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From his roots in Osaka, Japan, to becoming an acclaimed potter in the mountains of North Carolina, Akira Satake’s story reflects the harmonious interplay of improvisation, nature, and community. In our candid conversation, Akira shares how his artistic path unfolded – from a career in music and photography to discovering clay as a meditative and life-changing medium. Akira discusses his philosophy of embracing mistakes, finding beauty in imperfection, and creating with a sense of collaboration – whether with clay, fire, or the community that has supported him through the devastation of the flood. In his reflections, we see how art becomes both a personal and collective act of renewal, where the rhythms of life and nature resonate in every piece he creates. Akira's story reminds us of the strength that emerges when we adapt, let go, and rebuild with purpose.


Akira Satake: I'm originally from Osaka, Japan, and I moved to the United States in 1983. I spent a couple of years in San Francisco, and then I moved to New York City – Manhattan, and Brooklyn. I left the New York area in 2003 for Asheville, North Carolina. I was in Asheville first, then moved to Swananoa, which is only about fifteen minutes away.

Randi O'Brien (ROB): Have you been a ceramic artist through that entire time? 

Akira: No, not at all. I started touching the clay when I was forty-two years old. At first, in my high school days, I was a semi-professional musician, and then, when I graduated high school, I decided to go to a photography school. Because being a banjo player in Japan, you know, it's not so good as a career. So, I went to photography school for a couple of years, and then I worked in a commercial photography studio for a couple of years. When I moved to San Francisco, I got a job as a photographer for a musical instruments company. After that, I moved to New York City. 

In New York, I was going to continue with more photography, but very early, after I moved to Manhattan, I was playing outside in Washington Square Park, just by myself, playing my banjo. As I sat and played, somebody came and asked if he could play with me. We played for about an hour, and then after that, he said, “Come to audition this weekend.” And so, I went there, and four or five guys were waiting for me. I pretty much knew everybody in the band because I was a professional musician and from my experience recording my record. Oh, they were wonderful, very well-known people. The singer was Jim Lauderdale, and the mandolin player was Larry Campbell.  They are both multi-Grammy winners and back then, they were up and coming. Now they are very, very famous people. 

After that audition, I decided to focus on music. I had a lot of jobs coming in because I knew some of the most important musicians in New York. I started to do a lot of gigs and studio musician stuff, and I somehow got a really good client who gave me a state-of-the-art studio to use in the Ed Sullivan Theater. The studio was on the eighth and ninth floor, and David Letterman was one above me. I had an incredibly serious business going on then; at the peak, I had about fifty employees for my production company. At the same time, I started a record company that focused on world music. 

It was a little more than ten years in this lifestyle – a hype kind of life – that the record company began to slow because of MP3s and the changing times. My client, who provided the studio, claimed bankruptcy, and I couldn’t keep the studio. It was a very difficult time. Between the record company and the production company, I was stretched. I couldn't sleep anymore. 

Okay, from here, pottery comes into my life. I couldn't sleep at all. Three or four o'clock in the morning, I was sitting in bed, breathing hard. Days and days like this. What do I do? Maybe yoga, meditation, or Buddhism? Oh, Pottery! So I took a class that lasted only a few hours on Thursday night in a place called the Greenwich House Pottery, pinching the pot. The first day, I felt, wow, this is really helping me, and also I’m enjoying it so much. I felt like I might be doing this for my life. And then, yeah, and I took some clay home in my bag. I shouldn't do it, but I got it home to my office, and I was pinching pots till three or four in the morning until I got exhausted.

That was 2002, something like twenty-two years ago, and I started doing pottery. I was pretty much self-taught.

There are many good things about being self-taught. I'm glad I didn't start in Japan because if I was studying with somebody well-known in Japan, you know, it's very difficult to unlearn what influence they have on you. In school, you are influenced by the professor or students, and I didn’t have any of those; yeah, I’m so lucky.

   

ROB: What drew you from the Brooklyn area to North Carolina? Was it wood-firing, the ceramics culture there, or something else entirely?

Akira: We decided to move to Asheville almost two years after I started doing pottery. I was so itchy to have a bigger studio and kiln, and someday a wood-firing kiln.

It was my potter friend who told me about the area. I was talking to him, telling him that I was thinking about moving out of the New York Brooklyn area to have a little bit more nature. And my daughter was four years old, and she will be five years old at the time. I think it was a good time to relocate. And so my potter friend said he was at Penland, and the Asheville area was very nice. He liked it. So I went home and checked on the internet, and it actually sounded very nice – the climate –  and very beautiful. Then I told my wife, you know, how about Asheville? What do you think? And she said, “Wait a minute. My cousin lives in Asheville. They moved seven years ago. Let me call them.” Then we visited them in a beautiful week of April. Then, on the airplane back to Brooklyn, we said, “What do you think? Let's do it. Let's do it.”

ROB: What perfect synchronicity! You had a family connection to make the transition all the more natural. You mentioned nature and the landscape of the region. Can you talk about the influence nature has on your ideas and work? Can you talk a bit about how your work interacts or is a response to nature, elemental nature – wind, fire, earth – and if it's relative to North Carolina, or if it's big picture nature?

Akira: Big picture nature, and of course, subliminally, North Carolina nature influences me. But nothing particularly specific about North Carolina's nature. I travel all over the world to teach people workshops. So, each place I go, I find the most incredible nature, and I think, “How can I bring that surface, shape, and color into my work?” 

This is what I always tell my students: Nature is a distant force. The wind blows from the sky, and the landscape pushes the land from miles away. A line of sand in the desert, the wind blows and makes these lines. The rain hits the wall of a house, causing a patina. All of those things are a distance force, and I like to do that to my work. 

I don't want to have my fingerprint too much on my work, or carving, or drawing, or anything. I want to help the clay move where the clay wants to go and where the clay wants to be. And that becomes so much more like nature. 

You know, after ten years of being a music producer, I would bring artists or a band to the studio, and I sometimes don’t want to say too much, only once in a while, or give a hint when they need help. I just pinch them, or sometimes I write a chart for the string section. All different approaches, but to get a band to shine, or an artist to shine, and when I think I’ve succeeded – it's a really good recording, finished product – the artist thinks that they pretty much did it themselves.

ROB: But you helped cultivate it to be what it was meant to be.

   

Akira: Yeah! So that's the same thing as my pottery. I want my clay to be proud of who it is, and then a collaboration of fire, ash, clay, and me – pretty much equal parts of us – creating something together. So that's my way of making. 

The other philosophy is “childish mistake.” I always tell my students to observe what's happening in front of them – beautiful or ugly or whatever mistake – and don't assume they know. Something new is always happening, and as long as you are alert, you can find the next interesting step.

ROB: Your style is unmistakable, with surfaces so distinctive and characteristic that I feel confident I could recognize one of your cups or forms from miles away, knowing instantly it was your craftsmanship. Did you come to that early on, or was there a lot of experimentation to get there? Can you talk about how you approach experimentation with surface and firing techniques?

Akira: From the very beginning, the experimentation always came from my mistakes or struggles and then from trying to solve the problem – that, or finding some interesting technique from different media. For example, my wife is a pastry chef. She retired a couple of years ago, but she does this icing technique on a cake that is similar to adobe or mortar work.

One time, at the bottom of a bucket, I had too much soft clay, and I drew with it onto the pot in that kind of childish way. I try to be playful as often as I can.

ROB: Can you talk about a piece or a series that you've created that holds any particular meaning to you, or is there a message or story behind it?

Akira: I never thought about something like that. 

The most important piece is when everything works together – a shape, then fire and ash, and all those things that combine and help each other. So those pieces are my favorite, and also serendipity is most important. Something that comes out of the work beyond my ability is what I appreciate more than anything. When I have control and the work comes out as I envisioned, it's boring.

ROB: It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when that serendipity occurs. Philosophers often refer to it as the je ne sais quoi, or that indescribable X factor. It’s the moment when all the elements come together to create the perfect piece. I get what you mean. How do you know when you have found that serendipity?

Akira: I come back to music because in improvisation, on a stage, or in a recording studio, playing music, especially with other musicians, is like an answer to their notes. Improvisation is reacting to what other people did, and then what I did, they reacted to me. So making pottery – clay and me – is a jam session. The answering back and forth to make something more interesting – in Japanese, there is a word called ma, which means the space between the two notes. This ma word comes from traditional Japanese music; for example, they play three notes, bum… bum… bum. But if you play those in between notes, bum.bum.bum, the space is the most important part of giving the feeling.

The space between the notes makes rhythm, so to me, the things I don’t do make rhythm. Makes a beauty. Then I leave space, the canvas for ash and fire to come in. If I don't make space, other musicians won't come in. It is exactly the same feeling of creating something together.

ROB: I love the imagery that creates in my mind’s eye – the jam session metaphor with the elements of nature. One thing I didn’t fully realize, even though I follow you on Instagram, read your newsletters, and stay updated on your firings and workshops, is the depth of your community. Before the hurricane, I saw you primarily as an individual artist. But in thinking of the jam session and your openness to improvisation, I reflect on your images of the devastation after the flood –  images where you highlight the people around you, the larger community, and the space you’ve built. It’s incredible how many people are involved and work with you. Could you share more about your studio team and community?

Akira: After the hurricane, I realized how wonderful and important the community is. And not to just ask for help. You know, when my friend started the GoFundMe, over 1000 people were trying to help me, and that was a very moving experience. Then, people came to my gallery studio, including those I never met. A lot of people wanted to help me. I appreciate the community more than ever. 

Then, politically, this is a very difficult time for a lot of artists and the community. It’s almost like, as long as I have these beautiful friends and the community around me, I might be able to build without being too depressed. I don't want to talk about politics too much here, so I won’t. I won’t do it, but you understand what I’m talking about. 

      

I have my family, and I have four pottery assistants and then two gallery attendants. So, there is a total of over six employees, and my wife. I have a daughter, but she is independent. I have a responsibility to everyone. 

I'm the kind of person who wants to solve big challenges, and this amount of devastation is a big problem.  As long as I have some financial support behind me, I can make sure my employees can survive and make a good living. But the fear is I might not be able to make any pots for months. So what can I do? The GoFundMe made sure I had enough money to support them. This way, I would be able to go to the next step because the team is the most important part of my life and work. So, as long as I can make sure their life is okay. They are not losing their job and income. It is much easier for us to come back to where we were or build even better.

After forty days of cleaning and recovering the space, I think our relationship is even stronger.

ROB: Once you had ensured your personal safety and knew your employees were safe and well, what came next? What challenges did you face in terms of preserving your work and materials? There’s so much involved in that process. Were there pieces or materials you lost, or were you able to save some? Oh my gosh, it must have been such a daunting experience.

Akira: I don't know how much you know, but my gallery studio is about 12,000 square feet and on the ground floor near the French Broad River. Water went up to twenty-seven feet, which is above my ceiling. So, I realized I lost everything. All the equipment, kilns, wheels, furniture, studio, office; my dream workshop. That was a really depressing moment. 

Luckily, high-fire pottery is strong. I lost only  25% of my pottery; I might lose more because of finding some chips or damage. I had so much inventory in there. So, finding and washing the pottery took forty days to clean up.  And so, one by one, finding beauty in imperfection.

I felt like an archeologist in this process.

I cannot replace what I lost, but the community is giving me so much help and so much power to go through this time.

ROB: Even thinking about improvisation, as I listen to your story, I can’t help but notice that you still carry this warm, uplifting energy. There is a twinkle in your eye, even through Zoom. It’s remarkable, especially considering what you’ve been through. I’ve experienced a flood myself – not as catastrophic as yours – but I lost multiple kilns, wheels, and a good amount of inventory to rising floodwaters. More recently, I had to evacuate during a forest fire, literally running for our lives. So, I deeply understand what those moments of trauma feel like.

What stands out about you, though, is this twinkle and warmth you carry, which reminds me of improvisation – how you’ve taken this incredibly challenging moment and found a way to adapt and respond. It’s inspiring to hear you reflect on it all, especially knowing how difficult those circumstances must have been: being without electricity, water, cell service, or even the ability to travel freely.

I just wanted to say how impressive it is to hear you speak about it. Thank you.

Akira: Thank you. As I let things go, I know I can handle this. It's a Buddhist kind of thing. I'm not a serious Buddhist, but I grew up with my parents in Japan and was surrounded by that kind of philosophy to let it go. 

I saw some beauty in the flood. The ikebana arrangement covered with mud – these things are beauty. 

   

The experience of a hard time and then finding hope – moving on and feeling proud of myself, and even anger about what is going on these days – I'm trying to take advantage of my anger, sadness, pain, all those things are a very important part of art. Especially in music – without the pain in you – it doesn't feel as strong. Pottery is one of the few arts that we don't need that much pain. When I make pots, I'm not sharing any of my pain. I don't have that much pain anyway, but when I'm playing music, I want to move people, to shake people's feelings. Even as a banjo player, I want to move people’s hearts. With pottery, I’m trying to do that with warmth and comfort – to bring out those elements to be seen in the work.

I'm giving, not sadness or painfulness towards the art; what I like to do is get lost in the process. So that's the best thing to do right now, to get lost in the process, the comfort. 


You can explore more of Akira’s work by visiting his GoFundMe, Instagram page @akirasatake, and website. You can also view Makers, a documentary film about Akira and his work here: https://vimeo.com/846373243