Today began quietly—with a familiar view at Seiko En tatami company.
Some of you might remember the colorful figures from my past visits. They were right where I had placed my order for the custom tatami mats. A small reminder of how often paths cross again, without even trying.
Mr. Mugita, who manages the tatami workshop, came to pick me up—as always. He insists on driving because the road leading up is far too narrow and winding for most. I’m always grateful. There’s a calm trust in being driven by someone who knows every curve and corner.
At the workshop, my custom-ordered tatami mats are coming to life—plain, textured, and rich with the clean aroma of freshly woven Igusa plants.
The making process carries a quiet depth. The mats are machine-woven, but always guided, adjusted, and tuned by human hands. Mr. Makita moves gently through the factory, checking small parts and tightening threads as if tuning an old instrument.
After weaving, rough edges are trimmed and polished. The ends are tied by hand. This time, they showed me a new pattern—long enough to make two standard mats—orange and yellow, vibrant and cheerful. I had never seen it before, so of course, I ordered two on the spot.
From there, I headed toward the coast.
Crossing the five bridges into Amakusa, I stopped at a convenience store and found a quirky little bread printed with the city’s name. How could I not buy it?
In Amakusa, I finally visited the studio of "Mure" by Taiki Shimada—a young artist I first met by chance last year (2024). Back then, I stumbled across one of his BORO works while visiting another ceramicist, and I was instantly drawn to its quiet beauty. At the time, Taiki was staying as a family friend while searching for his own place.
This year, I got to see him again—now settled into his new home. He welcomed me with iced tea, perfect after the long drive, and showed me everything: the custom BORO pieces he created for us (yes, I ordered more!), and his dye tests side-by-side—one softly aged from many washes, another freshly dyed and vibrant. I can’t wait to watch how these pieces evolve with time.
Taiki’s work is rooted in sustainability, using old cloth and fabric scraps he often hand-dyes himself. His stitching, inspired by traditional sashiko, gives new life to discarded textiles. Each piece carries beauty and purpose—unique, one-of-a-kind, and deeply thoughtful.
He’s also working on a large sashiko piece.
“It’s like meditation,” he smiled.
“But I have to stop at some point, or I’ll never stop.”
That balance—between care and letting go—is something I carry with me, too.
From Taiki’s, I drove to my last visit of the day—Itaru Moriyama at Moriyama Kiln.
Though, truthfully, I got a little sidetracked. A cat greeted me at the entrance, and of course I had to stop and say hello. Why does every ceramicist have a cat? Serious question. I feel like it must be the secret to creativity.
Inside, Itaru and I ended up talking more about high school memories than ceramics. We’re from the same generation, so the stories just kept flowing. We laughed too much, but it was worth it.
By 5PM, the town speakers began playing their soft evening music. The light shifted, and everything slowed. Later, I browsed Itaru’s ceramic pieces. My main order was already placed, but I couldn’t resist choosing more—this time in pale-to-dark tones. Quiet, grounding shades that felt just right.
“Bye bye, Hitoe and Itaru! See you next time,” I said as I left.
Before dinner, I made a bittersweet stop. Every year, I would visit a small market where a group of grandmas—well into their 90s—cooked homemade meals for takeaway. But now they’ve retired, and the shop is closed. I’ll miss their egg-wrapped rice dish forever. Thank you for the care and comfort all these years. (Photo from 2022.)
Dinner was at my favorite restaurant in the area—a ritual by now. They kindly adjusted the portions so I could taste more dishes, even dining alone. And the couple sitting beside me? They shared their food with me, just like that. A quiet kindness that filled both my stomach and my heart.
Thank you, Day 2.
You were full—of texture, taste, and generosity..!
