— When did you first decide to become a swordsmith?

It was around the time I started thinking seriously about my career while in university. Growing up in Okayama, I often had chances to see swords from a young age. Every year I would watch Bitchū Kagura, our local performing art, held at community events. I think that childhood admiration—that feeling of, “swords are so cool”—was probably what sparked my love for Japanese blades.

 

— Why did you decide to pursue swordsmithing after building a career as a designer?

I studied as a design major at an art university, so when I graduated, I was torn between becoming a designer or aiming to be a swordsmith.

Around that time, a swordsmith teacher gave me some advice:

“It takes at least ten years before you can stand on your own as a swordsmith, and there’s no guarantee you’ll make a living from it. So why not work as a designer first—and if you still want to become a swordsmith after that, give it a try.”

Looking back, maybe he was just politely trying to discourage me—but at the time, his words made a lot of sense and felt like something I could accept.

As I gained experience as a designer, I started delegating work to juniors and found myself more removed from the creative side of things. Working in web design, I also felt an emptiness knowing that what I made wouldn’t last. The desire to “use my own hands to make something tangible and lasting” grew stronger. So at 30, I finally made the switch to the path I’d always had in mind: swordsmithing.

It was a rather late start for this world, but I felt I had to make use of the strengths only I possessed—like the perspective I developed as a designer and the problem-solving skills I gained from work experience. I consciously thought about how to differentiate myself from other craftsmen by using those experiences to my advantage.

 

 

— In your view, what gives Japanese swords their dignity and beauty?

Compared to other weapons made from the same materials—like spears or naginata—swords have long been treated as something special: a “treasure” or “sacred object.” Just as a sword is included among Japan’s Three Sacred Treasures, it has always held a unique status. I think that deeply ingrained cultural awareness—this idea within Japanese people that “a sword is something noble”—is part of what gives it its sense of dignity.

Then there’s the method of making one. Crafting a Japanese sword is incredibly inefficient—it demands immense labor, patience, and time. Because craftsmen pour so much effort and passion into each blade, and because they can feel genuine pride in the hard work behind it, that sense of value and beauty naturally reaches those who receive the sword.

When you think about it, a sword is “just a bar of steel.” But the history and culture that have shaped that steel, and the spirit and dedication of the artisans who forge it—those are what imbue the Japanese sword with true elegance and beauty.

 

— What, to you, makes a “good sword”?

“A sword that gives you strength the moment you hold it.”

I believe a sword has a mirror-like quality—it reflects the emotions and state of mind of the person holding it. For example, if someone who feels fear toward swords picks one up, that fear becomes even stronger. It’s as though what lies within you is heightened and reflected back. That’s why I think a sword that somehow fills you with energy the moment you hold it—that is a good sword.

Everyone, I think, carries some personal concept of “what a sword is.” In that sense, a Japanese sword serves as a vessel—capable of holding those diverse feelings and ideas within. That, too, is one of its defining characteristics.

 

 

— What do you find most fascinating about Japanese swords that you’d like to share with people overseas?

I’d say it’s how they embody the Japanese spirit and sense of beauty.

When visitors from overseas watch the sword-forging process, they’re always amazed by the sheer number of steps and the amount of effort involved. Many forms of Japanese traditional craftsmanship—like woodworking or ceramics—create value through the time and labor applied to humble materials. The Japanese sword is one of those arts.

Originally, Japan didn’t have high-quality iron ore suited for swordmaking. While other countries could smelt ore with coke to cast blades, Japan had to innovate from the very start of acquiring raw materials. That necessity led to the development of the tatara smelting method, where tamahagane steel is refined and forged into swords. I think this reflects the Japanese spirit of determination—“we’ll make iron tools no matter what”—and the willingness to take the long, difficult road without cutting corners.

You can also see the Japanese spirit in the polishing (togi) process. Even after spending tremendous effort to forge the steel, even more time is set to refining it. The more a sword is polished, the less practical it becomes for battle—yet polishing continues. The polisher (togishi) goes beyond mere functionality, seeking to draw out the hidden beauty within the steel itself. That pursuit, I think, is where Japan’s unique aesthetic sensibility truly lives.

 

— Compared to swords, what are the challenges of making Japanese-style kitchen knives?

Compared to swords, the process of making Japanese-style kitchen knives is completely different. Structurally, swords and knives are almost opposites. A Japanese sword is made using the “lamination technique,” wrapping hard steel around a softer core, whereas most kitchen knives do the opposite—covering a hard core steel with softer steel.

Unlike with the “lamination technique,” the Japanese-style knife we’re discussing is a muku hagane hōchō—a knife made from a single piece of tamahagane. Compared to swords, knives are thinner and wider, so temperature control during quenching is completely different—and much harder.

Because swords have more mass, they retain heat more efficiently. Even after cooling, the core’s heat pushes outward, making them less likely to crack. Knives, being thin, cool instantly when immersed in water and can easily fracture. During heat treatment, structural changes such as warping or distortion—which a sword’s mass can absorb—become far more apparent in a knife.

So rather than saying one is harder to make than the other, it’s more accurate to say that each has its own unique set of challenges.

 

— In your eyes, what kind of “beauty” is shared between swords and Japanese-style knives?

It all comes down to “the time and effort poured into them.” That beauty is born precisely because so much of both has been invested.

Japanese-style knives made from tamahagane share nearly the same forging process as swords, even if their shapes differ. In that sense, they hold the same spirit and essence as Japanese swords.

Then there’s the beauty created through polishing (togi). No matter how skillfully a swordsmith forges a blade, if the polisher can’t bring out its potential, it means nothing. The same goes for knives. Polishers have trained their eyes by working on countless swords—they can instantly recognize quality. So I always think, “I need to make something deep enough to make a polisher wonder how to approach it.”

For this knife too, I worked with the desire to create a piece that makes the polisher think, “I want to give this one my all.”

 

— From a swordsmith’s perspective, what are the difficulties and pleasures of creating a knife that balances functionality and beauty?

I think the challenge—and the joy—lies in finding ways to express the beauty of a Japanese sword within the limitations of what a kitchen knife must be.

Since a knife must function as a practical tool, I can’t ignore the “fundamental principles of a kitchen knife.” Blade thinness directly affects sharpness, and the height of the temper line (hamon) determines how long the knife can be used after repeated sharpenings. These are aspects that traditional knife craftsmen have long valued, and I believe they must be respected.

Within that framework, I try to add artistry—by bringing out texture in the blade’s surface (jigane) or giving variation to the hamon, similar to a sword. My goal is to create knives that embody both practicality and beauty.