The audio file for this article was produced by the Ceramic Arts Network staff and not read by the author.
The Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, housed in a Beaux-Arts structure in the city’s Civic Center, is renowned for its collections of Asian and Asian American art. It displays objects from 48 countries in Asia, some of which are to be expected—bronze Hindu deities, Japanese kimonos, Chinese jade—while others cover a range of media that constitutes a veritable cabinet of curiosities. Indonesian puppets, an ivory fan, a bamboo cigarette box, and 2000-year-old gold earrings are only a few of the items that have the potential to awe.
Currently in this milieu is an exhibition, “New Japanese Clay,” that I would contend is also a curiosity. Its curator, and chief curator at the museum, Dr. Robert Mintz, states that the artists “are reimagining ceramics for the 21st century,” an assertion that evokes curiosity, a desire to know or learn, i.e., how is this clay different from its predecessors? But curiosity, a quality of novelty or oddness, is present here too. Are there aspects of this reimagination that are unusual and completely new? In talking to Dr. Mintz, I discovered that while these ceramics may be indicative of the future, they are also an engaging curiosity based in their Japanese lineage.
Installation and Items
It is usual to place emphasis on an exhibition’s objects when writing a review. Yet in this instance, the installation of New Japanese Clay takes precedence not only because it intentionally and unconsciously determines how the objects are viewed, but because it is unorthodox. There are 32 ceramic objects on display, three of which, because of their fragility, are contained in plexiglass. Circulation within the single gallery makes this case a climax: Kino Satoshi’s Oroshi: Mountain Gust is a thin swirl of porcelain with a translucent, milky blue glaze that challenges gravity; Nagae Shigekazu creates forms of liquid porcelain that, when glazed, fuse and slump inside one another in the firing; and Moriyama Kanjiro disassembles the walls of wheel-thrown vessels to swirl around and climb over each other.
In what might appear to be an incongruous presence, another case contains historic functional vessels by Hamada Shoji, Bernard Leach, Kitaoji Rosanjin, and Shimaoka Tatsuzo. I’ll return to these in a moment. The enclosure of these arts and crafts ceramics is in contrast to the open and unfettered—by labels or didactic information—sculpture distributed on a shelf on the opposite wall. The sense is that “the new” is unconstrained, both literally and figuratively, by convention. The long, narrow gallery’s focus, primarily on this shelf, is unusual in a world where visual and auditory distractions abound.
Mintz says that in designing the exhibit, “my primary motivation was a desire for the visitor to be able to directly connect visually with the object.” This is possible due to the depth of the shelf and a curtain alarm system that is activated by any encroachment. He envisioned that “by pushing the objects away and giving them some breathing room,” the viewer would have a sense of intimate access. The access, however, is solely optical: there is a demand to look, to see for oneself rather than be guided by a curator’s labels or explanatory panels. Labels are available, along with brief bios and links to artists’ websites or Instagram accounts to enhance the visual experience, but these have to be sought out.
What one sees and remembers depends on personal aesthetics. Here’s my selection. Miyashita Zenji’s vessels consist of thin layers of colored clay whose gradations gird or slide down their surfaces. The hues spark imagination about natural instances, like landscapes or seascapes. Izumita Yukiya assembles layers of stoneware that replicate cardboard laminations: Aurora No. 4 is a feat of mastery whereby nineteen identical shapes come together to form a cresting wave. Hatched by Tanoue Shinya juxtaposes textured concave and convex surfaces with peeks of blue glaze, achieved by multiple applications of urushi lacquer over the clay.
Similarly, Matsutani Fumio in Rei (Dawn) draws the viewer’s eye inward by means of edges, textural striations, and a seeming inner glow of gradated earth tones. Nakamura Takuo’s mizusashi (water jar) epitomizes his interest in the Edo period’s painting and decorative arts in a rich, thick-lidded container of gold patterning on earthy ochre. Where one expects blue for a water jar, the artist disobeys. And Kakurezaki Ryuichi, who comes from the tradition of Bizen ware, steps away from his peers by using clay they would reject. His square vase with rounded sides has an unrustic shape in warm autumn tones.
One of the curiosities of this exhibition is its considerable representation of female artists (eight women to seventeen male counterparts). As Mintz asserts, “the patriarchy is alive and well in Japan and has a long heritage and history of keeping people out of certain industries, certain roles, certain responsibilities.” The work here was created by women, most of whom trained in university art and ceramics departments and sought recognition internationally before achieving fame at home. For instance, Ogawa Machiko studied at Tokyo University before living and practicing in Paris; Katsumata Chieko attended a Japanese university prior to meeting the American artist Fance Franck in Paris, who influenced her to take up ceramics. Mintz believes that a preponderance of women in New Japanese Clay, who are “acknowledged for their art alone, regardless of their gender, regardless of their background, regardless of their name,” is one of the Asian Art Museum’s quiet contributions to DEI.
Examples of the women’s work include Fukumoto Fuku’s Tsukikage (Moonlight), a cascade of bowls that achieves balance of forms, matte versus shine, and aqua tones. Akoda Gourd by Katsumata Chieko, although familiar in shape, is achieved unusually by applying color through cloth that leaves no evidence of brushwork. Repeated firing and painting result in the velvety surface of her organic specimens. In another natural inspiration, Inaba Chikako references lotus and hosta leaves that enclose voids while emphasizing ribs or veins to create relief and shadows on their off-white surface. This delicacy is achieved, remarkably, in stoneware.
Fujino Sachiko, whose background is in textiles, also prefers white. Moment in White C (Shiroi toki C) resembles crumpled paper or cloth; a mysterious interior is hidden by curled material covered in matte glaze. Also white but the antithesis of stasis is Fujikasa Satoko’s Seisei (Plant Growth), handbuilt over many months. The thinness of some areas requires infinite patience during assemblage and drying. And Vessel 15-A by Kitamura Junko is a labor-intensive wheel-thrown vessel whose surface is covered with dots, lines, punching, and voids. The patterns, highlighted with white slip, remind us of the ubiquity of such decorative techniques globally, namely amongst Australian or Central American Indigenous peoples.
Context and Craft
I return now to the Shoji, Leach, Rosanjin, and Tatsuzo wares. According to Mintz, “this new generation of potters from Japan would not exist were it not for the pioneering efforts of the 20th-century founders of the mingei movement.” The importance of this statement requires a brief history lesson. The mingei movement, initiated by Yanagi Soetsu in 1920s and 1930s Japan, aimed to recognize, maintain, and preserve traditional artisanal craft production. Modeled after the Arts and Crafts Movement in Great Britain, Soetsu deplored the threat of industrialization and championed historical folk crafts or mingei. Shoji et al. endorsed Soetsu’s philosophy, although instead of adhering to the humility of folk-ness, they were signature potters.
As well as factory-centered ceramics production, it could be argued that Japan was known for its studio-centered ceramics, by which makers perfected their art by churning out hundreds of the same object. In one respect, this ensured mastery of material and technique, but, alternatively, it eliminated the hand and imagination of the maker. Without question, this approach created a nation of superb craft and craftsmen (mostly men) who were and are national treasures. Yet the craft artist who went against the established grain faced disapproval.
The makers in New Japanese Clay owe their current practice to mingei. Yet they are individuals who, because of university exposure and travel, are exploring extraordinary ways with clay rather than a dogged commitment to family and national habits. They are not tied to function and definitely avoid repetition. The very fact of a sizable number of women means that traditions are being broken. Formerly, women were assistants in husbands’ studios and might succeed a spouse only upon his death. Now, feminine sensibilities are visible and gradually being recognized in museums and competitions in Japan.
The final curiosity of New Japanese Clay is in its provenance. Mintz points out, “I don’t think there’s rich storytelling.” In assembling the work he was aware that, individually and cumulatively, it transcends narrative. For the artists and the viewers, the objects are intended, and do, generate feelings, which is further emphasized by the removal of words from their proximity.
The irony, however, is that this collection of ceramics, donated to the Asian Art Museum by Phyllis Kempner and David Stein, was acquired because of stories. Kempner and Stein initially collected modern and contemporary works on paper but, as they traveled to Japan and visited New York galleries, they became interested in ceramics and eventually concentrated on this medium. They relished meeting the artists and valued the stories of the makers’ lives, their inspirations, and production techniques. Kempner and Stein largely purchased pieces from artists they met and talked to either via translators or directly. This reminds us, yet again, that the personal connection between maker and client/user is the essence of craft, a quality that ensures its cherishment. The fact that the former owners treasured these ceramics because of the resonance established through a relationship means that there are human stories in this exhibition.
Despite Robert Mintz’s intention that his exhibition is a “purely sculptural experience,” I contend that the artists’ connection to mingei, as well as their representation via collectors who prize face-to-face encounters, result in a craft experience. While Japanese clay may be embracing the new, it is doing so by aligning with and breaking away from tradition.
the author D Wood has a PhD in design studies and is an independent craft scholar whose artist profiles and exhibition reviews have appeared in an international roster of art and design publications. She is the editor of and contributor to Craft is Political (Bloomsbury, 2021) and The Politics of Global Craft (Bloomsbury, 2025).
Note: Artist names appearing in this article do not necessarily conform to the Western ordering convention of first name, last name. They may be displayed in the standard Japanese order of last name then first name, as presented in the exhibition.
We understand your email address is private. You will receive emails and newsletters from Ceramic Arts Network. We will never share your information except as outlined in our privacy policy. You can unsubscribe at any time.
Please enjoy this complimentary article for the month.
For unlimited access to Ceramics Monthly premium content, please subscribe.
We understand your email address is private. You will receive emails and newsletters from Ceramic Arts Network. We will never share your information except as outlined in our privacy policy. You can unsubscribe at any time.
Subscribe to Ceramics Monthly
The audio file for this article was produced by the Ceramic Arts Network staff and not read by the author.
The Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, housed in a Beaux-Arts structure in the city’s Civic Center, is renowned for its collections of Asian and Asian American art. It displays objects from 48 countries in Asia, some of which are to be expected—bronze Hindu deities, Japanese kimonos, Chinese jade—while others cover a range of media that constitutes a veritable cabinet of curiosities. Indonesian puppets, an ivory fan, a bamboo cigarette box, and 2000-year-old gold earrings are only a few of the items that have the potential to awe.
Currently in this milieu is an exhibition, “New Japanese Clay,” that I would contend is also a curiosity. Its curator, and chief curator at the museum, Dr. Robert Mintz, states that the artists “are reimagining ceramics for the 21st century,” an assertion that evokes curiosity, a desire to know or learn, i.e., how is this clay different from its predecessors? But curiosity, a quality of novelty or oddness, is present here too. Are there aspects of this reimagination that are unusual and completely new? In talking to Dr. Mintz, I discovered that while these ceramics may be indicative of the future, they are also an engaging curiosity based in their Japanese lineage.
Installation and Items
It is usual to place emphasis on an exhibition’s objects when writing a review. Yet in this instance, the installation of New Japanese Clay takes precedence not only because it intentionally and unconsciously determines how the objects are viewed, but because it is unorthodox. There are 32 ceramic objects on display, three of which, because of their fragility, are contained in plexiglass. Circulation within the single gallery makes this case a climax: Kino Satoshi’s Oroshi: Mountain Gust is a thin swirl of porcelain with a translucent, milky blue glaze that challenges gravity; Nagae Shigekazu creates forms of liquid porcelain that, when glazed, fuse and slump inside one another in the firing; and Moriyama Kanjiro disassembles the walls of wheel-thrown vessels to swirl around and climb over each other.
In what might appear to be an incongruous presence, another case contains historic functional vessels by Hamada Shoji, Bernard Leach, Kitaoji Rosanjin, and Shimaoka Tatsuzo. I’ll return to these in a moment. The enclosure of these arts and crafts ceramics is in contrast to the open and unfettered—by labels or didactic information—sculpture distributed on a shelf on the opposite wall. The sense is that “the new” is unconstrained, both literally and figuratively, by convention. The long, narrow gallery’s focus, primarily on this shelf, is unusual in a world where visual and auditory distractions abound.
Mintz says that in designing the exhibit, “my primary motivation was a desire for the visitor to be able to directly connect visually with the object.” This is possible due to the depth of the shelf and a curtain alarm system that is activated by any encroachment. He envisioned that “by pushing the objects away and giving them some breathing room,” the viewer would have a sense of intimate access. The access, however, is solely optical: there is a demand to look, to see for oneself rather than be guided by a curator’s labels or explanatory panels. Labels are available, along with brief bios and links to artists’ websites or Instagram accounts to enhance the visual experience, but these have to be sought out.
What one sees and remembers depends on personal aesthetics. Here’s my selection. Miyashita Zenji’s vessels consist of thin layers of colored clay whose gradations gird or slide down their surfaces. The hues spark imagination about natural instances, like landscapes or seascapes. Izumita Yukiya assembles layers of stoneware that replicate cardboard laminations: Aurora No. 4 is a feat of mastery whereby nineteen identical shapes come together to form a cresting wave. Hatched by Tanoue Shinya juxtaposes textured concave and convex surfaces with peeks of blue glaze, achieved by multiple applications of urushi lacquer over the clay.
Similarly, Matsutani Fumio in Rei (Dawn) draws the viewer’s eye inward by means of edges, textural striations, and a seeming inner glow of gradated earth tones. Nakamura Takuo’s mizusashi (water jar) epitomizes his interest in the Edo period’s painting and decorative arts in a rich, thick-lidded container of gold patterning on earthy ochre. Where one expects blue for a water jar, the artist disobeys. And Kakurezaki Ryuichi, who comes from the tradition of Bizen ware, steps away from his peers by using clay they would reject. His square vase with rounded sides has an unrustic shape in warm autumn tones.
One of the curiosities of this exhibition is its considerable representation of female artists (eight women to seventeen male counterparts). As Mintz asserts, “the patriarchy is alive and well in Japan and has a long heritage and history of keeping people out of certain industries, certain roles, certain responsibilities.” The work here was created by women, most of whom trained in university art and ceramics departments and sought recognition internationally before achieving fame at home. For instance, Ogawa Machiko studied at Tokyo University before living and practicing in Paris; Katsumata Chieko attended a Japanese university prior to meeting the American artist Fance Franck in Paris, who influenced her to take up ceramics. Mintz believes that a preponderance of women in New Japanese Clay, who are “acknowledged for their art alone, regardless of their gender, regardless of their background, regardless of their name,” is one of the Asian Art Museum’s quiet contributions to DEI.
Examples of the women’s work include Fukumoto Fuku’s Tsukikage (Moonlight), a cascade of bowls that achieves balance of forms, matte versus shine, and aqua tones. Akoda Gourd by Katsumata Chieko, although familiar in shape, is achieved unusually by applying color through cloth that leaves no evidence of brushwork. Repeated firing and painting result in the velvety surface of her organic specimens. In another natural inspiration, Inaba Chikako references lotus and hosta leaves that enclose voids while emphasizing ribs or veins to create relief and shadows on their off-white surface. This delicacy is achieved, remarkably, in stoneware.
Fujino Sachiko, whose background is in textiles, also prefers white. Moment in White C (Shiroi toki C) resembles crumpled paper or cloth; a mysterious interior is hidden by curled material covered in matte glaze. Also white but the antithesis of stasis is Fujikasa Satoko’s Seisei (Plant Growth), handbuilt over many months. The thinness of some areas requires infinite patience during assemblage and drying. And Vessel 15-A by Kitamura Junko is a labor-intensive wheel-thrown vessel whose surface is covered with dots, lines, punching, and voids. The patterns, highlighted with white slip, remind us of the ubiquity of such decorative techniques globally, namely amongst Australian or Central American Indigenous peoples.
Context and Craft
I return now to the Shoji, Leach, Rosanjin, and Tatsuzo wares. According to Mintz, “this new generation of potters from Japan would not exist were it not for the pioneering efforts of the 20th-century founders of the mingei movement.” The importance of this statement requires a brief history lesson. The mingei movement, initiated by Yanagi Soetsu in 1920s and 1930s Japan, aimed to recognize, maintain, and preserve traditional artisanal craft production. Modeled after the Arts and Crafts Movement in Great Britain, Soetsu deplored the threat of industrialization and championed historical folk crafts or mingei. Shoji et al. endorsed Soetsu’s philosophy, although instead of adhering to the humility of folk-ness, they were signature potters.
As well as factory-centered ceramics production, it could be argued that Japan was known for its studio-centered ceramics, by which makers perfected their art by churning out hundreds of the same object. In one respect, this ensured mastery of material and technique, but, alternatively, it eliminated the hand and imagination of the maker. Without question, this approach created a nation of superb craft and craftsmen (mostly men) who were and are national treasures. Yet the craft artist who went against the established grain faced disapproval.
The makers in New Japanese Clay owe their current practice to mingei. Yet they are individuals who, because of university exposure and travel, are exploring extraordinary ways with clay rather than a dogged commitment to family and national habits. They are not tied to function and definitely avoid repetition. The very fact of a sizable number of women means that traditions are being broken. Formerly, women were assistants in husbands’ studios and might succeed a spouse only upon his death. Now, feminine sensibilities are visible and gradually being recognized in museums and competitions in Japan.
The final curiosity of New Japanese Clay is in its provenance. Mintz points out, “I don’t think there’s rich storytelling.” In assembling the work he was aware that, individually and cumulatively, it transcends narrative. For the artists and the viewers, the objects are intended, and do, generate feelings, which is further emphasized by the removal of words from their proximity.
The irony, however, is that this collection of ceramics, donated to the Asian Art Museum by Phyllis Kempner and David Stein, was acquired because of stories. Kempner and Stein initially collected modern and contemporary works on paper but, as they traveled to Japan and visited New York galleries, they became interested in ceramics and eventually concentrated on this medium. They relished meeting the artists and valued the stories of the makers’ lives, their inspirations, and production techniques. Kempner and Stein largely purchased pieces from artists they met and talked to either via translators or directly. This reminds us, yet again, that the personal connection between maker and client/user is the essence of craft, a quality that ensures its cherishment. The fact that the former owners treasured these ceramics because of the resonance established through a relationship means that there are human stories in this exhibition.
Despite Robert Mintz’s intention that his exhibition is a “purely sculptural experience,” I contend that the artists’ connection to mingei, as well as their representation via collectors who prize face-to-face encounters, result in a craft experience. While Japanese clay may be embracing the new, it is doing so by aligning with and breaking away from tradition.
the author D Wood has a PhD in design studies and is an independent craft scholar whose artist profiles and exhibition reviews have appeared in an international roster of art and design publications. She is the editor of and contributor to Craft is Political (Bloomsbury, 2021) and The Politics of Global Craft (Bloomsbury, 2025).
Note: Artist names appearing in this article do not necessarily conform to the Western ordering convention of first name, last name. They may be displayed in the standard Japanese order of last name then first name, as presented in the exhibition.
December 2025: Table of Contents
Must-Reads from Ceramics Monthly
Unfamiliar with any terms in this article? Browse our glossary of pottery terms!
Click the cover image to return to the Table of Contents