Liliana Morais profiles master wood-firer Shirobey Kobayashi, who embraces risk and unpredictability in his ceramics as a path to a self-sufficient and creative life.

Shirobey Kobayashi — or simply Shirobey, as he prefers to be called — is a tanned Japanese man with dreadlocked hair now turning gray and a contagious smile. He is a world-renowned potter and wood-firer, but also a farmer, carpenter, and cook — all trades he taught himself while carving out a slower, more self-reliant life, far from Japan’s corporate dream at the height of its economic boom.

Growing up in Yuki, Ibaraki Prefecture, near the famous pottery town of Mashiko — one of the centers of Japan’s Folk Crafts (Mingei) Movement — Shirobey’s call to ceramics was less an inheritance of tradition than a conscious rejection of the salaryman rat race. “I chose to become a potter because in pottery there are no rules,” he says. “With pottery, I can relax through work.” And he hopes others can do the same: “I want people to find themselves — to relax and do what they want.”

That pursuit of freedom led him to leave Japan in the early 1980s and travel the world. He spent seven years backpacking through Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia while doing odd jobs, in search of himself. Along the way, he met his future wife, Austrian restorer and organic farmer Pia Dellafior. The couple first settled near Mashiko, where Shirobey began teaching himself pottery while working part-time at a cooperative pottery shop and studio. There, he was given access to a large gas kiln and the freedom to experiment. After ten months, confident he had learned enough to strike out on his own, he began building his own studio and wood-fired kiln.

For Shirobey, the allure of wood-firing — especially in the anagama, a primitive Japanese kiln dating back to the 5th century, which witnessed a revival with the 1970s back-to-the-land movement — is the thrill of the unknown. The excitement of opening the kiln comes from its uncontrollable nature, which allows for unexpected results (igai na mono dekiru). Unlike gas or kerosene-fueled kilns, where glazes must be applied meticulously to produce colour and pattern, in the anagama, it is the fire and ash themselves that do the work. The results, he says, have “the power of nature,” as the potter surrenders control to the elements. This process, known as yakishime, fuses clay, flame, and chance. “Wood-firing is like a gamble,” he says. “You can get amazing results or uninteresting ones — but pottery has to have an impact.”

Yet it’s not all luck and nature’s grace. Mastery lies in reading the fire — understanding the kiln’s atmosphere, its quirks, its moods. Through experience, a potter learns to predict how each section of the kiln will behave and loads the pieces accordingly. During his early experiments with anagama firing, only two or three pots out of hundreds met his approval after an intense seven-day process of bringing the kiln up to 1,250°C and feeding it around the clock. “The more you suffer, the more interesting the results” – he laughs. For him, firing a kiln is like life itself: “If there are ups and downs, it’s more fun.”

Still, firing is only part of the story. While the process of forming the body at the wheel is crucial to achieving a nice shape, the most important factor in making a beautiful pot is the clay itself. “The materials are very important, so if something turns out bad, it’s my own fault” – he says with a grin. Although based near Mashiko, known for its iron-rich clays, he prefers clay from Shigaraki, prized for its coarse texture and natural inclusions that react beautifully with ash and flame.

Good wood, too, is essential. Shirobey fires primarily with red pine (akamatsu), long favored in pottery regions such as Bizen for its oil-rich body and long, steady burn. Its high iron content produces vivid green, yellow, and sometimes blue ash deposits on the surface of pots, depending on whether the kiln atmosphere is oxidizing or reducing. He also employs a technique of alternating high and low temperatures during firing to build up thick layers of ash — and when the results still don’t satisfy him, he will re-fire the same work a second, third or even fourth time. This shows the amount of time, labor, and dedication that goes into every single piece he brings into the world. 

Despite all this effort, Shirobey still describes pottery as “a kind of hobby,” though he admits how lucky he feels to be able to make a living from clay — tsuchi de seikatsu dekiru wa ii. When not at the wheel or kiln, he helps Pia on the farm, where they grow more than fifty varieties of vegetables and grains such as wheat, and raise chickens for eggs — making them almost entirely self-sufficient food-wise. He also devotes himself to carpentry, a lifelong passion. “I did badly at school, but I could build a house,” he recalls. “Building is completely different from pottery because you have to be very precise with the numbers and the math.” He built his own home using beams from a 300-year-old Japanese house that was being demolished, as well as several wood-fueled kilns (three of which were destroyed in the 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake) and even two of his children’s homes.

For Shirobey, the key to a good life is simple: health. That means safe, delicious food, and — one might add — a self-determined life, sustained by one’s craft, family, and the quiet beauty of everyday things.

Shirobey Kobayashi

Liliana Morais ✿ A barefoot scholar between Brazil and Japan

Liliana Morais offers a humanist perspective on Japanese craft, where she finds a joyfully made beauty.

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ceramics | G41 | Japan | Liliana Morais