Buyer’s Travelog: Recycling Bizen Ware into Plant Pots

In January, we found ourselves in Okayama. The day before had been mild, but the cold had suddenly set in, and a heavy sky hung overhead. We had come to see a new line of plant pots. I traveled with our photographer, Suzuki, who has a deep love for plants. He tends to his own at home, which made him the perfect companion for this visit.

Up until this trip, I had only seen the pots in photographs: some in a soft Bizen-ware brown, and others in a calm turquoise that called to mind a gentle sea. Once a plant is placed inside, the pots quietly recede into a supporting character, allowing the plant to shine. Yet the person behind these ceramic creations, Yoshino Hirofumi, carried a powerful presence. His energy seemed to arrive before his words.

I always feel a slight sense of anticipation before meeting the person behind a work for the first time. But in the car on the drive to Yoshino Dorensha, the studio where Yoshino grows plants and kneads clay, he handed us each a bottle of hot tea. In that small gesture, I felt at ease at once.

Once we arrived at his studio, Yoshino showed us how he repots a caudiciform plant. He brushed away the old soil, gently loosened the roots, placed a square of drainage mesh at the base of the pot, and added fresh soil. The entire process took only a few minutes.

At the very end, he scattered a layer of white top dressing over the surface. It was at that moment that the plant changed. The trunk and leaves seemed to shine, as if stepping onto a stage. I asked Yoshino what he had added on top.

“It’s refractory clay used during firing, placed between stacked vessels to prevent them from sticking. Normally, it’s discarded after use, but we crush and repurpose it as a finishing layer,” he explained. What would have been thrown away instead becomes something that brings the plant into focus.

When the planted piece was set down, Suzuki immediately began photographing. In the soft, diffused light of the overcast sky, the small scene felt delicate, yet carried strength. Looking at the world contained within the pot, we knew. This size should be part of the lineup.

Inside Yoshino’s studio, we were shown plant pots of various sizes. Our eyes landed on familiar earth-colored pots with hidasuki markings, created by wrapping each piece in straw and firing it in a covered vessel. About 30 percent of the clay for these is made from broken Bizen ware items, which are then crushed and recycled. The turquoise pots, on the other hand, follow a different path. They are not made from recycled pottery, but the clay used to achieve their soft color is prepared here by Yoshino himself.

When I asked Yoshino why he had begun producing pots using recycled clay, he shared a story shaped through connections between people, one that felt particularly compelling.

Yoshino began with gardening as a personal interest. Over time, this grew into cultivating plants from seed and offering them for sale. Doing so, he gradually realized how difficult it was to find pots that genuinely suited the plants he was growing.

At first, he commissioned a kiln to produce the turquoise Bizen ware pots he had envisioned and sold them alongside his plants. However, as that kiln became increasingly busy, they eventually stopped producing colored pieces.

That was when he turned to ceramic artist Hosokawa Takahiro, someone he had known for many years.

Although the turquoise could not be brought back immediately, Hosokawa proposed an alternative approach. He suggested they use recycled Bizen ware clay made from broken items, and have younger artisans produce the pots. Yoshino agreed. So, while still continuing his own artistic work, Hosokawa also established Hara Seitosho. There, he works closely with younger craftspeople and brings the production of the plant pots Yoshino had envisioned to life. 

Many ceramicists in Bizen train at the Bizen Pottery Center, but even after completing their studies, it is not easy for young artisans to immediately establish themselves independently. Producing plant pots in consistent sizes offers them a way to refine their skills through repetition. The clay itself is sourced locally through a recycling initiative, making use of reclaimed material—good for the earth, as well. It is through the connections between Yoshino, Hosokawa, and these young artisans that Yoshino Dorensha’s unique plant pots are born.

For Hosokawa, who typically works with wood-fired kilns, being involved in this project—where pots are fired regularly in electric kilns—has also become an opportunity to explore different approaches to clay and temperature. There was a sense that each part of the process held value for everyone involved.

On the other side of Yoshino’s workshop stands a large clay mixer. There had been strong demand for the turquoise pots, but even when Yoshino managed to source recycled clay, he couldn’t get a hold of the clay needed to achieve the distinct blue color he wanted. So, Yoshino decided to make it himself. He began mixing blue pigment into clay, establishing Yoshino Dorensha as a facility to prepare this material. Using this clay, the turquoise pots were successfully brought back last year.

The Bizen pots appear simple in form at first glance. A clean, cylindrical shape. But as Yoshino described it, “These are pots shaped in pursuit of growing plants.”

First, nothing interferes with the plant’s growth. The interior curves gently toward the base, guiding water downward, while a wide drainage hole allows water to pass through with ease. Left unglazed, the surface also allows for breathability.

Pots made of low-fired earthenware or bisqueware may seem suitable at first, since they drain well. But when they dry too quickly, the clay draws away heat. In winter, this can cause the temperature inside the pot to drop quickly. They are also more prone to cracking.

Bizen ware is different. Fired to a dense finish without glaze, it avoids these drawbacks while maintaining both strength and airflow.

“These are pots that can only be made with an understanding of what plants need,” Yoshino said.

Yoshino’s circle seemed to revolve around plants.

For lunch, we stopped at a soba restaurant, where the owner also shares a love of greenery. After our meal, the water used to boil the soba was brought out in a Bizen pitcher with a beautiful handle.

Known as soba-yu, this water is traditionally mixed with the remaining soba dipping sauce and enjoyed at the end of the meal. Rich with the flavor of the noodles, it carries a warmth softened by the saltiness of the broth.

“This pitcher was made by Hosokawa, who we’ll be visiting next,” Yoshino told us. Hearing that, I found myself looking forward to the afternoon visit to Hara Seitosho even more.

After lunch, we headed to Hara Seitosho, where we would observe the making of the plant pots. Upon arrival, we were welcomed by Hosokawa and a young woman artisan.

They began by showing us the shaping process, which starts with spiral wedging, followed by wheel-throwing.

The process of kneading clay involves evening out its consistency and removing air pockets. As the clay is worked in a rotating motion, patterns resembling chrysanthemum petals appear on the surface. It is a physically demanding process that engages the whole body.

As the clay is kneaded, small air bubbles rise to the surface with faint popping sounds. The mass is then divided into portions roughly the size of a small patty, each carefully weighed.

Next came the wheel. As it spins at high speed, the artisan shapes the form, pausing at intervals to check the measurements. Nearby, a sheet listing the exact dimensions of the pots is placed within view.

When I asked the artisan what she found most difficult, she said, “Incorporating Yoshino’s specific points of focus into each piece.”

Not only the size, but also the curve of the interior base must be formed on the wheel.

As the pot’s clean cylindrical form and visible throwing lines took shape, it already appeared complete to me. Yet she did not remove it from the wheel. Even if it looks right, a slight indentation can prevent the pot from becoming a perfect cylinder after firing. While it is common to trim and refine the form after partial drying, avoiding the trimming step both cuts down on the time required and reduces clay loss.

Looking on, Hosokawa offered a piece of advice to the artisan. “At the end, it helps to bring your eye level in line with the pot to check if it’s straight. You can see a slight narrowing here.” From above, it was difficult to notice. But from the side, the subtle curve became clear.

“For moments like this, I keep a mirror nearby so I can check the profile while seated. Getting up each time to look from the side would be difficult.” He also mentioned that placing finished pots on shelves at eye level, rather than on the floor, makes it easier to compare shapes and notice distortions.

These small observations and careful guidance felt essential for the younger artisan. Moments like these, where knowledge is shared directly, carry real weight.

The finished pots are then brought to the Bizen Pottery Center and fired in electric kilns rented out for the purpose. About once every month and a half, the artisans gather to load the kiln, fire it, unload it, and complete the finishing process, where each piece is sanded entirely by hand.

After watching the pot-shaping process, we decided to visit the Pottery Center itself, the place where the artisans had trained.

When we arrived at the Bizen Pottery Center, we found students hard at work, each absorbed in their own pieces. There are both one-year and one-month courses, and we were told that many come from overseas to study here.

The electric kiln was not in use that day, but we were shown photographs from a previous firing. 

In these images, plant pots of different sizes are nested in sets of three, with straw placed between them to create hidasuki markings, allowing many pieces to be fired at once. Ideally, they would not be stacked, but this method allows them to be fired more efficiently. For this to work, each artisan must be able to produce the same form with consistency. Making multiple pieces of the same size—what we had just seen as a fundamental skill—reveals its importance here as well.

Near the kiln, Yoshino spotted a bucket and called out with a smile, “Isn’t this a treasure?” Inside was pure white straw ash. It came from the straw used for hidasuki. When fired at lower temperatures, ash turns black, but at higher temperatures, it remains white. This ash is put aside and later put on the bottoms of the pots before stacking them for firing to prevent them from sticking together. Because of its color, it also avoids leaving dark marks on the surface. Hosokawa added, “Even this still serves a purpose.”

In one corner was a pile of pieces of refractory clay, the same material Yoshino uses as a finishing layer during potting. These, too, will likely return to his hands, where they will once again bring out the presence of the plants.