The Story of a Small Woodturner's Workshop
Mitsuo Ikeshita, Woodturning Craftsman in Wajima
The wood base—ultimately, it's all about the material. Even when turned into a round shape, it doesn’t warp. When my body’s in good shape, the finish turns out beautifully, and I think to myself, “Ah, this turned out well.”
—Mitsuo Ikeshita (1939–2024)
In a small town on the Noto Peninsula lived a solitary woodturner—Mitsuo Ikeshita.
He entered the trade at the age of fifteen and, for seventy-one years, devoted himself solely to turning wooden bases for bowls.
Carrying the legacy of Wajima lacquerware on his back, he remained active throughout his life, with countless vessels having passed through his hands.
It was in the spring of 2007 that Mr. Akagi first visited Ikeshita’s workshop.
The space, steeped in the atmosphere of the Showa era, exuded a stillness that made time feel as if it had stopped.
The windows were clouded with wood dust, a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling, and a well-worn lathe sat in the center.
Once, six craftsmen had worked in that room—now, only Ikeshita remained.
Yet the space still held the quiet breath of time gone by, as if it lingered just beneath the surface, waiting.
An old, unfinished bowl form rolled out from the back of the earthen storehouse—a block of zelkova wood, weathered by a hundred years.
Covered in dust, it seemed long forgotten, abandoned by every eye.
Looking at it, Mr. Ikeshita quietly murmured,
“Ah, that’s a form my grandfather brought in when he was young.”
When Mr. Akagi asked, “May I use this?”
Ikeshita simply nodded and said, “Alright.”
There was no hesitation, no display of pride.
It was a quiet affirmation—
The response of a man who had entrusted his life to material, to craft, and to time itself.
On New Year’s Day in 2024, a massive earthquake struck Noto without mercy,
reducing Mr. Ikeshita’s workshop to rubble.
Mr. Akagi, setting aside the restoration of his own studio and workspace,
immediately devoted himself to rebuilding Ikeshita’s.
“I’m going to start a new chapter of Wajima lacquerware. The view outside the window breaks my heart,” he said.
And yet, with those words, he began to move his hands again—ready to work, ready to create.
When Mr. Ikeshita returned to the newly rebuilt workshop,
he sat before the lathe just as he always had,
unchanged in posture and presence.
But only a few days later,
he passed away quietly.
4o
For nearly twenty years thereafter,
Mr. Ikeshita continued to turn wood solely for one lacquer artisan—Akito Akagi.
Mr. Akagi reflects:
“In the very blood and flesh of the woodturner Mitsuo Ikeshita,
there pulsed the essential, beautiful forms of Wajima lacquerware.”
They were forms that, in today’s Wajima, had already been all but forgotten.
Mitsuo Ikeshita × Akito Akagi
Joseon-style Tray
Turnery wood master Mitsuo Ikeshita’s final work.
The last piece he turned was a Joseon-style tray,
finished in lacquer by Mr. Akagi’s own hand.
It is not only the closing chapter of one artisan’s life,
but also a testament to the spirit of collaboration rooted in the land of Wajima—
a living memory handed down through time,
a quiet affirmation of life’s enduring craft.
"void"
This piece is a contemporary reinterpretation of the "Shōbōji-wan," a type of ōryōki (alms bowl) from the Momoyama period.
While its vertical profile is held in restraint, the form expands boldly in the horizontal direction, creating a quiet sense of spaciousness within the vessel.
The subtle balance between the height of the foot and the depth of the inner curve lends the bowl a serene stillness, accompanied by a quiet tension.
The surface is finished in a deep, jet-black lacquer—so dark it might be called absolute black—evoking the presence of emptiness, like a mirror reflecting the void.
Within what appears to be nothing, one senses the quiet pulse of a minute and hidden world.
Maintaining its functionality as lacquerware, the piece also takes on a sculptural, abstract presence.
It is not merely a vessel for food, but one that could just as easily hold something spiritual or immaterial.
Tracing the form of the Shōbōji bowl—a vessel of prayer—it offers a quiet challenge: to let “emptiness” rise and settle into the fabric of contemporary life.
Noto Bowl
Noto has long been a land of faith. In the Heian period, it flourished with large temples of Shugendō and Esoteric Buddhism. During the Kamakura period, it became the site of the head temple of the Sōtō Zen sect, Sōjiji. By the Momoyama period, it had become a stronghold of the Ikkō sect, and to this day, many temples of the Jōdo Shinshū tradition remain.
The exact connection between Wajima lacquerware and the iron alms bowls used by itinerant monks—or the ōryōki bowls that evolved from them—is unclear. Yet, in reflecting upon the spiritual presence of Noto before the advent of Wajima lacquer, Akagi san was moved to create a vessel inspired by the form of the iron alms bowl.
Though it has a rounded base without a foot, he imagine this shape was meant to be held gently from both sides—cradled in the hands—offering a prayer of gratitude for heaven’s blessings.
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