In Search of Hokkaido’s Creative Spirit

It's hard not to stare at Yoko Arano's socks. The spry 89-year-old is otherwise sharply attired, from her neat trouser suit to the amber beads around her neck. Yet her unusual hosiery, covered in Pollock-like ink splatterings, hints at another story.

Arano is one of Japan's most celebrated calligraphy artists. I'm standing in her Niseko studio alongside the local gallerist Kiyoe Hosokawa, who introduced us only minutes earlier. Beyond the windowpane, snow is falling in thick, cartoonish tufts. But in this cozy, light-flooded space, where signs of Arano's craft abound—artworks drying on walls, folded newspapers, ink splashes across floors—time feels distant.

A heater hisses gently as Arano slips overalls on over her clothes and removes her necklace before laying paper on the floor. Then, after a moment of stillness, her performance begins. With a low groan, she bends her knees, hunches her back, and with a primal force, lifts a knee-high brush from a bucket, its bushy mass of horsehair weighted with syrupy black ink. Splashing onto the paper, it dances across the whiteness before taking the softly blurred shape of a Japanese kanji character. Seconds later, Arano pauses, and with a final groan heaves the brush back into the bucket. She stands and surveys her wild abstraction before slipping smoothly back into conversation. “I chose the kanji teinei, which means ‘polite,’ ” she says, smiling, “because it's a nice warm feeling meeting you today.”

For many, Hokkaido means one thing: snow. (Or whatever you want to call it—yuki, in Japanese; upas, in the Indigenous Ainu language; or Japow, a hip local contraction of Japanese and powder.) Though it's the least populated and northernmost of Japan's islands—closer to Siberia than to Tokyo—Hokkaido attracts a booming winter sports crowd, which is drawn by the light, fluffy mixture that blankets its mountains each year.

Unusually, and somewhat unfashionably, my wintertime visit doesn't involve hitting the slopes. Instead, I'm forging a different path, heading out in search of Hokkaido's creative spirit. No doubt about it, the island's aesthetic sensibilities are tied to its dramatic landscapes. Stark black trees etched into the skyline, sharp sunlight on mountain peaks, the crisscross of forest shadows on snow: These details find manifold artistic expressions, from volcanic soil–glazed ceramics to austere snow-and-skies photography and, as evidenced by my visit with Arano-sensei, poetic calligraphy.

This synergy between nature and art can be credited largely to Hokkaido's complex history. The island became part of Japan in the late 19th century, but for most of the previous millennium it had been the domain of the Ainu, an Indigenous group descended from the ancient Jomon people, whose deep spiritual connection to the land touches everything from fishing, hunting, and gathering practices to rituals, mythology, and craftsmanship. Owing to a brutal early record of forced assimilation, these customs aren't immediately visible today. But if you look closely, you'll start to see traces of their influence everywhere.

“Hokkaido art feels so fresh,” Hosokawa tells me a few hours after our meeting with Arano. We're at the Arishima Takeo Memorial Museum in Niseko, where some of the calligrapher's pieces are on display. “Artists here can make new things,” says Hosokawa. “They're more free compared to other parts of Japan.” She cites the ceramics of Kyoto, where artisans are trained to preserve centuries-old techniques and styles. “Unlike families of raku-teabowl makers, we don't have a long history,” she adds. “Artists can challenge themselves to create completely new styles.”

Shiguchi, the retreat I visit after Niseko, typifies this liberation. Set in a vast forested valley, it features a cluster of century-old wood farmhouses known as kominka, each of which was painstakingly relocated from across the country. After a welcome tea ceremony in a tatami-mat room that seems to float in the rafters, I head to my villa, keen for a bath. Time dissolves as I soak, chin-deep, in a large rock sliced cleanly in half like an avocado. Its concave interior fills with volcanic onsen water that flows from a tap as elegantly as a calligraphic stroke. Puffs of snow blow through a wall of open glass doors; a sweep of white landscape is pierced only by spindly trees and the scarlet legs of a woodpecker.

This kind of moment, says Shiguchi founder Shouya Grigg, is precisely the point. I've joined him for dinner at Somoza, the adjacent gallery, restaurant, and event space, having managed to pry myself from the tub.

“I like solitude—that's why I live here,” says Grigg, an English-born designer and artist who moved to Niseko nearly 30 years ago. The rustic table is resplendent with dishes prepared using foraged local ingredients, from paper-thin layers of Jerusalem artichoke to venison with Ainu wild udo dumplings. “Humans need solitude, but they are often afraid of it,” he continues, a tangle of wood beads dangling from his wrist. “They confuse solitude with loneliness. But sometimes we need to just sit alone in the woods.”

The following day, a taxi arrives to spirit me away from Shiguchi. We drive for hours, cutting through sparkling snowscapes before reaching the remote fringes of Date city. I've come to meet the silver-bearded Manabu-san, who is acclaimed for the natural materiality of his ceramics. He gives me a tour of his hand-built wood kilns and nearby studio, where a wooden wheel sits beneath shelves heaving with buckets of glaze, before we slip off our shoes and enter a room filled with his creations: teacups, bowls, vases. The pieces are timeless, their simple forms a canvas for layered surfaces of rust red, charcoal gray, chalky white.

I sit on the floor, watching sunlight catch dust as he describes the life-changing trip he took to India in his 20s that sparked a desire to make things. A pottery pilgrimage soon followed; he spent months motorbiking across Japan, sleeping in a tent, until he finally found his master, the ceramics artist Nariyoshi Morioka, in the wilds of Wakayama Prefecture. Now he spends his days perfecting his craft and digging for volcanic clays on Hokkaido's mountains.

“Shizen always inspires me,” he says, invoking the Japanese word for nature. “For me, the important thing is not pottery techniques—it's about loving the life you live, in everything you do.”

Leaving with a small white bowl in my hands that evokes the snowscape around me, I continue south, to Lake Poroto in Shiraoi town, where I'm spending a few nights at the Hoshino Resorts KAI Poroto. The clean-lined new hotel, drafted by the Japanese architects Hiroshi Nakamura & NAP, offers a modern take on a hot spring inn, with design elements that evince Ainu culture: natural materials like birch trunks, traditional textile motifs, and cone-shaped bathhouses inspired by Ainu huts, from which steam rises into the open skies.

I head first for the bathhouse. I enter the water in darkness, then wade through a triangular tunnel, eventually emerging lakeside in a plein air bathing area, the evening sky darkening above me. It was here that in 2020 the Japanese government decided to open Upopoy, the new National Ainu Museum. It was one of a series of measures intended to re-vitalize Ainu culture and reverse the damaging assimilation policies that forced members of the Ainu population to change their names, hairstyles, and clothing, while also banning fishing, hunting, and a raft of key rituals and customs, from tattoos and earrings to ancient ceremonies. The policies engendered widespread discrimination against the Ainu people—so much so that even today some still hide their heritage. It wasn't until 2019 that the Japanese government passed a bill to officially recognize the Ainu as an Indigenous people of Japan, though the scars of that time still linger.

The following day, I wander over to Upopoy, whose grounds fringe the lake next door, and am greeted by a smiley-faced lily-bulb mascot that points the way toward the museum. I amble past detailed, sleekly presented exhibits, from re-created homes and fishing canoes to an entire Ainu village, where I try my hand at archery. Later, I head a few hours east to Nibutani, whose Ainu community still makes up around 80 percent of the town's 400-strong population. I've come here to tour the woodworking studio of Toru Kaizawa, whose art is found all over, from the National Gallery of Canada to the British Museum. I spot Nibutani-ita—circular, flat wooden trays used in both daily life as well as in rituals and ceremonies—adorned with intricate natural motifs, like ramu-ramu fish scales, flowing rivers, and owls and bears, rendered in a spectrum of walnut and maple woods. Yet Kaizawa is no purist.

“I started learning wood craftsmanship when I was 18, but I didn't want to make Ainu works for a long time,” he explains over coffee. “It was difficult. My heart was trapped.”

In his 30s, Kaizawa began to understand that being Ainu was a critical piece of his artistic expression, prompting a series of celebrated works—including his most famous, a wood sculpture depicting a jacket that unzips to reveal Ainu clothing—that marry his heritage with more contemporary themes.

I consider his words on the long ride back to the hotel, where I decide to indulge in one last onsen dip. Steam rises into the night sky as a sudden snowstorm whips up, its flurries swirling onto my face. It's exquisite, fleeting, surreal—confirmation that nature will always be Hokkaido's leading creative force.

Where to stay

At sleek, 190-key bunker Setsu Niseko in buzzy Hirafu district, après-ski relaxation means hot spring onsen bathing and the serenely restorative Rikka Spa. Of the hotel's five restaurants, the Michelin-starred Méli Mélo Yuki No Koe, with menus by chef Hironori Sato, impressed me the most. The art is phenomenal; look for the glass-beaded deer head by the artist Kohei Nawa hanging in the lobby, plus metal sculptures by Rie Kawakami and calligraphy by Yoko Arano.

It's just a 15-minute drive from downtown Niseko, yet Shiguchi offers a deeply peaceful escape from the crowds, with sweeping vistas across a pristine forested valley. Beyond spending all day in one of its rock tubs, there's plenty to do, particularly at Somoza, the restaurant, gallery, and shop. There, guests can partake in traditional tea ceremonies, explore on-site galleries, and pick up Hokkaido crafts and artworks, including organic ceramics by Manabu Kochi.

Where to see art

Kiyoe Hosokawa, a well-respected figure in Hokkaido's modern art world, represents a growing number of practitioners across mediums, from painting and calligraphy to sculpture and textiles. Her exhibitions, often held at the Arishima Takeo Memorial Museum, showcase emerging young talents and Ainu artists as well as deeply established government-designated Japanese Living National Treasures. Hosokawa's thoughtfully curated show of calligraphic artwork by Yoko Arano, whom she represents, was on display there during my visit.

Where to explore Ainu culture

A modern ryokan set on the shores of Lake Poroto, in southwestern Hokkaido, Hoshino Resorts KAI Poroto is deeply rooted in Ainu culture, with 42 guest rooms that riff on traditional dwellings. Soaking in its bathhouses is a highlight, as are the exquisite Ainu-inspired dinners; think boat-shaped food displays and delicious crab-filled bouillabaisse hot pots. Next door, the Upopoy National Ainu Museum includes a re-created village, a high-tech museum, and activities like cooking and archery. A few hours away, the Nibutani Ainu Culture Museum offers an intimate, old-school display of daily Ainu artifacts.

How to do it

I traveled with InsideJapan Tours, which can tailor tours across Hokkaido. The outfitter also offers a 12-night “Snowy Island” trip to Hokkaido, which includes three nights at Setsu Niseko and one at Hoshino Resorts KAI Poroto as well as stays in Sapporo and the far-flung village of Tsurui, famous for its red-crowned cranes, plus two nights in Tokyo at the start or conclusion of the trip.

This article appeared in the December 2023 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.