1.723 kg: a substantial object. Dark iron glaze covers roughly half the surface; where it has been cut through, a large peony composition emerges in the ochre clay beneath.

The piece dates from ca. 1975, the year Yoshito received the Japan Foundation President's Prize at the Japan Ceramics Exhibition. Later in his career he received the Minister of Education's Prize at the Nitten, Japan's foremost fine arts exhibition, and was designated Tobe Town Intangible Cultural Property. The original tomobako and exhibition documentation are included.

The full listing, photographs and price will follow. Want to know the moment it goes live? Scroll down.

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I work through my finds in small batches as each piece takes time to research, photograph and write properly. But some items are too good to sit invisible in the backlog, and if you have been looking for a vintage black silk formal haori, I want you to know this one exists.

This is a formal Shōwa-era kuro haori in black rinzu silk with a tone-on-tone hexagonal kikko pattern woven into the fabric, visible only when the light moves across the surface. Scattered across the body and sleeves are hand-embroidered peacock feathers in copper, green, and white, each with the iridescent eye worked in multiple thread tones. A single embroidered kamon sits at the center back seam. The basting stitches are still in place. This haori has never been worn.

The full listing, photographs and price will follow. Want to know the moment it goes live? Scroll down.

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I work through my finds in small batches as each piece takes time to research, photograph and write properly. But some items are too good to sit invisible in the backlog, and if you have been looking for a vintage shibori silk haori kimono jacket with maple leafs, I want you to know this one exists.

This is a Shōwa-era haori in mint celadon green silk with a woven maple leaf pattern running through the fabric itself, visible as shadow and light rather than color. Large clusters of gold kanoko shibori sit against the green ground in rounded shapes, with vertical lines of the same gold running between them. The lining is cream silk with a subtle woven pattern. The original white himo ties are still attached and looped as stored. The condition is exceptional.

The full listing, photographs and price will follow. Want to know the moment it goes live? Scroll down.

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I work through my finds in small batches as each piece takes time to research, photograph and write properly. But some items are too good to sit invisible in the backlog, and if you have been looking for a vintage shibori silk haori kimono jacket, I want you to know this one exists.

This is a Shōwa-era haori in a heavy coral red silk, dyed using shibori resist technique in two layers: a fine dense ground texture throughout, and a larger square diamond pattern in deeper red over it. The lining is printed silk, cream with bamboo stems and large chrysanthemum flowers in salmon and coral, much more considered than most linings of the period. The basting stitches are still in place. This garment has never been worn.

The full listing, photographs and price will follow. Want to know the moment it goes live? Scroll down.

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Two round forms sit on a black lacquered stand: the bride in the deep red specific to Ouchi-nuri, painted with gold and pink sakura and holding a miniature fan; the groom in high-gloss black with a blue kimono and a white cord at the chest. The pair is small enough to cup in both hands. The lacquer catches the light the way very few surfaces do.

Ouchi-nuri is a lacquer tradition from Yamaguchi, designated as a national traditional craft of Japan alongside Hagi-yaki. These dolls were made by the Kuwahara workshop (桑原大内塗漆器大内人形製作所), one of the established makers in Yamaguchi City, and they come with their original tomobako and the workshop's documentation leaflet. A pair with their original box and their documentation leaflet like this is genuinely uncommon to find outside Japan.

Read more about where I found them in my sourcing journal.

A fine karakusa motif winds across the surface, deep red carved into jet black lacquer. The pattern is continuous, one vine curling into the next without a clear start or end, which is exactly the point. Karakusa has stood for eternity and prosperity in Japanese decorative art for centuries, and here it wraps the natsume completely, catching the light differently depending on the angle you hold it at.

This piece was made by Sakamoto Sessai, who trained under Kurosai, the younger brother of Tamakaji Zōkoku, the founder of the Sanuki kinma tradition in Takamatsu on the island of Shikoku.

What makes this specific case special is that the set is still completely intact. The original wooden box with the signature of the master is included, as is the description from the antique shop in Matsuyama where I found this natsume. It is a real find for anyone who appreciates genuine Japanese tea ceremony craftsmanship.

This natsume immediately caught my eye with its deep, rich red hue and the incredible luster of the authentic Urushi lacquer.

I acquired this piece in Kyoto, though its roots lie in the prestigious Kaga region. This is an area world-renowned for producing Japan’s finest lacquerware. It was crafted by the master Sakashita Yūhō during the Showa period.

A beautiful detail to add is that the Tame-nuri technique used by Yūhō actually "lives" with you. Because the top layers of lacquer are semi-transparent, they gradually become clearer over decades of exposure to light. This means the wood grain and the deep red glow you see now will become even more vivid twenty years from today.

What makes this find truly special is that it remains tucked away in its original wooden tomobako box, which proudly bears the Kaga name: 加賀.

Notice: This natsume has found a new home. If you are looking for something similar, scroll down.

Item details

A black urushi lacquer natsume with maki-e crane decoration, Japan, ca. Shōwa period (1926 to 1989). The rounded body and domed lid are lacquered in deep mirror-black, with two cranes painted in gold across the surface using the classic maki-e technique, in which gold powder is applied to the wet lacquer layer by layer. The wings are detailed and the composition follows the full curve of the form.

The natsume is the tea caddy used in Japanese tea ceremony to hold thin matcha for usucha preparation. This type, in black lacquer with crane motif, sits within a long tradition of auspicious tea utensils. The crane (鶴, tsuru) is one of the most enduring symbols in Japanese decorative arts, associated with longevity and good fortune.

Notice: This natsume has found a new home. If you are looking for something similar, scroll down.

Item details
This lovely antique Japanese Natsume (matcha caddy) is a piece of history with a soul. Sourced in Okayama and dating back over 90 years, it carries the graceful character of a long life lived at the heart of the tea ceremony.

The caddy is finished in deep, midnight-black Urushi lacquer. The lid and sides are richly decorated with an intricate floral and leaf motif using the highly prized Maki-e technique. In this traditional process, fine gold powder is delicately sprinkled into wet lacquer, creating a shimmering, textured design that has stood the test of time.

Whether you are a practitioner of the tea ceremony or simply love a mindful tea moment, this natsume brings a touch of old-world Japan to your ritual. Very nice find for a matcha lover who appreciates the beauty of wabi-sabi. The Japanese aesthetic of finding beauty in imperfection and age.

Notice: This kokeshi has found a new home. If you are looking for something similar, scroll down.

Item details

Large sōsaku kokeshi by Tanaka Harumasa (田中春政), a leading figure in the Japanese creative kokeshi movement of the 1950s and 1960s, whose doll "Dōjō" won the Prime Minister's Award in 1965 and whose camellia work was separately recognized at national level. This figure stands 28 cm tall and carries deep red tsubaki camellia motifs on the body, flowers that in Japan symbolize love and longevity. A small burned mark near the right eye is Tanaka's recognizable maker's detail, present on his signed works. Signed with the original burned mark on the body. Shōwa period, ca. 1960s.

Notice: This daruma has found a new home. If you are looking for something similar, scroll down.

Item details

A large Tōgatta-kei kokeshi by Satō Fumio (佐藤文男), standing approx. 44.5 cm and signed 文男 on the base. The body carries a bold brushed kanji 寿 (kotobuki), a traditional character associated with longevity and celebration, rendered in the fluid, assured hand that characterises a maker who spent his career moving between two traditions: trained under Satō Bunsuke within the Tōgatta line, yet also the son of Satō Ushizō, whose Hijiori-linked style he returned to reconstruct in his later, most accomplished work.

Tōgatta is one of the eleven officially recognised kokeshi traditions, originating in the Zao Onsen area of Miyagi Prefecture and known for its slender form and refined painted decoration.

Notice: This daruma has found a new home. If you are looking for something similar, scroll down.

Item details

A wooden daruma figure from the Shōwa period, lathe-turned and hand-painted, marked 南元だるま (Nanten daruma) on the base with a red maker's seal. Nanten refers to nandina domestica, the heavenly bamboo plant, whose Japanese name carries the homophonic meaning of "turning misfortune" (難転), making it one of the most layered good luck symbols in Japanese domestic life.

Unlike the common papier-mâché daruma, this one is carved from solid wood and shows a warm natural grain through the painted surface. Height 17.5 cm, weight 556 g. Very good vintage condition.

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Item details

A pair of Japanese woodblock print reproductions, ca. 1970s, mounted on thick rigid board. One after Hiroshige's "Fukagawa Susaki and Jūmantsubo" (深川洲崎十万坪), No. 107 from the One Hundred Famous Views of Edo (名所江戸百景), 1857, showing an eagle descending over a snow-covered Edo plain with Mount Fuji in the distance. One bijin-ga in the style of Torii Kiyonaga (1752 to 1815), depicting two women in kimono walking in snow, consistent with his Matsuchi Hill snow scenes of ca. 1784 to 1785. Both prints bear the Uoei publisher's mark. Colors vivid and unfaded. Sold as a set of two.

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Item details

Urushi lacquer hako box with maki-e (蒔絵) cherry blossom decoration in soft pink, ivory and gold on deep black lacquer. The sakura branches on the lid are built up in relief through multiple lacquer layers, the gold still shimmering, the black still glossy. Interior in black lacquer. Red maker's seal on the lid. Shōwa period, ca. 1940s to 1980s. Dimensions: approx. 10.5 x 7 x 4 cm. Very light surface wear consistent with age, lacquer intact with original lustre.