<h2>Clay as a way of settling the mind — and finding the work of a lifetime</h2>
<p>Matsuo's career began somewhere that looks like the opposite of ceramics: social welfare. While in graduate school, working through demanding placements on his way to qualifying as a clinical psychologist, he took up pottery as a way of settling his mind — an activity for looking honestly at himself.</p>
<p>Then one day, an encounter at the Kyoto Ceramic Center, which he had visited almost on a whim, set his life on a different course.</p>
<p>A potter happened to be holding a solo exhibition there, and something in that person's presence moved him. Matsuo asked, directly: would you teach me pottery if I helped with your work? That plain, unguarded offer to apprentice himself — pride set aside — became the passionate beginning of his life as a maker. His first step as an artist began, quite literally, with his own two hands helping out.</p>
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<h2>Days of dialogue without right answers, and a question that wouldn't go away</h2>
<p>He went on to spend seven years as a public employee at a child guidance centre, working as a residential care worker looking after children. Everything from how to hold a pair of chopsticks to how to be with other people — all of daily life shared, through conversations that have no correct answer. He poured himself into that valuable work, and at the same time began asking himself what the work he would devote his whole life to actually was.</p>
<p>"The welfare work mattered too. But with ceramics, the effort I put in came back to me as something solid — a sense that I could give myself credit."</p>
<p>What he found deeply rewarding was the fact that something he had made passed into someone else's hands and remained, as a form, for generations after. His teacher was blunt about the reality — few people manage to make a living at it — and it took him two years to commit to a life as an artist. Through all of it, his passion for making never faded. If anything, the harder he looked at the reality, the more clearly his determination to make his way in this world burned.</p>
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<h2>Sketching the city, and building a style the way you build a thesis</h2>
<p>There's a reason his vessels feel contemporary, with something architectural in their beauty. He walks the city as a matter of habit, looking closely at the shape of a utility pole, the pattern of an exterior wall, even the way a crack runs across the pavement — then sketches what he sees and lifts it into the texture of a vessel. Looking at small details with real interest is what trains your sense of form: a lesson handed down to him that he still keeps.</p>
<p>The way he assembles a body of work, meanwhile, reads almost like writing a psychology paper. He begins by studying the techniques and styles of those who came before as prior research, thoroughly, and taking in what is good about them. From there he adds and subtracts elements, working toward what he actually wants to express, and builds his own style logically.</p>
<p>The same holds for colour. He works from a base of white and black, which suits the capacity of his own expression, and makes clearly reasoned choices within it — such as the gentle black that titanium draws out.</p>
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<figcaption>Design drawings</figcaption>
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<figcaption>A flat plate finished with a crack pattern</figcaption>
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<figcaption>A small bowl, with black-brown titanium glaze flowing softly down from the rim</figcaption>
<h2>The spirit of <em>chuyo</em>: the finest supporting role a dish could ask for</h2>
<p>What Matsuo values most in his work is <em>chuyo</em> — a middle way that leans neither Japanese nor Western. It connects closely to the stance of a psychologist, who must remain neutral toward the person in front of them. A vessel, he believes, should be a supporting player whose job is to make the food the lead; so he pursues forms that are startlingly thin, light, and easy in the hand. That willingness to defer has nothing to do with forcing a maker's ego onto anyone.</p>
<p>At events, he asks customers in detail about size and how a piece feels to hold, building up conversations as meticulous as a company's market research. He listens to what people want, fine-tunes the curve of a rim, takes on semi-custom orders. That flexibility is a strength particular to someone who completes a form through dialogue.</p>
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<figcaption>Notes from customer requests</figcaption>
<h2>A responsibility to make something he won't be ashamed of in a hundred years</h2>
<p>Part of what draws him to ceramics is that once fired, a form can hold for thousands of years. But that carries a serious responsibility: make something of poor quality and you have added to the industrial waste that doesn't easily return to the earth. Which is why Matsuo never releases a piece as first-quality work if it falls short of the form and quality he is after.</p>
<p>To give a vessel enough presence that someone a hundred years from now would still look at it and want to use it — for an artist borrowing the powers of nature, that is a point of pride.</p>
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<figcaption>Particular about his tools. Above: a trimming tool he made himself. Below: the blank it was formed from</figcaption>
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<h2>Long and beautifully: everyday care for raising a vessel</h2>
<p>A few tips will help you enjoy Matsuo's vessels for years. His standard white pieces are microwave-safe, but they are made so light and fine that we recommend washing by hand rather than in a dishwasher. It also helps to season a new piece — simmer it for about ten minutes in the starchy water left over from rinsing rice — which keeps stains from soaking in and preserves its condition for far longer. If a stain does start to bother you, bleach is fine to use.</p>
<h3>From muny: a note for you</h3>
<p>Matsuo has the cool analytical eye of a psychologist — and when he takes on an ambitious, technically difficult piece, he psyches himself up by listening to video-game boss-battle music. Perhaps that duality is the source of the delicacy and the strength that live together in his work.</p>
<p>He has worked with clay long enough to wear down his own fingerprints, with someone a century from now in mind. We hope you'll welcome one of these vessels into your daily life. When you pick one up, what will that remarkable lightness — and the care for the user folded into it — feel like to you?</p>
