Born in Fukushima Prefecture. After spending 12 years at Cassina ixc., a company specialising in designer furniture, he studied the fundamentals of woodworking and Japanese forest culture at the Gifu Academy of Forest Science and Culture before becoming an independent woodworker. He creates furniture and objects that treat knots, growth rings and even decay as individual qualities, revealing something of the journey each tree has lived.

Could you tell us how you came to work as a woodworker?

I’ve always enjoyed making things. When I was younger, I imagined working in illustration, film or photography. While I was at university, I took a part-time job repairing furniture at a shop specialising in mid-century pieces, and that sparked my interest in products and design. Furniture appealed to me because it sits somewhere between art and a practical tool; that combination felt right for me.

I went on to join a furniture company specialising in designer pieces, where I worked for around 12 years. I spent the first eight years in corporate sales, then took a year’s leave and lived overseas. When I returned, I moved into the planning department, developing original products and sourcing pieces. I also travelled to Salone del Mobile in Italy each year, one of the world’s largest furniture fairs.

As I spent more time working with factories and craftspeople, I began to realise that what I really wanted was to make things myself. Around that time, the Great East Japan Earthquake happened. It made me think that life is unpredictable, and that I should do what I really wanted to do. I left the company and spent two years studying at the Gifu Academy of Forest Science and Culture.

Why did you choose to study in Gifu?

Gifu is well known for its wooden furniture, and it has rich forest resources and a long tradition of woodworking. The Academy is run by the prefecture’s Forestry Policy Department. Rather than simply training craftspeople, it aims to develop people who can connect forestry and mountain communities with urban planning, and help change the systems through which timber is put to use. I was drawn to the school because it was taking such an interesting approach.

What led you to establish a base in Odai, Mie Prefecture?

Toyota Motor Corporation owns extensive areas of woodland across Japan, and this forest in Odai is one of them. Despite the richness of the forest, its resources were not being fully utilised. Toyota put out an open call for proposals from people who wanted to build a business using the resources of the area.

My proposal was to develop products using timber from the forest, and to create a base where I could run workshops for local residents and teach woodworking at nearby high schools. I wanted to make use of the local trees while creating a place that could communicate the appeal of the forest. The proposal was selected, and for the first three years Toyota provided extensive support with facilities and funding, allowing me to establish the workshop in Odai.

As part of the project, I also wanted to contribute to the revitalisation of the area. I worked with a local framing business to develop products such as mirrors made using locally sourced wood.

I also have a small workshop in Yokohama, but I spend time in Odai roughly once a month. I use the workshop for the initial processing of larger pieces of timber and to work with local businesses. Each stay varies depending on what I need to do: sometimes it’s just two nights, while on other occasions I stay for as long as a month.

What has having a base here made possible?

Usually, when woodworkers buy timber, they choose from the materials already circulating through timber merchants. Because I have a connection with Toyota, which owns the forest, I can look at the trees growing there and say, ‘I’d like to use that one.’ I can also visit forestry sites and speak directly with the people working there. I find that really interesting.

Much of Odai is part of a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. There are core areas where the natural forest is protected with very little human intervention, surrounded by buffer zones and then transition areas, where people live alongside nature. I find it interesting that the area is managed as a whole: the aim is not simply to preserve the forest, but also to use its timber in ways that support everyday life.

Having two bases is also a great way to refresh my perspective. In the city, most of what you see is man-made. I believe the origins of the things we design are found in nature, but in an urban environment we are surrounded by things made by other people. Here, there’s hardly anything artificial beyond the odd telephone pole. There is an endless supply of inspiration.

The mirror I’m currently developing with the local framing business is a good example. We traced the shape of a stone that had been rolling around in the river next door and used it to make a mould.

What first drew you to wood as a material?

I’m from Koriyama in Fukushima Prefecture. There was a large mountain behind my family home, and I spent much of my childhood playing there. I loved being outdoors and working with wood — making bows, building things like treehouses and camping beside the house. Those experiences gave me a feeling that, with wood, you can always find a way to make something.

I also learnt a lot about materials from the people working on the factory floor when I was at the furniture company. One example that has stayed with me was a conversation about the leather used for sofas. High-grade leather is not coated with paint, so it marks easily and develops creases. A customer once complained that it was getting dirty. When I mentioned this to a craftsperson, they took the leather, squeezed it tightly in their hand and then let go. It creased immediately.

They told me, ‘If it didn’t crease, it would be rubber. This is leather, and that’s what gives it its feel. If you can’t understand that, you don’t need to buy it.’ That taught me that it’s fine to value the raw character and feel of a material over functionality or how easy it is to sell. I carry that way of thinking into my woodworking today. Leather and wood are very similar: both come from the bodies of living things, animals or plants. I think there is something compelling about materials that carry that sense of life and death.

What do you feel is the greatest appeal of wooden objects?

It’s that every piece is different. That is almost the opposite of industrial production, where timber is expected to be uniform and free of knots. I make things in response to the character of each piece of wood: perhaps a particular piece is prone to warping, so it cannot be used in one place; or perhaps its knots are beautiful, so I choose to make a feature of them. In that sense, it’s a collaboration with the material.

One of my teachers at the Academy told me, ‘You may be the one leading the project, but you have to adapt to the character of the wood. You can’t do it by yourself.’ I try to keep that in mind and work in dialogue with the qualities and characteristics of the material.

Once a tree has been cut, its colour changes as it is exposed to ultraviolet light, and that becomes part of its character. This chair, for example, is one I made 12 years ago when I was a student. It has a soap finish — a simple treatment using soapy water. When it was new, it had the pale look of untreated leather, but over the years it has developed a beautiful patina through contact with the oils from our hands. I love that customers can enjoy these changes as a piece ages.

Your work has led you to look at the things you buy differently. Has your perspective changed since becoming an independent maker?

I find myself buying more work made by other craftspeople. When you make things with your own hands — putting physical effort into it, sometimes hurting yourself or getting injured along the way — your work starts to feel like an extension of yourself. I’ve come to think that buying something made by another craftsperson is a way of bringing a part of that person into your own life.

I often visit exhibitions by makers working in different materials, such as ceramics, glass and metal, and find them inspiring. The maker’s personality is part of what draws me to an object, and I take that into account when choosing what to buy.

You’ve worn your Lavenham pieces for a long time, and they’ve developed their own character. What do you particularly like about them?

I’ve actually worn Lavenham since I was working in an office. Back then, I used to wear a jacket over my suit. It was lightweight and didn’t crease, so I could fold it up and take it on business trips. It was also easy to put to one side in the car without worrying about it getting crushed, which made it really useful.

These days, it serves a different purpose. A gilet is particularly useful when I’m working because the lack of sleeves makes it easy to move around. It’s also ideal for those in-between moments when you’re not quite sure whether you’re hot or cold. Before the one I’m wearing now, I had a khaki gilet that I wore for years. I was really upset when I lost it at a work site. It was only after it had gone that I realised just how useful it had been.

You’ve also worn the Raydon for a long time.

I’ve had it for about three years, and I actually share it with my sons, who are around the same height as me. They really like it — for a while, they were wearing it more than I was! I think it works well because it looks smart while being practical, so it’s suitable both for school and for going out.

I wear it when I’m travelling, visiting timber suppliers or heading into the mountains for a trek. I also have another Lavenham jacket that’s reversible, with canvas on one side and nylon on the other. The canvas side is hard-wearing, so it’s useful for outdoor work when I’m carrying timber.

Finally, what would you like to explore in the future?

I’d like to run more ‘primitive workshops’. The process is simple: cut a tree, let it dry, then shape it with hand tools. But it’s surprisingly engaging.

I sometimes teach classes at schools for children who have stopped attending mainstream school. A few of them become incredibly focused and absorbed in the process. It makes me realise that there are things we don’t yet know we enjoy, and that we can discover them unexpectedly.

In an age when so much of our attention is on our phones, I’d like both adults and children to discover the pleasure of expressing themselves and finding something that excites them through simple, hands-on making.

Instagram: @kazutoyoshikawa

Writer: Moe Shibata | Photographer: Takeshi Sasaki | Editor: Arisa Ogura