While these are sake cups, they can also be used for mezcal or any sipping liquor or cordial. That’s what I had in mind (mezcal) when I bought them.
This first group includes three hand-wrought pewter sake cups bought in Kyoto, Japan from Seikado Studio, the venerable workshop making these things since the Imperial Edo Period (1838). The studio is located on Teramachi street, close to the original Imperial Palace.
It was their hand-made-ness that captivated me. Each piece is original and hand-hammered, true to the Japanese wabi-sabi life. There are slight differences between the matched pair. The upright cup is a one-off. Each comes in its own handmade box personally calligraphied by the maker.
The two on the left are sold as a pair for $265 plus $8 mailing. The one piece on the right is $145 plus $8 mailing. I will ship USPS Priority Mail.
Send me an email if you want to purchase along with your mailing address. I will send you an invoice.
The two cups below are hand-blown studio glass that I bought in Arashiyama, Kyoto. Perfect for mezcal or sake, or any sipping liquor or cordial.
Wouldn’t any of these also make a terrific wedding or housewarming gift?
Send me an email if you want to purchase along with your mailing address. I’ll send you an invoice by email to pay with a credit card. Thank you.
My quest for Japanese indigo fabrics and clothing took us to remote villages and high-end designer boutiques. I searched old kimono stacked in department store corners and flea market stalls. In the old Geisha district of Gion, two vintage textile shops offer 100+ year-old pieces in varying condition. I traveled from Tokyo to Kyoto to the remote thatched roof village of Miyama with blue on my mind. We lingered at the Amuse Museum exhibition of boro cloth in awe of indigo-dyed hemp and cotton patchwork born of poverty.
Indigo is my passion. It’s why I wanted to go to Japan. Oh, and the food. Oh, yes, and the cherry blossoms. Temples. Zen. Gardens. Oh, my.
My sister was more interested in Kabuki and Noh theatre, so we negotiated time dedicated to our interests. We attended performances of both and met with a foremost expert on Noh, a US ex-pat living and teaching in Japan for 40 years. We managed to walk blocks that became miles, traveled by bus, train and taxi, all in search of blue, art and food.
Finding indigo in Japan is not easy. Sometimes we couldn’t locate the address. Sometimes we got lost despite Google maps. Sometimes I would stand on a street corner and call out, Does anyone speak English? to help us get our bearings. (Always, a kind, helpful person came to our aid, even guiding us to where we needed to go!) Sometimes the source was in such a remote area that we couldn’t get there. Tokyo is a vast megalopolis, on a scale beyond my ken. Kyoto, described as smaller, hardly pales in comparison.
The art of dyeing with indigo today is uncommon, as it is in Oaxaca, Mexico, where it is necessary to travel twelve hours from Oaxaca City to meet the maker. In Japan, one must also ferret out the dye masters and makers who turn indigo-dyed cloth into clothing. The practice is almost extinct, just like Mexico. And, as with all things made-by-hand, quality comes with a price, when you can find it.
I also noticed construction similarities between traditional Oaxaca huipiles and Japanese kimonos. Both are simple assemblages of cloth squares and rectangles, with hand-stitchedSi seam sewing and no tailoring (ie. no darts). The long, drooping kimono sleeves are merely rectangles attached to the main robe. Hand-stitching for seams and embellishment a standard practice.
Few pieces, I discovered, are hand-loomed now. Indigo-dyed ready-to-wear can be designed in Japan and made in India to keep prices in check. I found one amazing Meiji period kimono in perfect condition. Price tag, $1,800 USD. Pass. I’m looking for wearable art and not creating a museum-level collection.
What I also discovered is that a focused quest for indigo takes time. Even more than a three-week introductory visit such as the one I just completed. Perhaps another trip is needed to go deeper and wider. Perhaps.
I also want to thank Nancy Craft of Esprit Travel and Tours, Japan Travel Expert, who generously shared her list of Kyoto textile shopping resources with me. I hunted down those most relevant to my interests.
My friend Madelyn wrote, I hope you found yourself a wonderful indigo garment or textile. Plural, I replied. I filled a duffle bag with blue. Ancient blue. New blue. Traditional blue. Deep, dark, almost black, blue. Kimono with wide, boxy sleeves. Cozy, contemporary long-sleeved jacket with roll-up cuffs. Vintage farmer’s coat with sashiko stitching. All perfect with blue jeans or black skirt. I have satisfied my lust for blue.
Sidebar: Barbara and I were flaneuring down the main street of Tokyo’s Aoyama district (which easily overshadows Fifth Avenue and Rodeo Drive) after visiting the Meiji Jingu Shrine. I noticed a pop-up shop and stepped in to find Yu Design Office featuring hand-crafted indigo clothing.
Yu Design Office was founded by artisan Hiromi Yamada and her architect son Yuji Yamada. They use natural indigo dye from Hanyu City, Saitama, employing a traditional kimono-making technique called itajime from Mizuho City, Tokyo, and fine cloth from Hachioji, Tokyo. Combining indigo, persimmon juice and pitch black, the wool-silk scarf they make takes on a deep greenish blue hue. The cloth is folded and stacked and pressed between wooden boards to give it texture.
Aizenkobo, indigo workshop and gallery, Kyoto. Third generation workshop, producing traditional garments, scarves, yardage. People love it. I was underwhelmed.
Little Indigo Museum, Miyama, Kyoto Prefecture, is operated by Mr. Hiroyuki Shindo. In picturesque town of thatched-roof houses, this is a full-day trip. Small souvenir indigo samples and scarves are for sale. email@example.com
Gallery Kei features vintage textiles and is operated by Kei Kawasaki on the famous Teramachi Street (671-1 Kuoinmae-cho Teramachi Ebisugawa-agaru), just south of the Kyoto Imperial Palace. At our visit, she had vintage boro from Northern Japan, garments and cloth fragments of hand-woven natural materials (hemp, linen, cotton, silk) and dyes. Write to confirm they are open. firstname.lastname@example.org
Gran-Pie, also on Teramachi Street between Ebisugawa-dori and Nijo-dori, is a contemporary clothing store with garments designed in Japan, dyed and made in India.
I can’t publish this post without mentioning NUNOworks Fabrics in the Roppongi district of Tokyo. On our last afternoon in Japan, I went bonkers over the bolts of fabrics, and sewn-on-the-premises clothing. Delicious scarves. Beautiful garments. Outstanding design. Reasonable (by Japan standards) prices. Though few pieces are naturally dyed.
Department stores like Isetan (Kyoto Station), Takashimaya, Mitsukoshi and Matsuya Ginza feature contemporary Japanese designer boutiques, including Issey Miyake, Comme de Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, and others. Some use indigo and other natural dyes, and are priced in the stratosphere.
Where to Stay in Tokyo: the b roppongi hotel. Loved our stay here. Convenient to metro, restaurants, fair price, excellent service.
Where to Stay in Kyoto: we loved the YADO Hotel in Arashiyama. Book room #308. Recommend also staying in Gion area for more central experience.
It was a pilgrimage to the Little Indigo Museum in Miyama Chokita, Nantan, Kyoto Prefecture. After two trains and a bus, after two hours of travel, we arrived in the thatched roof village that is a national historic site.
Hiroyuki Shindo has been living here with his wife and family for 40 years. Born in Tokyo, art schooled in Kyoto, he wanted a more pastoral life to create an indigo workshop that would fulfill his passion for blue.
It is hard to get good water in the city, he tells me. The pH of water is everything for creating the finest indigo dye. It is pure here, mountain water, and the color he gets equals the finest in Japan.
There is plenty of ash, too, from the wood fires used for heat and cooking. Ash is added to make the dye pot alkaline. The plants come from Kobe Prefecture, sukimono composted leaves.
The Little Indigo Museum is an attraction in this tourist town where big buses bring travelers looking for a quaint view of Old Japan. We were there for the indigo rather than the atmosphere. However, it was a wonderful surprise to spend a couple of hours in the village to explore the gardens, the nearby river and join locals in a delicious soba noodle lunch at the diner.
The museum is filled with Mr. Hiroyuki Shindo’s personal collection. It is housed upstairs under the steep thatched roof, supported by bamboo. Each bamboo support beam is lashed for strength. Shibori and hand-stamped indigo on silk, cotton and hemp are displayed, along with related artifacts.
Mr. Shindo’s son works with him. The cotton cloth, above, is prepared with a paste resist that will repel the dye when the cloth is submerged into the indigo dye vat.
It’s colder up here than in Kyoto. The cherry blossoms were yet to bud, but there was still plenty in bloom for early spring in Japan — late March 2019.
What does this have to do with Mexico, you might ask? Few places around the world grow indigo. Fewer families are cultivating the plant that makes this extraordinary blue dye. Some say there may only be ten families around the world keeping the tradition alive. Blue. The color of royals.
Yes, the strain of Japanese indigo is different than the one that grows on the coast of Oaxaca, Mexico. The preparation of the plant is different. Color intensity depends on many variables.
The family I live with works with indigo as part of their natural dye color palette. The artisan skill required to use indigo dye necessitates a knowledge of chemistry — folk chemistry — recipes learned and passed down. It is an imprecise art and science. An experimentation of sorts.
What I see here is the same dedication to keeping the traditions and to innovate as well.
How to Get There: Get to Kyoto Station. Using your JR Pass, take the JR-Sagano Line (leaving from either Track 32 or 33, check the schedule) to Sonobe. This is unreserved seating. This leg takes about 45 minutes.
At Sonobe, change trains to the JR train to Hiyoshi. It will be on the opposite track. Change time is between 2-4 minutes. Get off at Hiyoshi. Trip from Sonobe to Hiyoshi is about 10 minutes. Using the JR Pass, the trip from Kyoto to Hiyoshi is included in your pass cost.
Exit the station. Go to the front of the building and find the Red Cone marking the spot in the parking lot where the #4 Nantan City Bus will take you to Miyama. The cost is 600 yen and the trip takes another 40 minutes.
The Red Cone is your bus terminal. The driver will show you a photo of the thatched house village and ask if this is where you want to go. Just say, Hai.
The Little Indigo Museum is at the top of the hill from the bus stop. Appointments are recommended before visiting. Telephone: 0771-77-0746. Mr. Shindo speaks English.
As I mentioned above, most of the visitors come to see the thatched roof houses, designated as an Important Preservation District for a Group of Historic Buildings since 1993. Mr. Shindo has a selection of small indigo-dyed gift items produced for tourists. There are a few indigo-dyed shibori cotton scarves, placemats, coasters, etc. and no garments. The attraction for visiting is the scenic route, the adventure in getting there, the stunning setting of the village, and Mr. Shindo himself. Of course, the museum, though small, contains a beautiful selection of pieces he has collected over the years. Definitely worth a day trip if you are in Kyoto for more than four or five days!
Writing from Kyoto, March 25, 2019. It’s been four days since I landed in Tokyo and I’ve managed to learn four words: konnichiwa (hello), sayonara (goodbye), arigato gozai mas (thank you very much), and oishi (delicious). I knew ai (indigo) before I arrived.
Mexico and Japan share a common language through indigo.
Everything here is delicious. Economy meals at corner restaurants where you order and pay in advance from a menu machine are delicious. In my view, as delicious as the priciest sushi set. The people are delicious, the kindest and most generously helpful of any I have met. The fashion is delicious. It is pure deliciousness to be under a cherry tree as buds begin to blossom pink. To say I’m in love with Japan is an understatement.
My sister Barbara and I have filled our days with what my friend Liz Bell calls flaneuring. The discovery is in the meandering, the randomness of what you will find without a plan. Like the pure ai (indigo) coat I found in an off-beat shop hanging on a rack among nondescript clothes, made in the style of a workingman’s jacket crafted from old recycled cloth in pristine condition, redesigned, repurposed. I didn’t buy it but it was a delight to wear, even if for the moment.
Like Mari Ishibashi, a 2013 graduate of Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, NC, who gave me her phone number and said if we need anything, to call her.
With intention, we made it a priority to visit the Amuse Museum in Asakusa, Tokyo, where an incredible textile exhibition of boro was on display until the end of March. Here, we could see and touch an extraordinary exhibition of vintage cloth, saved by folklorist Chuzaburo Tanaka. The textile is now recognized as a national Tangible Cultural Property. Indigo plays a central role in this story.
Indigo is a reverential art form here, and nothing speaks more proudly of Japanese ingenuity, creativity and self-discipline than the utilitarian Boro patchwork from the coldest, northernmost region of Japan in Aomori Prefecture.
Boroboro means something tattered or repaired. In the layering of the cloth and the accompanying long stitches, called sashiko, used to hold the patches to the base fabric and hemp filling, the fabric takes on a quality of shimmering texture and beauty. It was not intended this way. Boro was born from poverty. It´s purpose was to make a quilted piece of clothing or bedcover from leftover material that would provide warmth in a frigid, inhospitable, harsh climate. Hemp was used because cotton could not be grown in cold areas. Threadbare areas of cloth were repeatedly patched over, reinforced, and reinforced again.
Hard scrabble peasant farming classes made boro, mending the same garments over and over again with spare scraps. Scraps were saved like treasure. Collected, scarce. Hemp dyed with indigo was common. Garments were passed down from generation to generation. Working class people made do with dignity.
Today, the story is different. Vintage pieces of boro are collectible, scarce and costly. Classes are taught around the world in boro patchwork and quilting techniques. Boro is adapted by fashion designers to embellish blue jeans. Boro has become romanticized, commodified as a fashion statement, taking on a life far from its humble roots.
We might compare the indigenous cultures of Mexico with the native peoples of remote Japan, who struggle to survive and thrive in the face of poverty, lack of education and with little or no access to health care. In the face of adversity, they create extraordinary cloth. I have written about cultural tourism and how we seek to get closer to those who are the creators. We admire their creative outputs. We may even yearn for a simpler life for ourselves — more basic, more grounded, more meaningful. In our yearnings, do we create a false romantic vision that obscures the harsh realities.
A core aesthetic of Japanese life and values is called wabi-sabi. It is a worldview based on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. Some say that boro is one of the best examples of wabi-sabi —the cloth and the stitches reflect the beauty of natural wear and use. The cloth and the stitches change, become asymmetrical, born of simplicity, roughness and economy. Beauty is in the simplicity of all.
Wabi-sabi acknowledges three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect.
Boro cloth is quirky, repaired, subtle, weathered, imperfect, rustic, spare, minimalist. The cloth is organic, changing, deconstructed and reconstructed. Like the people who made it, boro is resilient and enduring, a testimony to cultural continuity.
I am on a quest for ai. The imperfect piece of ai. I know I will find it.
In just a few short days, on Wednesday, March 20, with a fast turnaround, I leave NC for Tokyo, where I will meet my sister and we will travel together for almost three weeks. I’m taking time-out. This is Forewarning: I will be on vacation during this time and may or may not post regularly about my search for Japanese indigo and pottery (in tribute to our dad, who was a potter and ceramics teacher).
In fact, I’m not taking my computer and plan to travel lighter than usual.
In this moment, I’m experimenting by using an iPad with keyboard to publish this post. My hope is that I can find a moment or two to write about what I find with photos. No promises, though.
I want to be unemcumbered, or at least, less encumbered.
I´m promising myself that I will allow more breathing space between events next year. I recently read Brain Pickings by Maria Popova, who culls and comments about the philosophy of living with more intention. She talks about Marion Milner, a British psychoanalyst and writer who undertook a seven-year self-study to evaluate her own core of happiness, fulfillment and contentment.
This is a fascinating exercise. I believe to find meaning in life, we must continually reexamine our own values and our relationship in the world. Then, the challenge is to shift and make adjustments as necessary as we are more aware of self, needs and change.
Who we imagine ourselves to be and who we are through behavior is often at incongruous.
As I embark for Japan, a place of deep spiritual belief where one can find meaning in small, beautiful experiences and creative output, I hope to use this time to take a respite from the fast pace at which I’ve been living for the past several months. I hope to use this time to approach 2020 differently.
I made a promise to Oaxaca friends that I would have more time next year to enjoy their company, take art classes, be in the hammock on my rooftop terrace, and limit my travel that takes me away from Oaxaca city.
I made a promise to North Carolina friends to spend more than a few weeks at a time here, with longer intervals to actually connect and enjoy the life I have created here, too.
This is a written testimony to publicly share my intention to slow down the pace. It is a way to make a recommitment to core values as I gain in years (ie. Age!) and life choices become even more important. There is limited time to make up for lost time.
Thank you for supporting me in my time away from regular blogging and being tethered to the computer. Cherry blossoms await me.
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