Discovering Picture Frames Helped Me Overcome My Feeling of Being a “Nobody”

What was your life like before you became a frame artisan?

I had tried my hand at many things, but nothing ever seemed to pan out. I was living with a complex, feeling like I was a person who only ever did things halfway. But when I started making picture frames, everything just clicked.

From kindergarten through high school, I was set on becoming a professional soccer player. Coached by my father, a PE teacher, I even got into a powerhouse school on a sports scholarship to pursue that dream, but it wasn't meant to be. In my senior year of high school, I began to have doubts about my future, wondering, “The world is so vast, why have I only ever known soccer?”

I decided to pursue something I loved and thought about going to a vocational school for fashion, but my parents wouldn't allow it, so I started looking for a university. I hadn't done the preparatory drawing needed for art school entrance exams, so I found a university where I could enroll in the economics department with the option to transfer, and eventually moved to the textile design program.

But I still felt an inferiority complex even in college. I hadn't passed the rigorous exams to get into a top art university, and I was envious of my friends at fashion vocational schools who seemed so dazzling and successful. On top of that, it was a “job-hunting ice age,” so there were hardly any openings, and I couldn't land a job as a designer. Just as I was thinking about going back to a fashion school, my grandfather, who had a connection with the president of Fujiseigaku, arranged for me to visit the workshop.

What made you consider a career as a frame artisan when you were originally aiming to be a designer?

There's a well-known modern art museum near my parents' house. Back when I was making clothes, I often went to its exhibitions, hoping to find some inspiration. While looking at the paintings, it struck me that the function of clothing and picture frames is essentially the same.

Clothing is meant to make a person look beautiful, while a frame is meant to enhance a work of art. The materials and forms are different, but I realized they're both about accentuating a subject; only the subject itself differs.

I was blown away when I toured Fujiseigaku and saw how the frames were made. I had no experience in frame making, so it meant starting again from zero. I knew I didn't have the innate sense of an art student, but I believed that the perspective and feel I had developed from studying fashion could give me an edge in the world of frame making. Convinced that it all came down to hard work and determination, I took the plunge and dove into the craft.

The Master of a Lifetime Who Trained Me from Scratch as an Artisan

What was your apprenticeship period like?

Toshio Fukutoku, a frame artisan with 50 years in the craft, was the one who trained me. My master was a craftsman who had spent many years making frames while also being a painter himself. He was a true genius, possessing exceptional skill and an originality that allowed him to create unprecedented works.

Take, for example, a technique he invented for creating textured surfaces. Instead of building up layers of undercoating, my master figured out how to use a brush to create indentations directly. It allows for beautiful, natural patterns with fewer steps. It’s a technique no one else could have possibly conceived.

My master wasn't the type to teach by holding my hand. His philosophy was, “Your job is to steal my techniques,” and he let me take on a wide variety of frame-making tasks. He seemed to appreciate my proactive, almost reckless, eagerness to say “Let me try!” His teaching style had a lot of freedom to it. He might just give me a single word of guidance, and it was up to me to do the research and figure out the rest. That's how I learned the craft.

In the beginning, I was audacious enough to believe I could catch up to and even surpass my master. After about three years, though, I realized that was impossible. Just as I was learning new things and growing, he was also constantly evolving. So, I changed my goal: I would aim to surpass the craftsman he was when he was my age. That thought put my mind at ease.

Was your apprenticeship challenging at times?

We were on great terms, to the point where he'd often take me out for drinks after work, saying, 'Hey kid, let's go.' But there were also times he'd scold me so harshly I'd cry. My master was an old-school artisan who never praised my work, which left me feeling discouraged on numerous occasions.

But looking back, I'm truly grateful. It's rare to find someone who will seriously scold an adult over the age of 30. He took me in right after university, with no professional experience, and trained me to be a craftsman from the ground up.

My master had to retire due to illness and passed away early this year. I've taken over his work and am now responsible for making the frames. Working on my own has made me realize that his teaching method was the right one. Because my training involved figuring things out for myself—researching and creating—rather than being taught every little detail, I'm now able to combine various techniques to craft frames tailored to each customer's request.

I'm reminded daily of the immense gift he gave me and how much he taught me. He was my life's greatest mentor. I even spent more time with him than with my own parents.

Making Frames Allowed Me to Become Myself

Kurihara, while working as an artisan, you're also focused on sharing the charm of frame making and training the next generation, aren't you?

While continuing my work as an artisan, I'm also dedicated to sharing the skills I've acquired and nurturing the next generation. This includes speaking at events that highlight the charm of picture frames and making appearances on TV and radio.

When I considered how I could repay my master, I decided the best way was to pass the skills he taught me on to the next generation. If I don't find new successors and steer my efforts toward training them, the techniques my master cultivated over the years will be lost.

I want to communicate the allure and the techniques of frame making to a wide audience in an accessible way. I recently saw on the news, for example, a story about how recording an artisan's techniques on video made it easier for younger people to master them, leading to improved efficiency.

Do you have any reservations about openly sharing skills that took you so long to acquire?

I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that feels a bit of jealousy, not wanting to just hand over techniques I struggled to acquire. There’s a side of me that thinks others should also have to struggle for decades to master them, just as I did. But in today's world, that mindset won't attract any young people to the craft.

This tension between wanting to protect the skills and needing to share them in new ways to ensure their survival... I believe it's a common struggle for any traditional craft workshop facing the issue of succession.

I love making frames, and I want to pass down what my master taught me. With that determination, I've decided to overcome my jealousy. If my apprentice can learn in eight years what took me ten, they'll have an extra two years to grow, opening up the possibility of becoming an even better artisan than I am. When I thought about it that way, I realized there were even more things that only I could do, and I felt a renewed sense of mission.

Perhaps sharing once-hidden techniques widely is the mindset that the next generation of artisans will need to ensure traditional crafts are passed down.

Listening to you, it feels like being a frame craftsman is your very way of life.

I've come to believe that my career path, which once felt so disjointed, was all leading me to where I am now. Today, I can proudly say, "I am a picture frame craftsman." I love what I do. Discovering framing and becoming an artisan has allowed me to finally become myself.

I think people find true happiness when what they love to do aligns with what they feel they must do. I find making frames genuinely enjoyable, and I also feel it's my mission to share the skills and the charm of the craft that my master passed on to me. I'm not an artisan who inherited a family business, and I've always had a particularly strong sense of urgency—a feeling that 'this industry will vanish if we don't do something.' Because of that, I feel I may be uniquely positioned to take on this role.

This past spring, a young woman hoping to become an artisan joined us at Fuji Seigaku. Teaching her various skills has become a daily learning experience for me as well. Like an evangelist for the craft, I want to keep sharing the beauty of frame making with as many people as possible. I hold on to that resolve every day as I continue to dedicate myself to my work as an artisan.