Kurinuki: A Balance Between Intuition and Thoughtfulness

Kurinuki: an ancient Japanese technique where a solid block of clay is hollowed out and worked with various tools to achieve a final result. It is earthy, rough, and unique. For years, I have admired works in this style, and recently I began creating my own kurinuki pieces. In fact, I can say that I have been inspired by the style: I start by turning a base form, which I then work on, and in the process, I go much further than what is done in traditional kurinuki. This makes it truly my own style.

The process of kurinuki always starts with play for me. Playing with shapes, with lines, without a predetermined plan. I begin with a base form and rough lines. I cut away pieces, allowing shapes and lines to emerge, sometimes long and flowing, sometimes short and straight, interrupted, converging, or diverging. This play of lines symbolizes life for me – complex, unpredictable, and always in motion.

What makes the process special is how the work changes as I work on it. When I rotate the piece in my hands, light and shadow continuously alter the lines. This dynamic adds depth and brings unexpected nuances. For me, it is a reflection of what is happening at that moment within myself and in my surroundings. Each piece is unique, not only because of the techniques but also because it is so personal.

The process is a balance between intuition and thoughtfulness. On one hand, I let myself be guided by what feels right in the moment, while on the other hand, I pay close attention to details, ensure balance, and think about how the shapes relate to each other. For me, this process reflects my own contradictions; it brings spontaneity and reflection together into a whole.

Mistakes are inevitable. Breaking a line or changing a shape can feel like a setback, but often it brings new possibilities. Sometimes I fix a mistake, but more often I let myself be surprised by what emerges and go with the new direction that presents itself. This keeps the work fresh and inspiring, for myself and for others.

When a kurinuki is finished, I look at something that is fully in line with who I am at that moment. It is not a perfect piece – and it doesn’t have to be. The beauty, for me, lies in the imperfections, in the balance between intuitive decisions and conscious choices. Each piece is a story, a part of myself that I have left behind in the clay. That is what makes this process so valuable to me: it is an endless journey of discovery in creating and in finding myself.