Although I was born in Tokyo (my mother’s hometown), I grew up in Wajima from early childhood through high school.
I wasn’t athletic, but I loved drawing and making things with whatever was around me—working with my hands always brought me joy. Thanks to the wonderful friends I had, my love for this region remains unchanged to this day.

My family runs Okagaki Lacquerware, a long-standing business in Wajima.
Back then, gatherings of local craftsmen were common, and I often joined their get-togethers (with juice in hand, of course). I didn’t quite understand the details of their work at the time, but I remember their hands—thick yet gentle—and their gaze, calm yet sharp, even after a few drinks.

Even as a high school student, the craftsmen treated me kindly. Over time, that warmth became a natural and familiar part of my life.

In Wajima, most high school students leave the city after graduation unless they become public servants or work for local companies. I also moved to Tokyo for university, and I would often meet up with friends from Wajima while living there.

During Obon and summer festivals, we’d gather again with classmates who had moved away. Despite the distance, we all shared a strong love for our hometown.

After university, I began working at a hotel in Yokohama and stayed there for about five years. I had hoped to work in a restaurant, but I was assigned to the bar. Still, I wasn’t disappointed—in fact, it became an opportunity to truly understand and enjoy the world of spirits and cocktails, sometimes under strict but rewarding guidance.

The bar welcomed a wide range of guests every day, including many regulars. Looking back, I realize that the daily conversations and shared sense of comfort I experienced there might not have been possible in a restaurant setting. I now feel that those moments at the bar helped shape the foundation of who I am today.

On March 25, 2007, at 9:41 a.m., a magnitude 6.9 earthquake struck the Noto Peninsula.

At the time, I was in my apartment in Tokyo, getting ready for work. I vividly remember the overwhelming sense of loss I felt as I watched familiar scenes from my hometown crumble on the screen, even though I was far away.

About two months later, I returned to Wajima for a visit. What struck me the most was the look on the faces of the artisans who had played with me when I was a child. Though many things had happened, there was a sense of resignation in their downcast expressions.

I thought, “This isn’t right. I want to walk alongside these people.”

That moment of conviction led me to leave my job at the hotel in Yokohama and return to Wajima.

When I returned to Wajima, I had little knowledge of the lacquerware industry. Following my father’s advice to “just make something,” I created a whiskey bottle holder inspired by my time working at a bar. But the artisans quickly pointed out my inexperience, asking about design choices and budgets. Even after finishing the piece, I didn’t know how to sell it, and I felt humbled.

That experience made me more conscious of product development. I set my sights on male customers—an untapped audience—under the theme of “Dandyism.” I developed items like card holders, pens, globes, hangers, air purifiers, desks, and pet dishes. Over time, I realized these products appealed to a broader range of people than I expected. It led me to believe that Wajima-nuri could be expressed in more diverse ways.

I had seen the lacquerware industry as a “cube”—limited to a few familiar items like bowls and boxes. But a cube only reflects light in a few directions. By adding new “faces” through fresh product ideas, I wanted to turn Wajima-nuri into a “mirror ball,” reflecting its beauty in all directions.

Through these creations, I hope to enrich people’s lives. At the heart of this effort are the smiles of customers and artisans—and the belief that this is how tradition lives on.

At 4:10 p.m. on New Year’s Day 2024, a magnitude 7.6 earthquake struck the Noto Peninsula. I was visiting my grandmother, who lives on the 4th floor of our company building, with my family to exchange New Year’s greetings. Even now, I vividly remember the terror I felt as the tremors were so strong, it felt as if my body was lifted off the ground.

Thankfully, my family was safe, but we spent the following days entirely focused on survival.

By late January, I began seeing more of the artisans at local water stations. I noticed their hands trembling—not just from the cold, but from the frustration and anxiety of being physically capable yet unable to resume their work.

At that moment, I felt a deep conviction:

“I must rise again with these artisans. I will become the flag they can rally around, the guide to help them move forward.”

That belief became the driving force behind everything I have done since the earthquake.

In February, we participated as planned in an exhibition in New York that we had been preparing for since the previous year. While we received high praise for our lacquerware, the experience also revealed challenges in how we communicate and manage orders.

Driven by the belief that “true success means getting work into the hands of the artisans,” I returned to New York in October to hold another exhibition at a gallery. Although we expected around 80 guests for the opening reception, more than 300 people attended, resulting in an overwhelming response. We also received our first international order, and I’m happy to report that the initial shipment was completed successfully.

In Japan as well, we’ve received tremendous support, and the outpouring of encouragement for Noto’s recovery has deeply moved us. However, in September of the same year, heavy rains caused additional damage, once again testing our resilience.

Even as circumstances continue to change each day, we remain committed to moving forward, one step at a time.