— A Morning in Higashiyama: A Mokume Gane Artisan’s Walk —
Mornings in Higashiyama, Kyoto always begin in quiet stillness.
It’s the kind of silence that feels like the entire town is slowly regulating its breath.
I’ve always loved that.
Today, I decided to take a brief break from work and stroll along Furumonzen Street.
I gently lifted the shop curtain at my studio’s entrance, turned off the flame, bowed lightly to the anvil, and stepped outside.
The air was still crisp, and each exhale left behind a faint white breath.
The only sign of life on the street came from a dimly lit antique shop.
In front of it stood weathered wooden drawers and faded price tags—quiet remnants of time once cherished by someone, somewhere.
As I stopped to look, I found myself standing a little straighter, almost involuntarily.
I passed along the Shirakawa River and made my way to Gion Shinbashi.
Light fell diagonally across the stone pavement, intersecting with the shadows of lattice doors.
A passing maiko gave me a gentle nod.
Even that single gesture made me feel how differently time flows in this town.
In my hands was a paper cup of hot roasted tea I’d bought at a teahouse.
Every time the steam rose, I was comforted by its toasty aroma—like charcoal and earth.
From somewhere nearby came the faint sound of a hammer striking metal.
Perhaps another artisan had already begun their day’s work.
Drawn by the rhythm, I turned down a narrow alley.
A wind chime hanging under a machiya eave swayed softly, letting out a quiet ring.
When I looked up at the sky, it resembled unpolished metal—dull, steely blue.
And yet, the parts touched by morning light gleamed faintly—just like the freshly revealed surface of Mokume Gane.
On my way back, in a narrow back lane off Furumonzen, I spotted a cat curled in a sunbeam.
A familiar face. It sometimes lounges outside my studio, too.
It felt like it whispered, “Welcome back.”
I smiled, just a little, and headed back to the workshop.
I reignited the fire. The scent of metal filled the air once more.
As I struck the hammer—ton, ton—I thought I could hear the water of the Shirakawa echoing within the sound.
Perhaps this town itself is a living form of kogei—craftsmanship.
Even the most ordinary scenes, the subtlest gestures—everything forms layers, like a Mokume pattern etched into the fabric of daily life.
It was a good walk today.
✍️ Text by Kunio Takada
(Mokume Gane Artisan / Based in Higashiyama, Kyoto)