Yoshihiro Nanao, through his work
This is a short note about Yoshihiro Nanao—how I came to know his work, visited his studio, and what it’s been like living with his ceramics over time.
The beginning
I can’t quite remember where I first came across Yoshihiro Nanao’s work. It was somewhere online—social media, or a website. What stayed with me right away were the gentle, warm curves, the soft shapes, and the quiet, earthy colors. More than the forms themselves, there was a warmth to the work as a whole—a feeling that the pieces would simply feel good and fit naturally once held in the hands. I remember lingering, looking again.
I began following him on Instagram, hoping that one day I might see his work in person. Then, completely unexpectedly, I received a message from him saying that the concept behind okappa houseware resonated deeply with him. I remember pausing before replying, needing a moment to settle my excitement.
Visiting his studio
One summer later, I finally had the chance to visit his studio in Shiga Prefecture, next to my hometown of Kyoto. After about two hours by bus and train, I arrived on one of those intensely hot days. He was already waiting at the local station with his small truck, greeting me naturally as I stepped off the train, while I felt both nervous and grateful.
His studio is attached to his home, a traditional old Japanese house. The front space serves as a small gallery, quietly displaying finished pieces.
The kiln sits at the back of the house. From there, we walked through a narrow hallway lined with buckets of clay, passed a small inner garden tucked into the middle of the long house, and entered the workspace where he uses his kick wheel. Buckets of clay and glaze were close at hand. Everything felt practical and lived-in, arranged for work.
As he talked, he showed me stacks of clay in progress and explained how he makes his nerikomi ware. Seeing the materials mid-process—before they become finished pieces—made his work feel even more grounded, shaped by time, repetition, and patience.
Nerikomi
Nerikomi is a ceramic technique in which different colored clays are layered, cut, and combined to create patterns that run through the material—not just on the surface. The design is formed within the clay itself, long before the piece is shaped.
In Yoshihiro Nanao’s work, nerikomi feels quiet and restrained. The patterns are subtle, never overpowering the form, and often reveal themselves more clearly over time through use and close looking.
What struck me most when he explained his process was how much patience it requires. The clay must be prepared in advance, stacked and rested, then cut and reassembled again and again. Once the piece is shaped, the pattern is already there, embedded in the clay.
Knowing this changes how I see his work. The calm surfaces carry hours of unseen preparation. What looks simple holds a great deal of intention and quiet labor within.
Ceramics that grow with you
Patina is something that develops on all earthenware over time. Marks, subtle stains, and changes in surface are a natural part of using ceramic pieces in everyday life. What I enjoy, though, is noticing how Yoshihiro Nanao’s work ages with me.
Each piece changes a little differently. Some soften quickly, others take on color more slowly. Watching these differences appear has become part of the pleasure of using his ceramics. Each piece follows its own path.
Yoshihiro Nanao’s approach is closely tied to the idea of mingei. He speaks about making ceramics to be used and enjoyed in everyday life, not to be looked at or displayed. That philosophy becomes clear through use. His pieces don’t ask to be protected or set aside. They invite regular handling, washing, stacking—ordinary actions that allow them to settle naturally into daily routines.
Using his work every day, I find myself understanding that intention more clearly. The ceramics feel comfortable being part of life as it is, changing gradually and quietly alongside me.