COMMUNICATIONS

As a ceramic artist with a background in archaeology, my work is driven by an interest in what humans leave behind - how actions, gestures, and experiences are evidenced in materials and environments. I am particularly interested in ephemeral physical endeavours that leave little to no material trace, such as social dancing.

How might we record such transient practices? My research turned to the sumo wrestling dohyō, the clay platform on which wrestling bouts take place. Constructed for tournaments and training stables, the dohyō is made from approximately 45 tonnes of unfired clay, topped with sand and salt. These materials not only enhance the visual drama of the sport but also register the wrestlers’ movements, producing a dynamic material record. This ‘archive’ of movement offers a compelling model for how dance might also be materially documented.

Supported by an AHRC International Placement grant, I came to Nichibunken in January to investigate this connection. During this time, I observed multiple dohyō constructions and spoke with wrestlers (including legendary wrestler Hakuhō) as well as yobidashi, the skilled craftsmen responsible for building and maintaining the ring. The construction of a dohyō is something of a dance itself, involving coordinated footwork of the yobidashi and rhythmic, repetitive compression of clay using wooden tools. While visually compelling, what interested me most was how this process produces a surface capable of both stability and responsiveness.

Dohyō construction at the Hakuhō cup tournament (left) and the Onomatsu Beya practice stable in Osaka (right)
(Photo by Author)

In ceramic practice, unfired clay is rarely used at such scale or for structural purposes. Yet the dohyō demonstrates that, when properly compressed, clay can withstand substantial weight and intense physical activity while remaining soft enough to record movement. This dual quality immediately suggested parallels with a dance floor. Clay has long been known to capture fleeting traces of human presence, from fingerprints to footprints, but the dohyō presents a purpose-built surface designed to both host and record movement in real time.

The techniques used to construct the dohyō have been refined over centuries and rely heavily on embodied knowledge. Speaking to writer Megumi Yamashita, whose work researches the connection between sumo and craft, she highlighted how the dohyō is a "living craft": because the dohyō is continually remade for each tournament, the expertise resides not in the object but in the act of making. This emphasis on human skill and technique is crucial: one wrestler recounted how a dohyō made with a motorised soil compressor quickly cracked, but once it was repaired using traditional hand methods it remained stable.

The wrestlers I spoke to consistently described the dohyō as possessing a kind of ‘aliveness.’ They spoke of the cold shock of stepping onto the clay and the sensitivity of their feet to subtle surface variations. This points to a reciprocal relationship between body and material: the surface records movement, while simultaneously informing it. To explore this further, with the technical support of my home university, I captured a basic photogrammetric model of a dohyō before and after two days of matches. The resulting images revealed extensive visible changes (see below).

Dohyō before Hakuhō Cup tournament (Photo by Author)

Dohyō after Hakuhō Cup tournament (2 days of matches)
(Photo by Author)

Between bouts, yobidashi sweep and repair the clay, redistributing sand and salt into characteristic patterns. These cycles of disruption and restoration, plus the intensive wrestling, create a layered surface - a palimpsest of movement - that is difficult to fully document through photography alone. Subtle haptic qualities, such as minor indentations or areas of burnishing, remain largely invisible from a distance. This limitation reinforced the need for a more materially engaged approach.

Clay dance floor test (Photo by Author)

To that end, I undertook a 10 day residency in Shigaraki, one of Japan’s six ancient kiln sites, where I worked directly with traditional dohyō clay (sourced from the Arakawa River). Using the same sustained compression techniques observed in dohyō construction, I experimented with building a clay dance floor. Once completed, the surface was tested through dance, allowing me to observe how movement could be both supported and recorded.

This practical exploration extended into a series of sculptural works. Drawing on the symbolic structure of the dohyō - where the inner circle represents the heavens and the surrounding square the earth - I used the same compression techniques with the dance floor clay to create forms that removed the central circle, opening a conceptual and physical space towards the heavens. These works tested the structural limits of compressed unfired clay, demonstrating the remarkable strength achievable through traditional compression techniques.

Sculptures created using dohyō clay and compression techniques (Photo by Author)

Through this research, the dohyō emerges as more than a wrestling platform; it is a material system that captures, responds to, and preserves traces of embodied movement. Its significance lies not only in its spiritual tradition and physical properties but also in the knowledge and practices that sustain it. Rather than relying solely on digital documentation, a material approach offers a more nuanced understanding of recording movement as both an event and a trace. In doing so, it opens up new possibilities for preserving the social and cultural importance of dance within both contemporary and archaeological contexts.

Detail of inside space of dohyō sculpture (Photo by Author)