On Design—Aesthetics

This is the first of what will be several articles on design and some of the underlying aesthetic criteria which I feel consciously and unconsciously guide the endeavours of creative people in Japan, especially in the disciplines of craft, design and in some cases architecture.

Qualities Shared

It was not until I was about to leave Japan after a 24 year-stay that I suddenly realised that there was an unexpected relationship between Japan and my childhood. 

Sadly by the time this photo was taken in the early 1960s, the wooden perimeter fence had be replaced by wire just visible to the left.  The steam locomotives, too, were also about to be replaced by diesel traction.

When I was a child, I lived with my parents and sister in Hatfield, about 33 km north of London.  When I was seven we moved to a house close to the main railway line between London and Edinburgh.  Even before that my paternal grandmother often took me and my cousin to watch the trains when she looked after us.  This treat was clearly pivotal because as I grew older, I would take every opportunity to go and stand by the railway and do what many young boys and some not so young men used to do, and that was train-spotting—simply collecting the numbers of the engines seen and underlining them in a book published for the purpose.

Hatfield Station had an engine shed, where locomotives were stabled over night.  All the paraphernalia needed to service the engines including wagons full of coal, produced an inevitable overall mantle of grime and oil as well as smoke and steam that added so much atmosphere to the whole setting, creating a complex and animated backdrop through which gleaming express trains thundered or unkempt goods engines trundled with their loads.  There was precision, there was patina, there was what today is called “shabby chic”, flaking paint, evocative graphics, sooty matt surfaces, bright gleaming metals, and all manner of sights, sounds and smells amalgamated into a total experience.

Glossy true lacquer, rustically daubed wall, printed paper, ageing—elements of a tea room seen as an abstract composition.  Okochi Sanso Villa, Kyoto.

I know it is difficult to picture just how this railway setting could have anything to do with what I was later to encounter in Japan but it did.  I know it did.  More than anything else it was the qualities of all the materials in this theatre of railway, but most especially the wooden fence beside the line.  Even now it seems to be the vital connection between my early childhood and the materials used in traditional Japanese architecture.

Weathered wood and metal at 

Zentsuji Temple 

on the Island of Shikoku.

This perimeter fence was made of thick, slightly spaced upright boards standing around two meters high.  The boards were dark, almost black and heavily weathered—their surfaces finely ridged where the softer parts of the grain had wore away.  Those who have been to Japan, will realise that I could easily be describing the finish of the timber of one of Japan’s ancient temples or folk houses.

So, I would say that I found in Japan what represented some of my happiest and most satisfying moments I experienced as a child.  Without trying to explain this by delving into the depths of psychology, about which I know very little, I feel this is the reason why so much of what I encountered in Japan gave me a feeling of deep satisfaction and contentment, when I first visited Japan and even now.

The asymmetrical arrangement of the Pagoda and Main Hall at Horyuji is a compositional feature peculiar to Japan—fundamentally characteristic of a Japanese architectural composition.

Japan’s timber buildings were not, of course, built with weathered timber.  In the case of a temple like Horyuji, which is now more than 1,300 years old, the wood was originally painted, although now there are very few traces of any colour on its buildings.  It seems that no one considered that it was important to repaint it.  It was allowed to grow old gracefully and, interestingly, the natural ageing of such a building in Japan is revered just as much as newness and renewal are admired.

In a sheltered corner at Horyuji 

there is still some paint on 
the bracketing.

But not everything in Japan is as rustic as that fence beside my childhood railway haunt.  The kind of beauty and precision of lacquerwork, for instance, in some way echoes the finely lined and painted body of an express locomotive.  The polished metalwork and appealingly aged appearance of all that I found beside the railway is, I feel, often represented in Japanese crafts, design and architecture.

Just like any other country or region, the culture of Japan has an assemblage of aesthetic standards that can be recognised as guides as to what the people consider “beautiful”, but not just because of how they look.  Sometimes it is because of their smell or how they feel in the hands.  All things can be judged in a multitude of ways.  I seem to share many of the aesthetic standards that exist in Japan.  Why did that happen?  Is it because of the railway line I lived near as a child or is it because of something else?

Horyuji Temple—The Pagoda is revealed as the wind blows the curtain at the entrance to the Main Worship Hall and the light from the setting sun sets off the weathered and untreated wood of the door.

All images by Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

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Going to Noto?

At first sight a bewilderingly detailed Japanese railway timetable.

New Connection

These days, so much information is available at our finger tips—literally via the World Wide Web.  If we want to go somewhere, all we need to know is accessible through a computer.  Just type in the desired location and almost instantly we are able to navigate information about planes, cars for hire, trains, and buses not to mention a giddying amount of data regarding places to stay and see.  Even guidebooks now give us so much to ponder, we are spoilt for choice.

Two early types of Shinkansen pictured in 

the late 1970s.

Back in 1964 when the first Shinkansen line opened for business between Tokyo and Osaka the situation was quite different.  Using a timetable we could at least pick the train on which we wanted to ride but then we needed to go to a travel agent or a train station booking office to actually buy a ticket.  Mind you, the ticketing system was very sophisticated even back then.  An operator would use the controls of a very complex booking machine with such assurance, resulting in a small collection of tickets, which would be explained in a typically Japanese attentive and conscientious manner.  That at least is no different today.

More recent, speedy and advanced versions of 

the Shinkansen.

The Shinkansen high-speed train network has now spread out over most of Japan and serves many major centres.  Sometimes known as the Bullet Train, there have of course been some developments in the service and speed.  Back in 1964 a trip form Tokyo to Osaka, a matter of roughly 520 km took four hours at a top speed of around 200 km/h.  51 years later, this trip now takes just 2 hours 22 minutes on the fastest train at top speeds of almost 300 km/h.  Nevertheless, today a flight between the two cities is cheaper and quicker but from city centre to city centre the Shinkansen still has the edge, if nothing else because of the comfort and facilities that are offered.  This high-speed network now amounts to almost  3,000 km.  A great percentage of the Shinkansen lines are elevated—level crossings were not an option with trains travelling so fast.  Sometimes the elevated tracks are so high you could be forgiven for believing you were seated in a plane!

A relaxing time on the Shinkansen.

And now we can take a Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kanazawa, the city just a little way south-west of the Noto Peninsula.  The new line came into operation on 14th March 2015 and the trip only takes about 2 hrs 30 min.  Google says that the journey by car could take six hours!

So the new Hokuriku Shinkansen is definitely a good option.  The Kagayaki service is the fastest but all seats are reserved (http://www.japan-guide.com/e/e2018_nagano.html).

Getting from Kanazawa to Wajima, the main city of the peninsula, is best done by train or coach.  The highway coach takes about two hours.

If you fly into Kansai International Airport near Osaka and then spend some time in Kyoto, you can then catch a Super Express to Kanazawa and finally access the peninsula from there.  All being well this is the way I will get to Wajima in June.

Not all rail transport in Japan is high-speed. 

This image from the late 1970s at least shows 

how much people’s dress has changed in Tokyo.

If you are interested in immersing yourself in Japan, why not go to Kyoto and Kanazawa first to see and soak up traditional aspects of the life and culture of these ancient isles.  Then, go on up the Japan Sea coast to the Noto Peninsula which offers much that is unique and rural.  And after that, if you head off to Tokyo you can experience the multitude of stimuli that this megacity has to offer.  A friend of mine once said he wanted to see Tokyo because of the city depicted in Blade Runner, the movie directed by Ridley Scott and staring Harrison Ford.  It’s true.  Tokyo is such a mixture and full of surprises—science fiction becomes reality, heritage become contemporary.

Then you could take the Shinkansen from Tokyo back to Osaka over the original route of the Shinkansen to round off your experience of Japan—a journey through time, an engaging culture and countryside and a trip that will bring you into contact with a people always ready to please.

All images by Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

Do feel free to pass on the address of this blog to anyone you think will be interested.  Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.   If you have found this blog interesting, why not become a follower.

Of Good and Evil

Courtesy of Sojiji Temple

Inukko-Maki—Throw a Small Dog?!

What a ridiculous idea.  Literally translated, however, that is more or less what the Inukko-maki festival name means.  I suppose to be kind maki could be translated as “to broadcast” in the sense of “broadcasting seeds”.  Or even “distribute”.  Nevertheless both are only marginally better than “to throw”.

Children’s masks of a demon, an Otafuku—lady who brings happiness—and a toy dog are all part of Mame-Maki.  Kaori Yamaki Photo © Copyright

Festivals in Japan are often visual spectacles as well as being charming, compelling and sometimes dramatic.  Hardly a day goes by without a festival taking place somewhere at sometime throughout the year.  Some are religious and are full of ritual and ceremony.  Others are based on customs, folklore or much more simply associated with superstitions.  A number of annually celebrated festivals have a universal character and are honoured all over the country, more or less at the same time.  Some are highly involved and yet may not have much regional colour or idiosyncrasies.  New Year celebrations roughly fall into this category, although it is still possible to find some variations.  In some cases a festival becomes personalised simply because of the way the essence of a celebration is scaled down or enacted at a family level.  Mame-maki is one of those.

A hand-painted image of a demon 

on a Japanese kite.

(Maker unknown)

Setsubun, marking the beginning of spring, is celebrated at the beginning of February.  It is one of those festivals which are celebrated at a very public level with news coverage as well as in people’s homes up and down the country—in this case much to the delight of small children.

When my son and daughter were small and we lived on the outskirts of Tokyo, we followed the prescribed rituals to a T along with other families with children in the neighbourhood.  Mame in this case are roasted soya beans and maki in this particular instance really does mean to throw with some vengeance.

The idea is to banish any ogres or demons disseminating evil that may be hiding in your home while also welcoming good luck and happiness into your midst.  As you hurl roasted soya beans into the dark corners where evil may be concealed you shout “Oni wa soto—Get out you evil demons” followed by “Fuku wa uchi—Welcome happiness”.  It is not only the dark corners of rooms that are the target of this attack.  Doorways and windows or any other possible lairs of evil too take a peppering accompanied by shrieks of delight tinged with a slight feeling of fear from young children as they go about the task of cleansing the home in a manner which would not normally be condoned.  Someone takes a turn at being a demon by putting on a cardboard mask, thus adding to the fun.  Also, to ensure good luck in the year ahead you are supposed to eat the same number of beans as your age.

It takes more than one or two people to make three to four thousand Inukko.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

What has this to do with throwing small dogs?  In essence the aim is the same—banishing evil and hoping for happiness—but achieving it in a different way.

Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

The dog is one of twelve animal zodiac signs in Chinese astrology and a symbol offering protection from evil.  In Japan it is often seen as a protector of young children.  Perhaps this is inevitable.  After all humankind as a whole was quick to recognise this from very early times.

Well, admittedly I am rather playing with words.  The small dogs are actually miniaturised representations of a dog or even other animals in the zodiac.  They are made by mixing rice flour with hot water into a modelling consistency.  The “throwing” is simply a means of distribution—the distribution of a little good luck and protection, rather in the way in which chasing out evil and welcoming in happiness is hoped for in the Mame-maki festival.

At the Sojiji temple and others on the Noto Peninsular the Inukko-maki festival is an established date in the annual calendar.  It takes place on different days in March and is well attended.  Unlike my own household’s energetic activities at Setsubun, Inukko-maki is not replicated at home, although some families will set ceramic model dogs outside windows on the north side of a house to keep evil spirits at bay. 

It is not only model dogs which are made.  The other zodiac animals such as snakes and birds are also seen as being just as lucky.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

At Sojiji temple some three to four thousand little figures are made and tossed out into the throng of people who have come to try and bag some protection and happiness.  Some people will eat them while others will place the guardian figures in their porches where they dry out and become very hard.  Many people place one of the little figures in a small bag and carry it around as a talisman to ward off evil.  At Soto sect temples this festival takes place after a service to mark the passing of the Buddha.  The size of the little figures and the chosen animal from the zodiac are different from temple to temple.  The festival itself is a special feature of these temples in Noto.

At Sojiji Temple as at others in Noto, the throwing of Inukko to the hopeful is a happy event.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

A larger model of Inukko perhaps destine to be displayed in a porch.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

What do all these customs and superstitions mean?  To be brutal they mean nothing.  And yet they mean everything if the result is a feeling of satisfaction and comfort.  And so, people continue throwing beans and small dogs.

Gateway to Sojiji Temple Akio Sakaguchi Photo © Copyright

My thanks to Yoshiko Daiku and Akio Sakaguchi for their photographs and reports.  I must also acknowledge the cooperation of Sojiji Temple.

Do feel free to pass on the address of this blog to anyone you think will be interested.  Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.   If you have found this blog interesting, why not become a follower.

Saké to Drink, Saké to Enjoy—Part 2

Savour

So, the saké is brewed and ready for drinking.  No, not just drinking.  For enjoyment too.  During my twenty-four year stay in Japan, there was never a time when drinking saké was not a pleasurable event.  This had much to do with the circumstance in which I found myself.  I was lucky enough to drink with house-building carpenters when they had finished erecting the framework of a new house.  Saké and salt were first sprinkled on all four corners of the framework at ground level to give thanks for what had been achieved in safety, and then the eating and drinking began.  What a happy atmosphere there was.

All kinds of fun and silliness are allowed at hana-mi—a time to enjoy the cherry blossom
and each other's company.

I drank with fellow university students, friends and colleagues and every time without fail it became an experience that I shall never ever forget.  It was not just the company and saké that made the experience so good.  There was no unpleasantness, just pure pleasure and enjoyment.  I cannot deny that on a few occasions inebriation was a regrettable outcome but on the whole, there was no embarrassment.  Oh, the hana-mi parties!

The enjoyment had much to do with the conviviality of the surroundings.  Japanese bars are so welcoming, the staff so attentive and the food and saké so good.

As many readers will know, if a group of people are drinking at a pub or bar in the UK, one member of the party may buy a round of drinks—one drink for each person.  And then each person will do the same.  Recently, however, some people will share the cost of a bottle of wine.  Nowadays people will often just buy their own drinks.

In Japan friends will generally share the cost of drinks and snacks evenly.  In some cases a recognised “sponsor” will foot the bill.  But are there any other pieces of essential etiquette associated with drinking?  As a foreigner you will often be forgiven for any “mistakes” in behaviour but to increase your credibility and to show respect for your host, a little knowledge can go a long way.

A Bezen-ware guinomi and tokkuri—matching drinking cup and flask.

Many gatherings begin with beer with which to say kampai or cheers.  Then some people will drink saké and others may stick with beer or move on to another beverage.

But first you must decide at what temperature you would like to drink your saké.  Traditionally it would be at room temperature—ohiya.  Perhaps as a result of chilling white wine, you might decide to indulge in reishu—chilled saké.  Or then you could have it warmed—atsukan.  Different target temperatures will modify the flavour as will the bracketing of those temperatures.

A saké bottle label for Otoko-yama.

Usually someone will be eager to fill you glass or cup, which you should hold while it is being filled rather than leave it standing on the table.  Then you should do the same in return.  The more friendly the gathering a break from this protocol is allowed, so pouring your own drink is acceptable.  If you are holding your glass or cup, it may be taken as a sign that you would like someone to fill it for you.

Small saké cups are called choko and sometimes hold little more than two or three sips but if the saké is of good quality, quantity is not so much of a consideration.  You should be savouring the flavour and aroma of the saké instead.  Such a small cup is of little use to the more serious drinker out with friends.  They are more likely to use a larger guinomi, or even a small glass.

A selection of choko—only big enough for two or three sips.

Saké is often provided at a table in a flask called a tokkuri.  If a number of men are drinking together, flasks are sometimes laid on their side as a sign that they are empty.  That’s acceptable in some bars and at large gatherings, simply because whoever is serving will know which flasks to clear away.  Such a practice is not, however, acceptable at a high-class restaurant or in formal company.  It doesn’t look so good either.

From l. to r.—Made by Yasuhiro Satake, a lacquerware choko imitating a tea bowl.  A more traditional style, a simple modern version and one with the zodiac sign for the year of the horse.

While choko and guinomi are the norm, and small tumblers are sometimes used too, there is still another vessel for drinking saké.  It’s a masu.  It is actually a measuring box, which was used in the past in different sizes for measuring out commodities such as beans and rice, rather than weighing them.

From l. to r.—A bentwood and lacquered guinomi from Gallery Chikiriya; an old simply decorated one; a modern one and a turned and lacquered version made by Yasuhiro Satake.

Made of cedar, the wood helps to provide an unusual drinking experience to which a small heap of salt on one corner of the masu provides an interesting variation to excite the taste buds.

A selection of masu more for decoration than drinking perhaps but they all fit together in the box.

A masu also figures in yet another way of enjoying saké.  A small glass is stood in a masu and filled with saké until it overflows into the waiting masu.  First you drink from the glass and then either drink the overflow directly from the masu or pour it into the glass to finish it off.  Alternatively, the masu is placed on a small saucer but the result is the same—pour till is overflows.  In whichever case it is not such a refined way of drinking.  Having the saké to overflow is really nothing more than a display of generosity as opposed to meanness.

Yuko Yokoyama Photo © Copyright

There are also highly respectful and elegant ways of pouring and drinking saké but, to do them justice, I would really have to devote a separate post to them.  It is important to say, however, that the drinking and even pouring of saké varies from occasion to occasion and with whom you are drinking.

A saké bottle label for Yoshinogawa.

Although the drinking of saké can be such a pleasurable experience, many sayings about this alcoholic beverage are cautionary, especially about any excessive indulgence.  But that is not so unusual.

One says “Drinking too much saké and sleeping in the morning is the road to poverty”.  Another simply warns that “Drinking too much is bound to lead to trouble”.  The beneficial side to drinking saké is also acknowledged, however.  “Saké is an elixir to lift the spirits”.  And, “Saké is a gift from Heaven”.  But one of the most popular sayings is, “In moderation saké is better than any medicine”.   In whichever case, the Japanese would not be who they are without saké.

Unless stated all photos Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

Do feel free to pass on the address of this blog to anyone you feel will be interested.  Many thanks

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

Saké to Drink, Saké to Enjoy—Part 1

In place, the sugidama sends out a message to all that see it.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Brewing

The British drink beer, the French drink wine and the Japanese drink saké.  Well, as severe generalisations these statements are useful, although nothing more than what they are—generalisations.

Cedar fronds are pocked into a wire ball.

Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

A wire ball needs to be completely covered with cedar fronds.

Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

The ball is trimmed and then the sugidama is put in place.

Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

It is probable that saké was first made in Japan some fifteen-hundred years ago.  Initially it seems not to have been a particularly strong liquor but gradually fulfilled various religious needs as well as being used on festive occasions at the imperial court and for drinking games in a slightly more potent form from the end of the eight-century onwards.  It was not until much later that it became a drink of the general populous and these days it would not be wrong to call it the national tipple.

The inner sanctum.  The white plaster walls of the sakekura—a store house with thick wall—are as much a part of the brewing scene as the distinctive aroma.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Steaming of the rice.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Today there are saké breweries all over the country.  Some of the larger ones produce in excess of seventy-thousand kilo litres a year, while the smaller ones each make between 200 to 1000 kilo litres per annum, mostly using traditional labour-intensive methods.

No outsiders allowed.  This is the room in which the koji is put to work on the steamed rice.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

A small brewery such as the Nakajima Brewery in Wajima still follows traditions, including the making of what is called a sugidama.  Cedar tree fronds are fashioned into a large ball, which is usually hung under its very own little roof, beneath the eaves of the brewery.  And what is it for?  Firstly it is made to give thanks to the deity of saké and to ask for protection.  Secondly it is a sign that a new brew of saké has been made over the winter.  The fresh green of the cedar fronds shows that the new brew is now beginning its maturing process and so, as the green gradually darkens to a warm brown as the fronds dry, it is an indication of the ageing of the saké, which will be ready in the autumn.

Traditionally, cedar wood barrels were used in the making of saké, hence the use of cedar tree fronds to make a sugidama.  Modern brewing methods, however, have seen the introduction of ceramic-lined or stainless steel tanks, resulting in a major improvement in the quality and purity of the saké, especially since the beginning of the twentieth-century.

Fermentation tanks.  The gentle sound of bubbling and the aroma from the mash are a sign that things are happening.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Although sometimes called “rice wine”, saké is brewed more like a beer than wine.  Rice is first washed and steamed before yeast and koji are mixed in.  Koji is a rice cultivated with a mould—aspergillus oryzae.  The mixture is then allowed to ferment with more rice, koji and water added over four days in three batches.  The resulting mash sits from between 18 to 32 days and is then pressed, filtered and blended.  Result: a clear liquid with a distinctive fragrance and broadly speaking either a dry, sharp flavour or a  heavier sweetness both of which have their own followers.  Me?  Well, I enjoy the dry, sharp flavoured brands.

There are a number of different types of saké as well as several grades.  The top ranking grades are more expensive, they have the most complex flavours and rich aromatic qualities.

Part 2 will follow soon.

Grateful thanks to Masao Matsumoto for the photographs and information, and to Nakajima Sake Brewery for its cooperation.  Thanks, too, must go to John Gauntner at sake-world.com for his expert advise.

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

Educating the Young

With a Little Help….

Wood as a material has been used by human-kind for a very long time but it was not fashioned in any significant way until after the development of stone tools and then later by the production of metal tools.  In time this led to an age when all manner of tableware such as drinking vessels, plates, platters, spoons and bowls were commonly seen along side more utilitarian pieces of household goods like buckets and, of course, all kinds of furniture.

Contemporary Treen—David Woodward, the well-known turner, has recently started to produce a lot of functional pieces of treen rather than turning pieces simply for display.  This is partly because of a visit to Japan and becoming exposed to the everyday pieces turned and lacquered tableware he saw when he was there.  He has not as yet tried using true lacquer as a finish.  At present he is using several coats of sunflower oil and then finishing with a pure bees wax.  He has also been pleased with the look of a walnut oil finish, and favours a matt or satin finish for his work.  David Woodward Photo © Copyright

It was tableware and smaller items made of wood which came to be known in Britain as treen.  As treen plates were used they became impregnated with the remains of what was placed on them and with regular washing developed the kind of patina that these days would be exalted by some but condemned by others.

The warm colour of the wood is enhanced 

rather than masked by the oil finish of 

David’s work.  

David Woodward Photo © Copyright

Surely wood harbours germs and bacteria.  Well, that would certainly be the commonest reaction to wooden tableware as it is to chopping boards.  Recent research, however, has shown that, if properly maintained, wooden chopping boards are less likely to cause infection than plastic ones.  This was discovered by Dean O. Cliver (Ph.D.) who undertook research prompted by the U. S. Department of Agriculture.

So, apart from the humble fruit bowl, why has treen tableware more or less disappeared from our homes?  In England during the latter part of the the seventeenth-century wood was still to be found on the dining tables of the gentry but it was gradually being replaced with articles made of pewter, silver and ceramics.  The less privileged members of society, however, had to be content with wooden bowls and spoons for some time.

In Japan, however, pieces of tableware made of wood are still in use today.  But that statement must be qualified.  Tableware made of wood would not still have been used today if it were not for true lacquer as a finish.  True lacquer provides a durable coating to all kinds of tableware and with relatively little extra care can be used on a daily basis for many years.

After 30 years of almost continuous use, a cheaper true lacquerware bowl shows signs of wear but it can be easily repaired.  Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

Wajima is one of the many places in Japan where lacquerware is still being manufactured and it is especially noted for its durability.  This being the case, it would seem reasonable to expect everyone, even the young, to know at least something of its merits and attributes.  But, as is often the case, familiarity breeds contempt.

A soup bowl is raised to the lips and, although the soup may be hot, the ground and several coats of true lacquer on the wooden core of the bowl mean that it is not too hot to handle and the sensation on the lips is a pleasant one.  Many woodturners in the U.K. are disappointed that the true lacquer finish completely masks the wood grain of the core.  Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

It was some fifteen years ago that the Wajima Lacquerware Cooperative discovered that even many local people were using cheap synthetic pieces of lacquerware in preference to the locally produced and infinitely superior authentic article.  This came as something of a shock and steps were immediately taken to make people more aware of the craft on their doorsteps.

Tray-tables set out with bowls 

in the style of a traditional 

wedding. Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

It was, in fact, the Saishitsukai, a group of very particular ladies, who on a voluntary basis got things moving.  Just who are these ladies?  They are okami.

It must first be realised that the running of a family owned lacquerware workshop is not only the domain of men.  The wife of the head of the family—okami—is as much involved in the day to day running of the business as her husband.  She needs to be mindful of the needs of all the staff, including those with specialist craft skills, and must also be alert to the needs of the customer.  So, compared to many other businesses, the position of okami is of special importance.  They take particular pride in their work, have a strong sense of responsibility and purpose and make a significant contribution to how well the family business thrives and prospers.

Part of this work of informing the public involved introducing the art and culture of authentic pieces of local lacquerware to final year pupils at local primary schools.  The cooperative was seeking to make friends for its product by making sure, for instance, that if and when a young man or woman left the Noto Peninsula to get married or to work in another area of Japan, at least they would be able to knowledgeably sing the praises of Wajima true lacquerware wherever they settled.

A school lunch set out on table-trays.

Holding the bowl of rice in the left hand, other food is conveyed to the mouth over the rice to avoid any spillages.

Although presentations began at pre-school level, it was a request from a local primary school which really set the ball rolling.  The project has now been in place for more than ten years and pupils graduate with their own personalised lacquerware bowl.

Tea is poured in a genteel manner.  Having a loose fitting lid ensures a controlled and elegant position of the hand.

No scourer!  True lacquerware requires careful handling and rewards us with a finish that matures in colour and appearance over time.

Careful drying is also essential.  No dishwashers please.

The sessions at school last about 30~40 minutes over the lunch period and include instruction in manners.  Everybody joins in serving and setting out  the meal, which is served in the traditional way on low tray-tables placed on the floor.  Teachers have seen an unexpected improvement in the manners and general attitude of the pupils and so, what was initially seen as a way of making the pupils more aware of true lacquerware has helped to prepare the children for life in the wider world by equipping them with some social skills they will benefit from in the future.  Even hearing that Buddhist monks put a little hot water in their rice bowl to release the last few grains of sticky rice from the bowl and then drink them makes the children realise that food should be treated with as much respect as the tableware and the people who are involved in providing and preparing it.  All this can be learned with a little help.

Unless stated otherwise, photographs are courtesy of Yoshiko Daiku.  Photo © Copyright

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.