An Unexpected Connection that Began with a Chance Meeting

After graduating from a fashion college in Kyoto, Chiaki worked as an apparel sales associate. The physically demanding job often kept her working late into the night, living a hectic life. It was during this time that she happened to meet Fukutaro Azuma, a Kishu chest craftsman who would later become her husband.

"At first, I didn't even realize he was interested in me (laughs). But things just naturally fell into place."

Her marriage led her to move to Wakayama, where she discovered that her husband's family ran a Kishu chest workshop. For Chiaki, who is from Shiga, paulownia chests were not a familiar part of her life. "My mother had one, but I didn't even know where they were made," she recalls.

"I never imagined I would end up working in that workshop. After marrying into the family, I found out how famous the workshop was and got goosebumps."

Life's Changes After Marriage

Life in her new home was a series of adjustments and inner conflicts. During her apparel days, she was constantly chased by sales quotas, unable to get the numbers out of her head even on her days off. "There were times I'd buy products myself to meet my targets. Honestly, it was tough," she reflects.

Life in Wakayama, on the other hand, was a completely different world. While the responsibility to 'keep making things that bring joy to customers' was immense, she was no longer bound solely by numbers. Connecting with the essence of craftsmanship was, in fact, what saved her.

"In sales, the pressure was stronger than any sense of accomplishment. But in the workshop, I can work while imagining the happy faces of our customers. That felt right for me."

However, balancing work and childcare was not easy. There was the loneliness of being alone with her children in an unfamiliar place and the anxiety of entering a male-dominated workshop.

"I really wanted to work full-time, and it was hard being stuck at home with young children. That's when my mother-in-law told me, "I'll watch them, so come to the workshop." Without those words, I don't think I could have walked the path of an artisan."

The Path of a Craftswoman and Mother: Becoming the First Female Traditional Craftswoman

When she first joined the workshop, she started with menial tasks like serving tea and cleaning. But as she began helping with the work, she was naturally entrusted with processes like lacquering and wood paneling.

"I'd show up in the evening, and they'd start asking me, 'Could you do this?' Gradually, I was given more and more tasks. It wasn't about whether I was getting paid or not; it was more like, 'Before I knew it, I had become a craftswoman myself.'"

Eventually, she was certified as the nation's first "Female Traditional Craftswoman (Lacquering Division) in the Tansu Industry."

"I didn't intend for this to happen at first. I thought it was enough to just support my husband. But people encouraged me, saying, 'A woman can get certified, too,' and I realized I could take on the challenge myself."

In a male-dominated industry, the title "first woman" carried a lot of weight. Still, Chiaki says, "Having the title of a craftswoman has given me the confidence to proudly say, 'I am an artisan.'"

Captivated by Kiri Wood

Chiaki's fascination with Kiri (paulownia) wood began with a small incident in her daily life.

"Even though I was washing clothes from the same brand in the same way, my husband's clothes stored in a Kiri chest of drawers were untouched by moths, while mine were eaten. I was stunned and thought, 'Kiri wood is incredible!'"

From that moment, her interest in Kiri deepened. She even ventured into the mountains to experience the scent of the Kiri flower, searching for its purple blossoms. "You can easily imagine the scent of cypress or cedar, but hardly anyone knows the fragrance of Kiri. That's exactly why I want to capture it in incense to share with others," she explains, embarking on a new challenge.

"Wood is alive. It's a challenging living material to work with, which is why you have to read the grain and connect with it as you shape it. That very difficulty is what makes it so fascinating. My days with Kiri feel like I'm watching a child grow."

She and her husband work in perfect, unspoken synchronization—what the Japanese call "A-un no kokyu"—both in the workshop and at home.

"So much of the work can't be done alone, so we naturally team up. We might bicker from talking about work all the time, but I see it as proof that we're both dedicated artisans."

The Responsibility of Carrying on Tradition

Today, Chiaki feels a strong sense of purpose: "to expand the possibilities of Kiri wood and pass it on to the next generation."

"I believe a traditional craftsperson has a duty not just to create objects, but also to nurture successors. I want to make Kiri more familiar to people, sharing its appeal in new ways, like through everyday items and fragrances."

After marrying into the family, navigating uncertainty and inner conflict, Chiaki has carved out a role that is uniquely her own.

"I want to tell my younger self that the future is so much more exciting. It was through marriage that I encountered the world of Kiri. Being able to proudly say, 'I am an artisan' today is all thanks to my family and this craft."

Walking hand-in-hand with Kiri wood, her quest to breathe new life into tradition has become a guiding light, illuminating the future of Kishu Tansu (chests).