The color of silence: a new Kurinuki style

Just a cup? Think again. Simplicity takes guts. No distractions, no fluff—just raw essence. Every dent, every curve, every little imperfection? A story waiting to be told. This is Kurinuki. No blueprints, just flow. The clay whispers, the hands respond. Perfect? Not even close. But real? 100%.

But what if simplicity isn’t the endgame—what if it’s the spark?

Torsten Gripp | Kaputte Keramik | 2025

This is where things get interesting. A fusion of past and present. A fresh vibe that brings color into the mix. Soft pastels, like dawn melting over a quiet city. Blazing reds, streaking across the sky like a phoenix on the rise.

I call it: Kokoro-Kurinuki.

Kokoro (心) – Japanese for heart, mind, soul. And Kurinuki (くり抜き) – the art of carving a form from a solid block of clay. Two words that just fit, like they’ve always belonged together. Coincidence that „Kokoro“ holds everything that fuels art? Not a chance. Kokoro-Kurinuki is for those who dive deep but don’t forget to dance. For those who embrace stillness but also want to glow.

At its core, Kokoro-Kurinuki breathes the spirit of Wabi-Sabi—the beauty in imperfection, the poetry of the fleeting, the charm of the offbeat. But it doesn’t just follow the rules. It stretches them. Not to break with tradition, but to evolve with it. Here, color isn’t just an afterthought—it’s a voice. A whisper, a song, a feeling that lingers.

But can colors be silent? Can color be Zen?

Yes.

In the dance of light and shadow, the secret unfolds. Colors in Kokoro-Kurinuki don’t just sit there—they hum, they echo. They flash and fade, murmur and rest. They create space, not just for the eye but for the soul. Silence isn’t about the absence of noise; it’s about what stays with you when everything else fades.

Zen is still at the heart. But who says Zen can’t be electric?

Light is pure magic. It stirs colors from their sleep, makes them sway, glimmer, breathe. A single ray tilts, and suddenly the rim of a cup glows gold. A shadow falls, sinking into deep blue. The knife slices through clay, carving out pathways for light to flow. No moment repeats itself. No cup is the same. But each one whispers of stillness and radiance in the same breath.

Maybe that’s what Kokoro-Kurinuki is really about: A space where opposites don’t clash, they dance. Where past and present high-five. Where silence wraps itself in color. And where simplicity? It’s never just simple.