TAKAHASHI Tomoko (Ceramist)
Written by TOMIKAWA Kyōko
【Table of Contents】
- From Hokkaido to Okinawa, and Onward to Yachimata
- An Encounter with Unglazed Earthenware in Okinawa: The Path Toward Porcelain
- Discovering the Technique of Yūri-Kinsai
- “Something is Amiss”: The Genesis of a New Artistic Expression
- The Soul Embedded within Abstract Motifs
- Shifting Destinies: The Impact of the Great East Japan Earthquake
- An Unexpected Horizon: New Creative Realms Found Amidst the Corona Pandemic
- A Series Resonating with the Pure Joy of Creation
Photo by the author.
Ah, so this is also “Oyogu Tsuki (游ぐ月: Moon in the Water)”…
Such was the thought that arose upon seeing the title of TAKAHASHI Tomoko’s (高橋 朋子) Gokinsai-ki (五金彩器) displayed at “the Kikuchi Biennale XI: The Present of Ceramics”.
The final exhibition room of the Kikuchi Kanjitsu Memorial Tomo Museum in Tokyo was deeply dimmed, evoking the sense of a rectangular night.
The darkness felt sharp, almost crystalline.
Illumination was focused exclusively on the artwork.
Within that rectangular night, the Gokinsai-ki―vessel adorned with five distinct types of gold decoration―radiated a brilliant lustre, like the moon itself.
Patterns of diamonds, foliage, crescents, and chevrons are integrated into rectangular shapes, encircling the vessel in an obi belt fashion. Moreover, these five layered bands transition deliberately: a commanding, intense gold at the top softens around the third layer into a greenish-grey. By the fourth and fifth layers, it fades even further, clearly embedding a symphony of colour and luminosity into the piece.
Furthermore, it is only when one takes in the white interior―with its shifting gradients and fluid forms―that one truly “observes” the vessel titled “Oyogu Tsuki” ―Moon in the Water―.
It is an extraordinary assembly of meticulous devotion.
It almost leads one to wonder if the title “Oyogu Tsuki” was chosen from a playful desire to capture moonlight as a spectrum of diverse frequencies, rendering them in the manner of an oscilloscope.
Having encountered TAKAHASHI’s Gokinsai-ki “Oyogu Tsuki” at numerous juried open-call exhibitions over the years, it now stands before me as a monumental and profound presence.
Detail of the Gokinsai-ki, “Oyogu Tsuki”. While inherently sharp, the hand-cut motifs simultaneously exude a plain, unpretentious atmosphere. Photo by the author.
1. From Hokkaido to Okinawa, and Onward to Yachimata
A corner of the atelier featuring the Kinginsai Mizu-sashi “Oyogu Tsuki (金銀彩水指 『游ぐ月』)” water container, displayed alongside “Tsuki to Umi to (月と海と: the Moon and the Sea)”, a photographic work by KIMURA Naoto.
Currently, TAKAHASHI continues her creative pursuits in Yachimata, Chiba Prefecture―a region characterised by its flat terrain and expansive skies. Geographically, Yachimata lies nearly at the centre of the Japanese Archipelago as it stretches from north to south.
“I was born in Hokkaido, but from elementary through high school, I’d spend my summer vacations in Yachimata, where my relatives lived. Nearby was the Kawamura Memorial DIC Museum of Art [closed in 2025], famous for its modern art collection. I would spend whole days there, just enjoying that free and truly affluent time.”
By her own account, she was a somewhat unconventional child.
“While the children around me were emulating pop idols, I found myself listening to traditional folk music from around the world, as well as Japanese enka (a genre of sentimental Japanese ballad). I have always had a deep affinity for folklore.”
The artist welcomed us with the teabowl Aodechawan, “Getsu-un (蒼掌茶碗『月暈』)”, and the “Ginsai Hasu-zara (銀彩蓮皿)” plate coloured with gindei (銀泥: silver powder dissolved in nikawa gelatine-glue). The teabowl nestles effortlessly into the hands, beautifully accentuating the vibrant green of the matcha.
2. An Encounter with Unglazed Earthenware in Okinawa: The Path Toward Porcelain
The detached studio holds a potter’s wheel and electric kilns. Here, she hand-builds her vessels using a blend of Seto and Arita porcelain clays. “By firing them in an oxidation atmosphere, I’m able to create vessels that possess a soft, gentle appearance despite being crafted from porcelain.”
Possessing a natural liking for working with her hands, TAKAHASHI enrolled in the Faculty of Arts and Crafts at the Okinawa Prefectural University of Arts.
“The main reason I chose Okinawa in the first place was the influence of OKAMOTO Taro’s book “Wasurerareta Nippon – Okinawa Bunkaron [Forgotten Japan―Treatise on Okinawan Culture]”, which I read back in high school. I also had this strong desire to see the world outside, and I was really drawn to Okinawa, including its history.” she explains.
At the time, the university’s curriculum allowed students only upon entering their third year to choose between textiles and ceramics.
“I entered the university with the casual expectation that I could simply experience various disciplines during those two flexible years before making my choice.”
In her lodgings near Shuri Castle, “I could hear the rhythmic sounds of weaving looms, and ordinary neighbors would play the sanshin (an Okinawan snakeskin shamisen), or spontaneously start dancing. I felt as though my preconceived values were being dismantled in the best possible way. A way of life unfolded that was completely unimaginable in Hokkaido.”
TAKAHASHI describes this period as akin to a chrysalis, where the caterpillar must first dissolve into a fluid state before its beautiful wings can emerge.
During her freshman year, she studied the creation of unglazed earthenware.
“We’d go out and dig up the clay ourselves, dry it, knead it all by hand, and then just throw it right into the flames. Experiencing that raw, primitive way of making things―and realising I could create something completely on my own―was just so fascinating.”
It was this realisation that prompted her decision to major in ceramics.
Yet, before long, TAKAHASHI began to sense a growing dissonance between herself and her surroundings.
“At the university back then, both the professors and the students were completely focused on the Mingei (民藝: folk crafts) movement. While I found Mingei itself attractive, contemporary ceramics were becoming so much more diverse at the time. I started to wonder if it was really okay for me to just keep making only Mingei-style pieces. The world was changing so fast, and I worried that if we stayed on this path, we’d end up completely isolated from everything else.”
TAKAHASHI instinctively sensed that her true direction lay elsewhere―that something was fundamentally amiss. This intuition would soon propel her toward a new stage of her artistic journey.
Amidst this period of uncertainty, she encountered KAWAHARA Yasutaka (川原 康孝, 1928-2000), who had come to the Okinawa Prefectural University of Arts as a guest lecturer from the Aichi Prefectural Seto Pottery Senior High School. Under the guidance of KAWAHARA, a disciple of the legendary living national treasure TOMIMOTO Kenkichi (富本 憲吉, 1886-1963), TAKAHASHI began to discern her true calling in the realm of porcelain.
The Tsutsu-bachi “Nei (寧)” from the “Suiran (翠巒)” series. While inspired by the moon rising over the forests of Hokkaido, it simultaneously evokes the image of the sun emerging through a blizzard in a frozen Scandinavian woodland.
3. Discovering the Technique of Yūri-Kinsai
Upon advancing to graduate school, TAKAHASHI was unexpectedly instructed by KAWAHARA to experiment with a technique known as yūri-kinsai (釉裏金彩)*.
At the time, KITADE Fujio (北出 不士雄, 1919-2014)―president of the Kanazawa College of Art and a prominent figure in Kutani-ware―was also teaching at the Okinawa Prefectural University of Arts.
“When you think of yūri-kinsai, it’s actually a Kutani technique,” TAKAHASHI recalls. “So, I went to see Professor KITADE to ask him to teach me, but he simply replied, ‘I don’t know how yūri-kinsai works either.’ But he was kind enough to introduce me to an instructor at the Kutani Ware Technology Institute, who then talked me through the details over the phone.”
Although she understood the theory of yūri-kinsai in her mind, the actual execution proved to be an entirely different matter.
“The gold leaf would tear, or I’d end up with just tiny fragments. I eventually told my professor that I couldn’t do this anymore. But he said, ‘Look, since you’ve already gotten these results from your experiments, you’ll master it in no time.’ He might be right, I thought, and kept trying over and over again, and through all that experimentation, I finally managed to make yūri-kinsai work.”
Throughout her twenties and into her early thirties, TAKAHASHI dedicated herself to pushing the boundaries of this technique.
TAKAHASHI utilizes uwazumi (上澄み), an intermediate metal sheet thicker than standard metal leaf, also referred to simply as zumi (澄み). She hand-cuts these sheets freehand, applies each individually with a fine brush, and fires the piece. By repeating this process of application and firing, her work is brought to completion over an extended span of time.
4. “Something is Amiss”: The Genesis of a New Artistic Expression
In the foreground is a teabowl from the “Minamo” series. To decorate the piece, she whips pigments into a foam, cradles the foam in her palms, and gently presses it onto the vessel, allowing the colour to seep into the surface. “I craft them with great care so as not to crush the natural bubbliness of the foam.” In the background stands an “Oyogu Tsuki (游ぐ月: Moon in the Water)” teabowl.
However, upon entering her thirties, TAKAHASHI began to harbour doubts about creating works using yūri-kinsai.
“Seeing how the techniques and expressions had already been pushed to absolute perfection in the works of Living National Treasures―it just started to feel suffocating to me.”
Once again, TAKAHASHI’s intuition told her: I cannot express what I truly desire through traditional yūri-kinsai.
“To be honest, while I was working, I kept thinking that the appearance might actually look more beautiful without the glaze,” she reflects.
“I was worried about the strength at first, but after some experiments, I realised it would hold up just fine. That’s when I thought, ‘Alright, it’s time to graduate from yūri-kinsai.’”
The instant she departed from the strict dictates of the yūri-kinsai technique, her expressive range expanded, and a sense of relief washed over her.
“That was the moment I realised that instead of sticking to traditional methods, going forward with a new technique would let me create so much more freely.”
Gokinginsai Kutsubachi, “Oyogu Tsuki (五金銀彩沓鉢 『游ぐ月』)”. The surface of this bowl, defined by its dynamically shaped rim, features three tiered bands of motifs. The inside utilises silver leaf to create a white world. A subtle variance in luminescence emerges between the areas applied with a single layer of silver leaf and those with two layered leaves.
5. The Soul Embedded within Abstract Motifs
The Shūkō Kinginsai Ita-zara (銹光金銀彩板皿) “Moon Pavilion”, adorning the wall of the atelier. The term shūkō (銹光) was named from the phenomenon wherein metal leaf and metallic glazes discolour during firing, giving rise to deep, evocative of black and green.
A defining characteristic of TAKAHASHI’s works lies in her abstract patterns.
“I’ve always loved folklore,” she observes. “Even the Ainu patterns I grew up around―while they look abstract and simple on the surface―actually carry deep religious and magical meanings. That’s what really draws me to them, and in my own work, I don’t want to lock a pattern into just only one fixed meaning.”
Consider, for example, her “Oyogu Tsuki (the Moon in the Water)” series.
“The moon shines by reflecting the sun’s light, doesn’t it?” TAKAHASHI explains.
“It’s the same with gold leaf. It doesn’t emit light on its own, so it’s always affected by the light around it. Depending on how the light hits it, it can look inorganic one moment, and then look like it’s rising right up at the next. I feel a certain rhythm in that light.”
She notes that as she expresses this rhythm, her designs naturally become increasingly abstract―manifesting as straight lines, chevrons patterns, tatewaku pattern (vertically symmetrical undulating wave patterns), and semicircles patterns. While the individual patterns of the metal leaf remain simple, their combinations are limitless. From these infinite permutations, she unconsciously selects the precise rhythm of light. Here, once again, TAKAHASHI’s visionary intuition is at work.
In the foreground (right and left) and the background are tea utensils and a teabowl from the Shūkō Kinginsai-ki (銹光金銀彩器) “Moon Pavilion” series. In the centre is a vessel from the “Hoshi no Ko (星の子)” series.
6. Shifting Destinies: The Impact of the Great East Japan Earthquake
The Shūkōsai-hachi, “Nami no Ko” (銹光彩鉢『波の子』). The hand-formed, edgy silhouette perfectly accentuates the mesmerising gleam of the black, gold, and green metallic leaves.
In 2011, having returned from Okinawa to her current base in Chiba, TAKAHASHI was deeply engaged in refining her personal expression of gold and silver when the Great East Japan Earthquake struck.
“So many people lost their lives, and everything just completely stopped… Being faced with that reality, I really felt like it was also a time for me to stop and think.”
This time, that same instinct pointed her toward something more specific: it was time to narrow her focus strictly to the path she truly desired.
In her mid-thirties she resigned from her position as an elementary school art teacher, choosing to commit herself entirely to the path of ceramics. While she had already received accolades at juried open-call exhibitions prior to this turning point, she now began to actively enter various juried open-call exhibitions.
“It takes so much concentrated effort to bring completely new work into the world every year. But I just found myself making pieces and sending them out, almost like I got completely lost in the process of producing.”
Her profound dedication bore fruit, and TAKAHASHI’s works went on to frequently win awards.
The Aodechawan, “Hoshi no Ko (蒼掌茶碗『星の子』)”. Upon the blue glaze surface, intentionally left uneven to create depth, abstract motifs of gold and silver leaf seem to dance and leap. “I envisioned the patterns as the very vibrations felt at the moment a star is born.”
7. An Unexpected Horizon: New Creative Realms Found Amidst the Corona Pandemic
The Shūkōsai-hachi, “Gen no Tsuki” (銹光彩鉢『玄の月』). Layers upon layers of gold, silver, and copper leaves are repeatedly applied and fired, imparting a profound sense of depth and tangible thickness to the piece.
In the spring of 2020, a global pandemic gripped the world. Also in Japan, everything came to a standstill, and naturally, numerous juried open-call exhibitions were canceled. The same restlessness that had guided her before now prompted TAKAHASHI to pause and reconsider the very nature of her craftsmanship.
“Since I suddenly had all this time on my hands, I thought I’d challenge myself with something I’ve never been able to do before,” she recalls.
From this period emerged her “Gen no Tsuki (玄の月)” series, a collection possessing an entirely distinct aesthetic flavour from her previous work.
TAKAHASHI had long since tested a comprehensive range of metal leaves beyond gold and silver, and she now found herself rediscovering the fascination of copper leaf. “When you fire copper leaf, it turns black or green. Back in my twenties, I didn’t think those kinds of colours and textures were beautiful at all, but now I have started to find them really intriguing.”
Aided by the expanding variety of uwazumi produced in Kanazawa, her masterpiece “Gen no Tsuki” came to life. The profound depth and internal radiance, achieved through the meticulous layering of multiple coats of metal leaf, utterly captivate the viewer.
In the background is the Shūkōsai-hachi, “Gen no Tsuki” (銹光彩鉢『玄の月』), contrasted in the foreground with the Kinginsai-chawan, “Oyogu Tsuki” (金銀彩茶碗『游ぐ月』). Even within her repertoire of metal-leaf works, each piece manifests a profoundly distinct artistic expression.
8. A Series Resonating with the Pure Joy of Creation
The Shūkōsai Tsukigatami, “Hoshi no Ko” (銹光彩月筐『星の子』). The upper portion of the vessel depicts the moon in two distinct phases. Below, the trees on the earth appear to be dancing, moving in harmony with the rhythm of stars cascading from the heavens.
TAKAHASHI’s work comprises several definitive series. Among them is the “Hoshi no Ko (星の子)” series, featuring motifs inspired by the cosmic explosions that herald the birth of supernovas. Utilising metal leaves cut into circles, arrows, and triangles, these patterns evoke the sensation of a musical composition or a choreographed dance. Meanwhile, her “Moon Pavilion” series―where gold and silver leaves are meticulously layered over foil that has oxidised to a deep black―seems to resonate with the primeval beat of ancient drums. In recent years, she has also expanded her repertoire into a series utilising coloured glazes, ranging from serene greens and sweet, delicate pinks to noble lavenders. A unifying thread through all her work is the palpable presence of rhythm―a rhythm that instinctively compels the body to move. The forms of the porcelain bodies that support this rhythm are both delicate and sharp, precisely calculated to allow her ornamentation to flourish to its absolute fullest.
Top: A water container the Shikōsai Mizusashi, “Hōsaku” (紫光彩水指 『豊咲』), featuring gold and silver leaf shimmering upon a lavender-toned glaze. Bottom: A tea caddy the Kōkōsai Usucha-ki, “Akatsuki” (紅光彩薄茶器 『暁月』), where silver leaf is applied as if veiling the fiery, burning red surface, allowing the underlying crimson to beautifully transluce.
“I have a particular fondness for vessels―especially futamono (蓋物: vessel covered with a lid),” TAKAHASHI notes. “The comfort you feel when you pick it up, the way it feels when you use it, and that warmth and weight that’s almost like holding a child in your arms… I think the real charm of craft vessels is that you can keep it close to you and truly cherish it.”
Her hands create.
Her creating hands move not by intellect, but purely by what they feel.
By surrendering herself entirely to that pure, intuitive “something,” TAKAHASHI creates works that profoundly stir the human soul.
She reveals herself to be, perhaps, “a modern-day shamaness of contemporary craft”.
Her hands, with their slender fingers, are themselves the essential instruments that bring forth such delicate forms, sublimating them into works of magnificent splendour.
The yūri-kinsai (釉裏金彩) process begins with cutting pieces of the design out of delicate gold leaf, which is prone to tears and wrinkling if mishandled. Next, a thin layer of glaze is applied to a ceramic vessel previously fired with a high-temperature glaze, and the pieces are carefully attached onto it.
Additional detailed pattern work can be done by kindei*, kinpun** or drawing lines with a needle like tool. Once the design has dried, a final layer of transparent glaze is carefully applied, and the vessel is fired at a low temperature, leaving the gold design sandwiched between several layers of glaze.
*Kindei (金泥): gold powder dissolved in nikawa gelatine-glue, for brush drawing
**Kinpun (金粉): sprinkled gold powder
Adapted from JTA Sightseeing Database (https://www.mlit.go.jp/tagengo-db/R4-00022.html)
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Photographed by TAMURA Hiroaki (田村 浩章)
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