The Irresistible Mystery of Shino Glaze
Story of Fire, Chance and Beauty in Every Pot
If you've browsed through my work or held one of my pots in your hands, chances are you've encountered Shino glaze—a thick, milky-white surface often blushed with soft orange, scorched grey, or flashing red hues. At first glance, it might seem subtle. Quiet, even. But once you look closer, it reveals a world of complexity, depth, and history.
Glaze Rooted in Japanese Tradition
Shino glaze has its roots in 16th-century Japan, during the Momoyama period. It was one of the first white glazes developed in Japan, primarily in the Mino region. It marked a turning point: local potters no longer had to rely on imported Chinese wares to create pale surfaces suitable for tea ceremony aesthetics. Shino became Japan’s first homegrown white glaze—and it arrived with its own personality.
Unlike the smooth and glossy white porcelain of China, Shino was different. It was rustic. It was earthy. It was unpredictable. And that made it perfect for the Japanese tea ceremony, which values imperfection, asymmetry, and natural beauty—what the Japanese call wabi-sabi.
"Hashihime" Shino Tea Bowl, Momoyama period, 16th–17th Cent.
"Furisode" Shino Tea Bowl, Azuchi-Momoyama to Edo, 16th-17th Cent.
"Unohanagaki" Shino Tea Bowl, a National Treasure, 16-17th Cent.
"Asahikage" Shino Tea Bowl, Momoyama period, 16th-17th Cent.Lost and Found Again
For centuries, the secrets of Shino glaze were lost. Changing tastes and new technologies pushed it aside. Its coarse, matte surfaces fell out of favor, replaced by more refined porcelain and brighter glazes. The ancient climbing kilns of Mino crumbled, and the knowledge of how to create true Shino was nearly forgotten.
Then came Arakawa Toyozō (March 21, 1894 - August 11, 1985) —a potter and researcher who changed everything.
In the early 20th century, Arakawa became obsessed with the origins of Shino. He studied shards from ruined kilns, dug through historical texts, and fired his own kilns in the old ways, using pine wood and local clay. Through tireless experimentation, he revived the original Shino glaze, making it his life’s work. His efforts not only restored a lost art form but also reignited interest in traditional Japanese ceramics around the world. In recognition of his contributions, he was named a Living National Treasure of Japan.
Thanks to Arakawa’s devotion, Shino lives again—not as a replica of the past, but as a living, evolving tradition.
There’s a great video documentary if you want to know more about Arakawa’s work: Shino and the old man - made by Matsukawa Yasuo in 1968
Shino Matcha Bowls by Arakawa ToyozōThe Glaze That’s Anything But Predictable
Working with Shino is an exercise in both devotion and surrender. It’s one of the most temperamental glazes you can choose as a potter. The results are not easily controlled. Sometimes the glaze blisters. Sometimes it crawls. Sometimes it flashes with fiery oranges from the flame. Other times, it gives nothing back but quiet whites.
Why? Because Shino glaze responds to fire like no other. It is incredibly sensitive to the atmosphere in the kiln—the amount of oxygen, the rate of cooling, the position of the pot in the chamber. Even how thickly the glaze is applied or how much soda or ash floats in the air can change the result completely.
No two firings are ever the same. No two pots ever turn out alike. This is not a glaze for mass production. This is a glaze for patience, for curiosity, for fire lovers
Why It Speaks to Me — and to Tea
Shino, for me, is not just a glaze. It’s a conversation with the kiln. It's where I focus most of my energy and experimentation. I keep returning to it because it's alive. It challenges me. And because I never know exactly how the pot will look until I open the kiln door, there’s always this moment of surprise—sometimes joy, sometimes heartbreak.
But when it’s right, it’s magic.
And that’s where Shino really shines — in the world of teaware. The way this glaze feels under your fingers: slightly textured, soft, sometimes puckered or wrinkled. The way the heat of tea reveals hidden hues in the glaze. The way each cup becomes a little universe of earthy tones and fire-scorched patterns. It's not sterile, not manufactured. It's human. Alive.
In Japanese tea traditions, where every object holds spirit and presence (utsuwa), Shino glazes hold a special place. They invite slowness, attention, reverence. And I believe those values matter just as much today.
Why It's Rarely Understood in the West
In Europe or the Western ceramics world, Shino glaze isn’t widely used. Partly because it's technically demanding, and partly because it doesn’t always photograph well—its quiet beauty can be hard to capture in digital images. It doesn’t shout. But if you hold a Shino cup in your hands, you’ll feel what I mean.
There’s also less of a cultural reference point for the values Shino represents—acceptance of imperfection, appreciation of quietness, the poetry of chance. In a world that often prizes control and perfection, Shino can feel like a rebellion.
A Living Tradition
Though rooted in the past, Shino is very much alive today—and I’m far from the only one who’s captivated by it.
I’m deeply inspired by the work of artists who have helped shape the modern language of Shino glaze. Potters like Ken Matsuzaki, who builds on the Mingei folk tradition with bold, wood-fired forms full of energy and texture. Or Akira Satake, whose deeply expressive pieces often combine rough clay, torn edges, and ash-laden Shino surfaces. His work feels like a dialogue between stillness and movement.
Closer to Europe, I’ve long admired Lisa Hammond, whose mastery of reduction firing and quiet glazes includes Shino work that’s both refined and deeply personal. Her pots seem to carry warmth in their very bones.
There are others too—each one interpreting this glaze in their own voice, in their own fire. And that’s what I love about Shino: it offers so much space for expression, while always staying grounded in earth, flame, and chance.
Shino Yunomi by Ken Matsuzaki (Pucker Gallery)
Shino Chawan by Akira Satake (Akira Satake Shop)
Sake Set by Lisa Hammond (Goldmark Gallery)A Love Letter to the Fire
I work with Shino because I love what it teaches me. About surrender. About beauty. About letting go of perfection. Each piece is a record of fire, air, minerals and time. And when I share these pots with you—when they find a home in your tea practice or daily rituals—I feel like that story continues.
So thank you for letting me share this love with you.
If you ever wondered why some of my pots look like they’ve been kissed by fire or snow or smoke—that’s Shino. And it’s my favorite kind of alchemy.
