The expression of a piece changes completely depending on who makes it. The clay, the glaze, even the firing method might be the same, and yet – why is that? It’s because a person’s life is reflected within the piece of pottery.

In this valley of Tamba, a total of 50 potteries are still at work today. In some studios, you’ll find pieces made by parent-child teams. At first, the younger generation seeks to express its individuality through original, new ideas.

Yet as they grow older, some find themselves gradually pursuing their parents’ style. It’s not about imitating form but gathering meaning from watching their parents over a lifetime.

Potters in Tamba often have two sides: pottery as a business and pottery as personal artistic work.

For example, they might make hundreds of bowls for a particular udon noodle shop. At the same time, they present works bearing their own signatures in solo exhibitions. Mass production using mechanical wheels, and heartfelt handwork – the back-and-forth between the everyday work that supports their livelihood and the expression that deepens the self.

They say that many potters here are locally born. One person tells how, among five classmates, four were children of potters, and three of them took over the family kiln.

From early childhood, they lived with pottery in their daily lives, with pride, and with a bloodline that could be traced back many generations.

At some point, the children realize: “The very spot where I now sit turning the wheel is where my ancestors, hundreds of years ago, also faced the clay.”

It’s a luxurious kind of life, living together with one’s roots – a feeling that the word “tradition” alone cannot fully capture, a sense of being grounded in the land.

If you find a piece that catches your eye, please speak with its maker. What kind of scenery was it made in? What thoughts went into it? What sounds surrounded it as it took shape?

Each word you hear will add new depth to the piece of pottery in your hands.