The phrase “craftsmanship spirit” has, unfortunately, become a cliché, much like many other overused buzzwords that no longer help us distinguish the mediocre from the truly exceptional. Today, even the most unremarkable objects eagerly claim this label for self-promotion, with one troubling consequence: not only has the term itself lost credibility, but many people have also begun to question what a true “craftsman” really is.
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After visiting a handful of workshops and studios scattered across the world, I realised that the level of craftsmanship has very little to do with how sleek or impressive a space looks. Some of the rarest and most refined techniques are quietly nurtured in workshops that sit far away from fashionable districts, spaces that might feel old, cluttered, or even slightly chaotic at first glance.
One afternoon in Kyoto, I found myself standing inside a tea caddy workshop called Kaikado.
Around me, craftsmen were returning from lunch one after another, leaving their shoes at the entrance before quietly taking their seats in different corners of the room to resume their work.
