28/05/2026
The Japanese concept “Shokunin Kish*tsu” (職人気質) is the soul of the craftsman. It is the absolute refusal to produce anything less than the pinnacle of your current ability.
Most people are enamored with the result but repulsed by the process. They want the prestige of the masterpiece without the monotony of the practice. They treat work as a means to an end: a necessary burden to be discarded as quickly as possible. This is a hollow existence. To treat your output with indifference is to treat your own life with contempt.
Shokunin Kish*tsu demands the devotion of the unseen detail.
It is the conviction that a flaw, even if hidden from every eye on earth, remains a stain on the creator’s honor. The standard is not set by the market or the critic; it is set by the internal demand for excellence. You do not work merely to finish; you work to refine.
The master is not the one who has done the task once, but the one who has found the universe within a single, repetitive motion. Every stroke of the brush or strike of the hammer is an act of purification. The work is not what you do; the work is who you are. If the creation is compromised, the creator is diminished.
Others focus on the destination; you find the truth in the repetition.
Do not accept the mediocrity.
Perfect the craft, and the craft will perfect the man.
14/03/2026
Recently I’ve been reflecting on something I noticed years ago watching Soke Hirokazu Kanazawa and the senior JKA fighters of that generation.
One thing that stands out immediately is that they rarely attacked from a static distance.
A lot of modern kumite can look like:
bouncebouncelunge punch
Which, when you think about it, is really just initiating an attack without much preparation.
What I’m starting to appreciate more is how subtle the movement of the older generation was.
They seemed to be constantly adjusting maai — not in big obvious ways, but through very small changes:
half-inch shiftsslight shoulder turnssmall weight transferseven breathing
To a spectator it looked calm and almost simple.
But in reality they were quietly building the opening.
Often the opponent didn’t even realise the distance had changed until the attack was already arriving.
Because of that preparation, when the attack came it looked instant.
Step.Punch.Ippon.
Not rushed, not forced — just perfectly timed.
And something else that interests me is that if the first technique didn’t finish things, they didn’t simply reset and start again.
There was continued pressure, controlled and composed.
The opponent retreats.Structure begins to break.Another technique follows.
I’m still trying to understand these ideas properly myself. It’s very much a work in progress.
But the more I watch and reflect on Soke Kanazawa’s generation, the more it seems that they weren’t trying to be fast.
They were trying to make the moment inevitable.
And that’s something worth studying.