Tracing the Origins of Mingei, Japan’s Folk Art Movement

The Mingei movement for folk art left a lasting impact on Japanese art and design. To mark its centenary and explore its origins and historical context, Pen spoke with Professor Takuji Hamada of Kwansei Gakuin University.

The term ‘Mingei’ (民藝) emerged nearly a hundred years ago, in late 1925, conceived by the thinker Sōetsu Yanagi (originally named Muneyoshi Yanagi) alongside ceramicists Kanjirō Kawai and Shōji Hamada.

Sōetsu Yanagi was a founding member of Shirakaba, a literary magazine launched in 1910, through which he introduced Japan to major Western artists such as Rodin and Van Gogh. Around that time, a schoolteacher named Noritaka Asakawa visited Sōetsu Yanagi at his home in Abiko, Chiba Prefecture. Noritaka Asakawa, intrigued by Sōetsu Yanagi’s collection of Rodin’s works, brought him a white porcelain Korean vase as a gift (see photo). This unassuming object sparked in Sōetsu Yanagi a deep fascination with Korean folk art, setting him on a path of research. It was during these investigations that he stumbled upon a Buddhist statue (see photo) carved by Gogyō Mokujiki, an itinerant monk from the late Edo period. This discovery led him on a journey across Japan, retracing the monk’s steps and developing a growing appreciation for everyday utilitarian objects.

Meanwhile, Kanjirō Kawai and Shōji Hamada, both graduates of the ceramics department at the Tokyo Higher Technical School (now the Institute of Science Tokyo), were working at Kyoto’s ceramic research institute. In 1921, Kanjirō Kawai debuted as a ceramicist, drawing inspiration from Chinese porcelain, though he remained dissatisfied with his work. He would later be profoundly impacted by the Korean Folk Art exhibition curated by Sōetsu Yanagi that same year.

Shōji Hamada, on the other hand, spent time in England with Bernard Leach, where he was struck by slipware—a ceramic technique involving liquid clay applications, still widely used in daily life. Returning to Japan in 1923, he brought this influence with him.

The three men, drawn ever deeper into the world of folk craftsmanship, found themselves in Kyoto following the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923. By the mid-1920s, their collaboration intensified. In contrast to the refined crafts intended for the aristocracy (jōtemono), they turned their attention to the humble, everyday tools used by common people (getemono), acquiring various examples at morning markets, such as those held at Tō-ji Temple in Kyoto. However, the term getemono, laden with negative connotations, failed to capture their vision. Seeking a new vocabulary, they fused the words for ‘people’ (minshū) and ‘craft’ (kōgei)—thus coining Mingei.

At the time, only the sophisticated jōtemono were recognized for their aesthetic value. With Mingei, Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers sought to redefine the very notion of beauty. In 1926, together with ceramicist Kenkichi Tomimoto, they drafted a manifesto for the establishment of the Japan Folk Crafts Museum (Nihon Mingei-kan) (see photo), marking the official launch of the movement.

The concept of yō no bi (用の美), often associated with the Mingei movement, can be translated literally as ‘the beauty of use,’ or in broader terms, functional beauty.

However, an analysis of the first objects collected by the movement’s members suggests that functionality was not their primary criterion for selection. A telling example is the white porcelain Korean vase presented to Sōetsu Yanagi by Noritaka Asakawa—it was, in reality, only the lower half of a vase. As art critic Naoki Degawa points out, from a strictly functional perspective, the object was defective. Yet, Sōetsu Yanagi perceived a novel kind of beauty in it, distinct from that of jōtemono.

Some might argue that Sōetsu Yanagi emphasized ‘use’ while overlooking practical utility. But the notion of yō no bi at the heart of early Mingei thought fundamentally differs from functional beauty. Among the first objects collected was a sumitsubo (a carpenter’s ink pot, see photo), a tool used by craftsmen to mark cutting lines. Its shape was dictated by its function, embodying a certain ‘beauty of use.’ However, Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers did not appreciate it solely for its ease of use. What intrigued them was its form—shaped by the needs of a trade—that, in their view, reached an artistic beauty comparable to that of sculpture.

Another example can be found in jizaikake (adjustable hearth hooks), once common in rural homes to suspend kettles over open fires. Sōetsu Yanagi and his circle assembled remarkable specimens of these devices. While Shōji Hamada, who lived in a restored kominka (traditional farmhouse), used them in his daily life, this was an exception. Most Mingei enthusiasts admired them primarily for their form.

By the 1920s, when the Mingei movement emerged, objects such as sumitsubo and jizaikake, which had been in use since the Edo period, were gradually becoming obsolete due to modern lifestyle changes. The movement sought to reexamine these artifacts, once designed for specific functions, and detach them from their original use to appreciate their inherent aesthetic qualities. In other words, the yō no bi championed by Mingei was not about mere functionality but about recognizing the beauty of forms shaped by past utilitarian needs, elevating them to the status of art.

While less immediately recognizable than jizaikake, handcrafted objects from various regional workshops highlighted by the Mingei movement shared this characteristic. The modernization initiated in the late Meiji era had transformed production methods, favoring objects suited to contemporary life. In response, the movement turned to workshops that remained committed to traditional techniques. Some of the items they produced were ill-suited to modern needs, yet Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers saw in them a singular beauty—one embedded in inherited forms and motifs—and attributed them aesthetic and cultural value.

However, many of these objects no longer fit seamlessly into contemporary life or had lost their original purpose altogether. Another dimension of yō (use) as envisioned by Mingei lay in reintegrating these seemingly impractical objects into daily life. Where and how should a jizaikake, now a decorative piece, be displayed? How could a once-essential water jar, now obsolete, find new purpose? In what ways could pieces from so-called ‘outdated’ craft centers be combined to reveal their significance? A key aspect of yō in the Mingei movement was precisely this ability to reconsider and reinvent the role of objects in everyday life.

These terms overlap to some extent with Mingei and are sometimes used interchangeably. However, by paying attention to the distinctions between these related fields, one can better understand the specific place Mingei occupies.

The term dentō kōgei (traditional craft) is particularly close to Mingei in scope. It was officially established in the 1950s through the Japan Traditional Craft Exhibition (Nihon Dentō Kōgei-ten), organized as part of the designation of intangible cultural properties in craftsmanship (in other words, the ‘Living National Treasures’). In 1974, the term gained further prominence with the creation of the ‘Traditional Craft Industry’ label, introduced by the Ministry of Commerce and Industry (now the Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry). Today, it primarily refers to objects officially recognized as traditional crafts by this ministry.

‘Traditional craft products’ (densan-hin) must meet specific conditions, including being made using traditional materials and techniques within a long-established production lineage. They are therefore primarily associated with craft industries and their output.

However, Mingei, as defined by Sōetsu Yanagi, is not necessarily characterized by its mode of production. What matters most is how these objects have been used over time. This approach reflects one of the fundamental principles of the Mingei movement: evaluating and recognizing the value of an object based on the perspective of those who use it—in other words, from the consumer’s point of view. Thus, while many products from regions associated with Mingei may also fall under traditional craft, the criteria for appreciation and the underlying philosophy differ significantly.

On the other hand, ‘ancient art’ (kobijutsu) shares with Mingei a common focus on the contemplation of objects. One might therefore assume an even closer link between the two. Indeed, at the beginning of the movement, some collectors of ancient art maintained relationships with Mingei figures. However, these ties gradually weakened. For example, Jirō Aoyama, an influential figure in the world of ancient art and antiques, was deeply involved in Mingei until the early 1930s, before distancing himself due to disagreements with Sōetsu Yanagi and his circle.

One reason for this shift—despite the previously mentioned connection between Mingei and traditional craft—was that, in the 1930s, the Mingei movement strengthened its ties with still-active craft production centers. Initially, it focused primarily on collecting everyday objects from both urban and rural settings. However, as the movement developed, it also began engaging with workshops that were still in operation.

The Map of Japan’s Folk Arts (Nihon Mingei Chizu), created in 1941 by Keisuke Serizawa (see photo), is a good example of this shift: it not only depicts the railway network of the time but also highlights key regions associated with Mingei. Similarly, Japan of Handicrafts (Teshigoto no Nihon, not translated), published by Sōetsu Yanagi shortly after the war, served as a guide to contemporary Mingei. Thus, a growing gap emerged between the appreciation of ‘ancient objects’ characteristic of antique collectors and the evolving approach of the Mingei movement.

The term ‘Craft’ covers a domain closely related to Mingei. Mingei is often translated into English as ‘folk craft,’ referring to handicrafts requiring manual skills. However, when transcribed into katakana as kurafuto, ‘Craft’ takes on a stronger connotation of ‘design.’ As illustrated by the establishment of the Japan Designer Craftsmen’s Association in 1956 (later renamed the Japan Craft Design Association), a movement emerged aiming to incorporate modern and functional principles into craftsmanship, giving rise to what is known as ‘design craft.’ This form of craft is primarily based on mass production using machines according to design plans. Compared to Mingei, which has more fluid boundaries, Craft relies on a more structured and rigorous definition of design.

According to Sōetsu Yanagi’s definition, Mingei refers to objects crafted by anonymous artisans. In other words, its defining characteristic is the absence of a creator’s signature.

However, the Mingei movement counted among its key figures many artists, such as Kanjirō Kawai, Shōji Hamada, Keisuke Serizawa, Tatsuaki Kuroda, and Shikō Munakata. This contradiction has sometimes been pointed out by critics. If one adheres strictly to the original definition, it may indeed seem paradoxical. Yet, Mingei was not solely about highlighting objects born from an anonymous tradition—it also engaged in a broader reflection on artistic expression and the role of creators.

As mentioned in response to the first question, Mingei was built on aesthetic principles distinct from those of traditional art. It was not just a societal awareness project but also a proposal on how artists could rethink their own creative approach. Essentially, the movement shed light on objects that had previously been overlooked but were nonetheless deserving of recognition.

In waka poetry, there is a technique called honka-dori, in which an old poem is borrowed and reworked into a new variation. Similarly, in craftsmanship, artisans sometimes create utsushi, reproductions inspired by existing works. In this process, the original model is generally regarded as a valuable reference. The Mingei movement proposed its own objects as models to be emulated, thereby fostering a new creative style among artisans.

For example, Shōji Hamada incorporated elements from the folk arts of various regions, particularly Okinawa, into his work. Likewise, Keisuke Serizawa drew inspiration from Okinawan bingata stencil dyeing to develop his own artistic language. For Tatsuaki Kuroda, it was Korean furniture that played a similar role. This dynamic is well illustrated by Jirō Aoyama’s critique of Shōji Hamada’s work: ‘In his pieces, refinement coexists with mediocrity.’ In other words, these artists drew from objects considered simple and modest, yet their craftsmanship was of the highest caliber.

Thus, their creations differed from the Mingei objects collected by Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers. However, this type of work was fully in line with the Mingei movement’s original objectives, and in practice, the artists associated with the movement left a lasting mark on the history of Japanese craftsmanship.

Many artists linked to Mingei did not come from long-established artisan families but chose to become artisans themselves. Their ability to create Mingei-inspired works was also due to their relative freedom from familial or regional constraints. This allowed for the emergence of figures considered ‘outsiders’ in the world of craftsmanship. Shikō Munakata is a prime example. In 1936, he exhibited Yamato-shi Uruwa-shi at the Kokugakai exhibition, but its unusual dimensions led to tensions with the organizers. This episode brought him closer to Sōetsu Yanagi and the Mingei movement, as he did not fit within the existing categories of painting or printmaking at the time. For Shikō Munakata, Mingei became an essential support.

Over the years, the establishment of a ‘Mingei style,’ inspired by everyday modest objects (getemono), followed two major developments. The first involved the emergence of artists who, influenced by Sōetsu Yanagi’s ideas, chose to become artisans themselves. Among them were students and disciples of the first-generation Mingei creators.

The second development concerned artisans from traditional craft-producing regions. They gradually became aware that the techniques and motifs they used daily were now being recognized as works of art. Mingei thus contributed to the structuring of a market for these local crafts, encouraging some artisans to adopt a more personal and creative approach.

These two dynamics were not, however, entirely separate. Some artists from the first category settled in craft-producing regions to practice their trade, while artisans from traditional lineages, in turn, became apprentices to key figures of the Mingei movement. Depending on the region and discipline, situations varied, but these intersecting trajectories helped shape contemporary Mingei from the 1960s onward.

Is Mingei Solely Rooted in Craftsmanship?

Sōetsu Yanagi did not entirely reject mechanized production. In his 1931 essay Hita no Sarayama (untranslated), which focuses on Onta pottery, he begins by stating that ‘tradition is all that matters’ but then goes on to argue that a creation based solely on knowledge lacks ‘that essential and indispensable element of beauty.’ He further explains that ‘as long as this element is well understood, there is no issue with settling in a city, using machines, or acquiring new knowledge.’ While he does not unreservedly praise machines, he does not exclude them either, provided certain conditions are met.

During his lifetime, Sōetsu Yanagi never explicitly encouraged a fusion between Mingei and industrial production, but he remained open to modern design. In the 1940s, when French designer Charlotte Perriand visited Japan to organize an exhibition, Sōetsu Yanagi and Shōji Hamada wrote a text expressing their appreciation of her work. Likewise, during a postwar trip to the United States, Sōetsu Yanagi held the Eames House in high regard.

Sōetsu Yanagi never considered industrial products to be part of Mingei per se. However, if Mingei is defined as everyday objects intended for the people, then mass-produced goods could be seen as its contemporary expression. This idea was most explicitly articulated by his eldest son, Sōri Yanagi, an industrial designer himself. At the end of 1977, Sōri succeeded Shōji Hamada as the third director of the Japan Folk Crafts Museum. The following year, in the April issue of Mingei magazine, he published an article titled ‘The Future of Mingei’, in which he presented a variety of manufactured products and asserted that ‘Mingei will eventually evolve and merge with industrial design.’ He also expressed a bold view, stating that the Japan Folk Crafts Museum should not simply resemble an antique shop annex or limit itself to displaying beautiful objects from the past like a conventional museum.

However, after the war, the Mingei movement developed in close connection with traditional craft-producing regions, and Sōri eventually stopped advocating this position openly. Nevertheless, the question of the relationship between Mingei and industry, or Mingei and design, remains crucial. At a time when Mingei is experiencing renewed interest in various forms, revisiting this discussion seems more relevant than ever.

What Activities Did Sōetsu Yanagi and His Peers Carry Out in Craft-Producing Regions?

Craft evaluation is often based on how an object is made, as seen in the case of ‘traditional craft products’ designated by the Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry. In contrast, as mentioned in response to the third question, Sōetsu Yanagi’s Mingei placed greater emphasis on the use of objects rather than their manufacturing process.

Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers were therefore less focused on the technical details of craftsmanship and more on raising awareness of the value of traditional work and fostering an appreciation for finished pieces. Their critiques were primarily guided by their own eye, as they assessed objects instantaneously—and at times with striking severity. These judgments had a significant impact on the regions they visited.

Field visits by Sōetsu Yanagi and his group intensified in the 1930s as the Mingei movement gained momentum, aligning with their efforts to collect folk crafts. Initially, Mingei framed its discourse around the contrast between ‘noble or popular’ and ‘objects of contemplation or objects of daily use.’ However, these categories gradually shifted to a new dichotomy: ‘center and periphery’ or ‘advanced and archaic.’ Rather than being drawn to progress driven by science and knowledge, they were interested in the enduring presence of ancient forms. For artisans seeking to modernize their production, the critiques of Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers could sometimes seem perplexing. Yet, they also offered an unexpected form of recognition—one that imbued their work with a sense of newfound value, almost like a kind of magic.

The involvement of numerous artists in the Mingei movement is another key factor in understanding these interventions in craft-producing regions. Even before the war, Kanjirō Kawai, Shōji Hamada, and Bernard Leach regularly visited pottery workshops in the Tsuboya district of Naha, Okinawa. During his extended stay in Japan, Bernard Leach also accompanied Sōetsu Yanagi and his companions on their travels, producing works at each stop. These visits not only allowed local artisans to observe the creations of Mingei figures firsthand but also often drew media attention, giving craftspeople a glimpse into how their work was perceived.

After the war, disciples of the Mingei movement emerged across Japan, and specialty stores closely connected to artisans began to appear. Some of these figures also led training initiatives to pass on the philosophy of Sōetsu Yanagi and his peers. The legacy of these efforts remains visible today.