At our atelier, around 200 craftspeople of all ages work side by side—each with a different background, but all sharing the same dedication to true artisanal craft. Some bring decades of experience and mentor the next generation, while others contribute fresh perspectives and new ideas.
Every bag we make passes through their hands—our Tsuchiya Kaban family.
Today, we’d like you to meet one of them; master craftsman Keizo Abe.
At 17, encouraged by his mother, Craftsperson Abe moved from Akita to Tokyo to apprentice under a bag maker. That was 62 years ago, and he’s been making bags ever since. “I worked to make a living,” he recalls. For many people, having a trade was crucial back then. But after joining Tsuchiya Kaban at age 68 and spending his days alongside a diverse group of craftspeople, some things began to shift.
I was born in Akita, where, in those days, middle school students were divided between two tracks: those who planned to work after graduation, and those pursuing higher education. As the third of five children, I was on the employment track. I chose my career path based on whether I could make a living—not because it was something I wanted to do.
It was my mother who found my first job through a personal connection—an apprenticeship living and working in the home of a handbag craftsman.
It’s nothing to brag about, but I’ve always been someone who tries things first, rather than making a detailed plan. When you have a plan, you move toward a set goal; I tend to move forward without one.
It could have been my chronic asthma that helped shaped this part of me. As a child, frequent attacks made it hard to commit to long-term commitments, which simplified my approach: do my very best with what’s in front of me.
Now, about to turn 80, I feel that ending my career here at Tsuchiya Kaban may just be my goal. It’s a wonderful place to have arrived at—and much of that comes from the daily interactions I have with the younger craftspeople.
Young people are incredible! I make prototypes now, and I’m constantly impressed by their persistence and focus, even with the smallest details. They find new ideas in the tiniest things and pursue them with curiosity.
In fact, I often learn more from them than they do from me. There’s a saying in Japan—waza wo nusumu—“steal the technique.” Sometimes I’ll watch a young craftsperson and think, “Ah, so that’s how you do it!” I’ll try it myself, and if it works, I’ll adopt it.
As we age, we tend to get set in our ways. I'm lucky that I'm constantly inspired by the younger craftspeople, so that I can continue to change.
I don’t do anything special—just greet everyone in the morning, say goodbye in the evening, and talk with them throughout the day. Even overhearing their conversations sparks thoughts: “Oh, I see,” or “Hmm, I’m not so sure about that.” That alone is stimulating.
There’s a saying: “Everyone other than myself is my teacher.” You can learn from other people, from nature, from everything. As long as you have the desire to learn, it’s not scary to correct yourself. I feel that truth deeply now, and I think it’s given me a happy life as a bag crafter.
No matter how many years or bags you have under your belt, making a prototype is always challenging. You have to bring the designer’s vision to life. Every time a designer sees the finished piece and says, “Yes, that’s exactly what I imagined,” I feel relieved.
Understanding the designer’s feelings is just as important as the design itself. A sketch with a three-dimensional angle tells me so much—whether the leather should be firm or soft, and the overall character of the bag.
When I first started making prototypes, in my late 40s, there were no designers. I made what I imagined might work. No one taught me—I had to figure it out on my own. Even now, you often don’t know how something will turn out until you make it.
As I mentioned, because of my asthma, I’ve always gathered my thoughts as I charge forward—without setting a final goal. I’ve stumbled, fallen, and made more than my share of mistakes. In the early days, I’d buy a bag similar to the one I wanted to make, take it apart, and study it. “Ah, so that’s how it’s done.” That’s how I built my knowledge.
I married young and had two children, so I was running full speed just to make a living. Quitting or changing my career never crossed my mind. I just faced the work in front of me—and now, I’m here. Isn’t that how it is, with anything? You don’t realize you’ve gained experience and honed your skills, until one day, you look back and see how far you’ve come.
There’s nothing I can’t compromise on when it comes to making bags. At Tsuchiya Kaban, bag-making is a collaborative process. We share knowledge and work together on each piece.
Of course, I have my own ideas, but if everyone’s moving in the same direction, there will be countless times when you need to yield. If you’re too stubborn, you can’t make something truly good. I think this is true for everything—even when you’re having fun. The only people who don’t need to cooperate are husband and wife (laughs).
This is a place where people who simply love making things gather, quietly dedicating themselves to the craft. Now, as I turn 80, I feel grateful to still be part of this circle. I’ll keep working hard to continue making fine products with my colleagues.
