Although in his 80th year, Tojuro Sakata has the unlined skin and energy of a man half his age. A clue to his profession lies in his graceful hands and elegant movements. Sakata is one of the greats of kabuki, Japan’s most exuberant theatre where all the parts are played by men.

His father and grandfather were both famous kabuki stars before him, but Sakata has carved out his own reputation, celebrated for his male and female roles. His most famous character is Ohatsu, a female role he pioneered in the 1950s.

“Every time I play Ohatsu it’s different,” he says. “Her life begins when the curtains open and ends when they close – it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He continues to perform and his children and grandchildren have followed in his footsteps; one brave grandson has tackled his grandfather’s signature role.

Tokyo born and bred – and the seventh of seven sisters – koto player Shoin Yamase continues to live in the house where she grew up. She started young, learning dance, singing and the shamisen as well as the koto, the 13-stringed instrument for which her mother’s family was known. Her slight frame is dwarfed by the large instrument but she can still sit comfortably straight-backed on her knees in the seiza position for hours at a time.

She lived and performed with her older sister, the fifth shoin, for many years and when she passed away, the younger sister inherited the family’s illustrious stage name. She still practises for four hours a day. “I can only stop when I reach perfection,” she says. “And that will never happen.” Young students are in short supply, but she has high hopes for her adopted daughter.

Born in 1937, Okuyama came to Tokyo from his native Yamagata in order to find work at the age of 15. That he found a job in a hammering workshop was more chance than vocation. He worked there for 12 years and was so talented that, when he decided to set up on his own at the age of 27, his employers begged him not to leave.

At first he got by making golf trophies, but gradually more creative pieces were accepted by the Japan Arts & Crafts Association. Today he works in his house in Tokyo in an immaculate workshop lined with tools. It’s hard to believe his smooth pots are wrought by hand, something he credits to the 60 years he has spent perfecting his craft. His living room is lined with awards, although you could hardly meet a more humble man.

Kiju Fukuda has large hands and forearms of concrete – unexpected but valuable assets in his delicate profession since Fukuda is one of Japan’s greatest kimono embroiderers. Born in Kyoto, the son of an embroiderer, Fukuda has transformed this venerable craft into an art form.

His silk kimonos are decorated with motifs drawn from nature and realised with such skill and vitality as to appear three-dimensional. Only a lucky few – a group that includes the Empress of Japan – can own a kimono designed and sewn by Fukuda himself. Fukuda works out of a small studio in his house in Kyoto, surrounded by thousands of silk threads. Each custom order kimono takes months to complete, from dying the slender 12m length of silk using soft handmade brushes, to drawing the design and completing sewing which can take 10 hours a day for 100 days.

Nobuko Akiyama, who was born in downtown Osaka 83 years ago, started making dolls as a hobby while recuperating from a childhood illness. As her interest grew, she sought out a teacher and studied under her in Kyoto. Behind Akiyama’s charmingly unassuming demeanour lies a highly-skilled craftswoman. She carves her dolls by hand from pauwlonia wood and applies multiple coats of gofun (a white powder made from shells) mixed with nikawa, an old-fashioned glue. She uses a variety of techniques such as washibari (layering of washi paper) and kanshitsu (dry lacquer) to bring her dolls to life.

She favours historical subjects and groups from the borders of China, Tibet and Vietnam. Each doll takes three months to make. The most important skill for a doll maker? “Heart,” she says. “Technique is important, but it is superficial – it has to come from the inside.”

Nomura hails from a distinguished line of performers that stretches back 300 years. The family art (his father was also a Living National Treasure) is kyogen, a comical theatre that is usually performed between noh plays. Nomura first appeared on stage as a monkey, aged three, and has been performing ever since. He has taken kyogen around the world, performing everywhere from India and China to France and Australia. Known for his lyrical style and bold performances, the ease with which he performs belies years of hard work spent honing his art. His repertoire features the classics but he has also introduced fresh ideas, including a kyogen interpretation of Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor. Nearly 80, Nomura’s upright posture and clear delivery remain. “Kyogen doesn’t rely on physical strength,” he laughs. “Young people can’t outdo me!”

Ceramicist Osamu Suzuki was born in Toki, a town in Gifu famous for its pottery. His father was a Kyoto-trained glazing craftsman, but young Osamu was reluctant to follow in his artisanal footsteps. “My father wanted me to work in pottery but I wasn’t interested at all,” he says. “In those days there was no such word as togei sakka [ceramic artist].” Luckily, his father was adamant and trained his son well.

Suzuki was one of the first potters to work with a gas kiln – something his peers thought of as inferior to the traditional wood-fired one – and set up on his own in 1968. He has gone on to become one of the great exponents of shino ware, a style dating back to the 16th century known for its textured white glaze and red iron oxide brushwork. Suzuki lives and works in a wooden house and adjacent studio in Tajimi with his wife and three sons.

Murose says he was surprised to be made a Living National Treasure – but anyone who has seen his exquisite maki-e lacquer boxes would disagree. Born in Tokyo, Murose learnt his techniques from his craftsman father. He says it took five years just to learn the basics and then 10 years before he could make anything decent. Japanese urushi is different from the way lacquer is perceived in the west. Urushi comes from a tree and hardens in humid rather than dry conditions.

Most of Murose’s pieces start life as a simple hinoki (cypress) box and require layers of lacquer and sumi ink to be applied and re-applied before Murose starts on his decorative work using gold, shells and mother of pearl. Murose does every part of the process himself. This is an art for the patient – it can take a year just for the piece to dry and harden.

A shakuhachi player from Otsu near Kyoto, Yamamoto started learning as a young boy and was a master of the bamboo flute by the age of 16. He was born into a family with four generations of koto players and grew up playing many instruments. Although he attended a traditional music school, he never planned to become a professional musician. Yamamoto is also a composer and innovator. He caused a stir in the 60s when he recorded with jazz clarinettist Tony Scott and singer Helen Merrill. Now 74, he still performs regularly. “It gets harder with age but I don’t like to play half-heartedly,” he says. “The reaction from the audience keeps me young.” Although retired from his post at the Tokyo University of Arts, he hopes that his enthusiasm will keep the art alive. “The shakuhachi is part of my body,” he says. “I’ve lived with it even longer than I lived with my late wife.”

Kyoto-born Nakagawa learnt his peerless woodworking skills from his father who learnt his from a fourth generation carpenter. Nakagawa has worked from the same studio for the last 40 years. Although he has moved on from the wooden bowls, barrels and cups he was trained to make, he continues to use the same tools – over 100 years old – and techniques he inherited through his father.

Nakagawa has become best known for his own innovative style, known as masa-awase, which uses small pieces of unvarnished wood to create geometric designs. His favoured material is ancient jindai sugi, 2,000-year-old cedar which lies preserved in the ground under Mount Chokai in Tohoku. Nakagawa found a piece by chance at a Kyoto market and was drawn by its clear grain and subdued colour. Rather than applying chemical varnish, he polishes each piece by hand with tokusa leaves.

Longevity is in the genes for Yusetsu Katayama. His mother – a kyomai dancer and also a Living National Treasure – was still on stage at 96 and his grandmother at 100. In Kyoto, the name Katayama is synonymous with the esoteric art of noh, a theatrical form renowned for its exquisite costumes, otherworldly music and beautifully archaic language.

It takes years to perfect the ethereal, floating walk and subtle movements of a noh actor. A spritely 81-year-old, Katayama made his debut at four and is still performing with passion and vigour in a range of roles, both male and female. Asked what makes a great noh actor, he says talent helps, but good teaching and hard work are even more important – and he continues to practise daily. “The best stage,” he says “is one where the audience can hear the performers breathing”.