With a history spanning more than 15,000 years, Japan’s ceramic tradition is extraordinarily rich. While many innovations were developed domestically, exchange with other countries—above all Korea and China—has repeatedly been a source of groundbreaking developments. One such example is the introduction of the potter’s wheel and tunnel kilns (anagama) in the 5th century [1].

Earlier firing methods—mainly pit firing or open bonfires—could only reach relatively low temperatures. With the introduction of the anagama, new standards were established: its larger scale and improved firing conditions enabled the production of higher-quality ceramics, including more watertight vessels, thanks to higher firing temperatures. This marked a significant step forward in the development of ceramic production.
Over time, further technical refinements were introduced, such as the central pillar in the 10th century, which divided the kiln and helped regulate the movement of fire, ash, and smoke. At the beginning of the 17th century, the first noborigama—multi-chambered climbing kilns built along hillsides—became standard. These kilns were more efficient, as they made use of the natural slope of the terrain and allowed for better temperature control across the different chambers.
This type of wood-fired kiln remains one of the most widely used in Japan to this day [2].

[1]Inside Japanese Ceramics: An Introduction to Materials, Techniques, and Traditions – Richard L. Wilson, pp. 142–144

While professional potters today typically have their own kilns, this was not always the case. Wood-fired kilns were often used collectively by closely connected communities of potters or pottery families. Kawai Kanjirō, one of Japan’s most renowned potters, also made his noborigama kiln available to other craftsmen.
In the remarkable publication Listening to Clay, Hayashi Yasuo offers an insightful account of the challenges of running a pottery when relying on a communal kiln. He describes the difficulty of securing one’s place in the kiln—not just any position, but the right one to achieve the desired effects—of estimating the appropriate quantity and size of production for the next firing, and of organising production schedules. Not least, he also recalls the physical demands of transporting the unfired pieces to the kiln (by bicycle!) and preparing them on site [1].
These accounts highlight the complexity of the craft, while also revealing the many possibilities it offers—or could offer.

[1]Listening to Clay: Conversations with Contemporary Japanese Ceramic Artists – Alice North, Halsey North, Louise Cort & Monika Bincsik, chapter on Hayashi Yasuo

These remarkable effects are influenced by countless variables: the type of wood used, the length of the firing, the placement of the pieces within the kiln, and even the number of times a kiln has been fired. The more intimately a potter understands their kiln, the better they can harness these natural processes.
A deep knowledge of how fire, heat, and ash move through the kiln allows the potter to anticipate where ash will settle and how it will affect the surface of each piece. With this understanding, vessels can be carefully positioned to encourage specific effects while still leaving room for the kiln’s own creative contribution.

It is fascinating to see how potters spend days and nights beside the kiln during a firing, and how the anticipation steadily grows as the process unfolds. Every decision has an impact on the final result: the choice of when to begin the firing, the type of wood selected, the placement of the pieces within the kiln, whether to continue stoking the fire or, conversely, allow a chamber to cool.
Throughout the firing, the potter remains in constant dialogue with the kiln. Each adjustment influences the movement of heat, flame, and ash, making every firing a delicate balance between knowledge, experience, and the unpredictable nature of fire.