Takanori Yamamoto pauses at the counter of his crafts shop: “What is mingei? It’s something that is beyond material value. It is the richness of daily life.”
Mingei – Japan’s folk craft movement – is a word that surfaces time and time again during my visit to Kurashiki. The small southwestern city, which sits near the serene waters of the Seto Inland Sea in Okayama Prefecture, is home to a cosmos of Japanese craftsmanship.
Central to the mingei philosophy is the beauty of using crafted objects in daily life – and this is perfectly expressed in Kurashiki. Plates, forks, spoons, chopsticks, baskets, dyed textiles: here, every element of the quotidian is shaped by mingei crafts, blending robust functionality and meticulous craftsmanship with timeless natural beauty.
Kurashiki’s rich crafts heritage is rooted in centuries of prosperity as a major rice distribution hub for Japan – and today, the small but perfectly formed city, wrapped in gentle green hills and seas, remains steeped in high-quality craftsmanship.
Added to the mix is its haiku-inspiring scenography. At its heart is Kurashiki Bikan Historical Quarter: an escapist time-capsule of narrow stone lanes lined with unusually well-preserved machiya merchant townhouses and kura storehouses, flowing around a willow-fringed canal.
My Kurashiki exploration begins with a walk from the train station to my hotel – a journey that feels like time-travelling. Contemporary commercial buildings slowly give way to narrow streets and latticed timber houses capped with the rhythmic curves of roof tiles.
My destination is Yoruya – one of Japan’s best hotel secrets – which blends seamlessly into its setting, with a black timber façade and discreet entrance hidden behind a simple curtain of knotted igusa rush grass (typically used to make tatami, one of Kurashiki’s many crafts).
Inside, a contemporary reimagining of a 110-year-old former kimono merchant’s warehouse unfolds. The 13-room hotel gently harmonises traditional architectural details with white walls, soft curves and a sensitive curation of local mingei crafts, brought to life by Tokyo design studio Simplicity.
My room is particularly hard to leave – not only due to its crafted minimalism, serene white washi-wrapped spaces and covetable mingei objects (from glasses to tea cups), but because of a time-slowing highlight: the outdoor bathtub in my private courtyard garden, where I could easily spend the entire day cloud-gazing.
However, my mingei pilgrimage is calling – starting with a stroll along nearby Honmachi Dori, a stone street lined with low-rise houses converted into cafes, restaurants, and of course, mingei stores – and one standout highlight is Toworu Mingei.
Climbing stone steps into the century-old building, I find myself in mingei heaven. Hanging from the ceiling are dyed textiles with geometric motifs, while shelves are filled with imperfectly organic ceramics, hand-hammered cutlery and beautifully irregular glassware.
Something of a mingei utopia, the intimate store first opened in 1971 before the owner, a well-respected figure in the local crafts world, handed it over to Takanori Yamamoto five years ago. During a quietly meandering conversation with Yamamoto-san, I learn how the photographer moved from Tokyo back to his Kurashiki hometown after the 2011 earthquake, tsunami and nuclear disaster – before an immersion in all things mingei eventually led him to run this store.
Pausing briefly, as a local sushi chef pops in with his baby to drop off broken ceramics for a kintsugi fix, he continues: “I learnt a lot from the original owner. She chose items based not on how stylish they are, but how comfortable they are to use. Mingei goes beyond material value.”
A short scenic walk away – past canals, arched stone bridges and matcha ice cream-eating tourists – I arrive at Kurashiki Mingeikan (Museum of Folk Craft), a 1948 landmark spanning a series of former rice granaries.
My Mingei education continues in a series of deserted rooms that feel more like a residence than a museum – past countless textiles, woven baskets, ceramics – all functional and imbued with a nature-mirroring beauty.
And then a mini-shopping tour unfolds. My first mission? Finding denim: the southern region of Kurashiki (in particular, Kojima) is widely celebrated as the birthplace of Japanese denim. Yoruya staff tip me off about Matou, a denim select shop which recently opened in a renovated machiya townhouse with a lattice wood façade on Honmachi Dori.
Crossing the stone threshold, I spy a medley of curated denim from four local brands spanning a contemporary interior – picture original timber, round white lights, concrete floors. Highlights include military-style TCB Jeans, with low-tension weaving on traditional shuttle looms creating a rough texture that deepens in beauty with time.
My next stop is a practical mingei showcase of beauty and functionality: Shiraga Aramonoten is a general household store dating back to 1894, packed with daily products – from woven igusa mats and kitchen tools to local honey produced “by a man living up the mountain,” according to the fourth-generation owner.
Nature is interwoven not only into crafts – but the fabric of the city itself. At one point, I spy a stone torii gate, which leads to a climb of precisely 88 steps – transporting me to Achi Shrine on Mount Tsurugata overlooking the city. After washing hands in a water basin full of fresh hydrangea at the threshold, I bow and clap hands twice in prayer beneath a large twisted straw shimenawa. Finally, I sit and savour the view – a serene bird’s eye vista of a patchwork of Kurashiki rooftops, tiled and tilted, wrapped in mountains.
And then, on the way back to Yoruya, one of Kurashiki’s most surprising finds: Itokichi, a natural wine enclave, quietly hidden in an old kura storehouse on a narrow street.
Stepping inside, it’s cool and dark. A crafted contemporary interior shifts into focus, with earthen walls, high ceilings, angled shadows, a minimalist staircase and touches of mingei (ceramics, old prints, glassware) – and, centre stage at a counter, next to an abstraction of greenery in a mint-green jug, is smiling owner Kosuke Kawashima in a straw hat.
Explaining how the name Kurashiki is rooted in the city’s heritage as a hub for rice storage, he says: “In Europe, there are caves; and in Japan we have kura storehouses.”
A side room contains around 500 bottles of natural wine, on shelves with simple woven grass rope (another crafted Kurashiki touch). In addition to a global selection are countless bottles from Japan – including Grape Ship, an organic boutique winery in Kurashiki.
And then it’s time to pause. Back at Yoruya, I’m immersed in a time-slowing moment of serenity. A sip of tea in a crafted cup. A warming soak in the garden bathtub. An inhale of summer flowers in the air.
As the sun starts sinking into rooftops, I’m ready for dinner. A local favourite, just outside the historic district, is Bitchu Kurashiki Wine Bar, run by young couple Oh Myungjun and his wife Yumi.
Intimate, contemporary and relaxed, we sit at a vintage wooden table by the window beneath a minimalist hanging bulb, as a slow stream of locals drifts in and out, laughing and sipping wine at the counter.
The playful atmosphere belies some seriously tasty food. A medley of omakase food treats – seasonal, creative, crafted – appears before us, served on the earthy-fired beauty of local Bizenyaki ceramics: a peach-like portion of light pink crab, cooling summer anago conger eel in radish, octopus from nearby Seto Inland Sea, pops of young corn with cinnamon.
The tasty flow of food is interrupted only by laughter, wine, an impromptu song by the owner and a local telling us to come outside immediately – before he shows us a superthin crescent moon in the night sky and marvels poetically at its beauty.
My Kurashiki day closes with a solo walk, quiet and memory-imprinting, back to Yoruya. There is no one else in sight as I wander along lantern-lit stone streets lined with wood houses beneath a sweep of starry skies – and there's no doubt this sanctuary of mingei has left me feeling full of the richness of daily life.
Words by Danielle Demetriou.
Photography by Kate Berry.
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