Only the Sixth One

I believe there are radio waves in this world that only a limited number of people can receive, and one of them is a love for baskets. Some might say that baskets aren't exactly a popular category (or perhaps they have already become a minority), but among them, there is a certain number of people who, when they see items that lean heavily toward folk tools or rough goods—things that are extremely crude, have rims tightly wrapped in vinyl tape, or are blackened with soot from heavy use and partially chipped—cannot help but exclaim, "That's so cool!" It is not about the folk-lore value or rarity as research material, nor is it just an attraction to the skill of folk craft artisans; it is a powerful fetishism for something that is almost beyond words and logic, and I find myself thinking that it really is a realm of personal hobby. (I once encountered a scene where acquaintances were getting abnormally excited talking about picking up stones. This hobby, too, seems to be different from criteria like precious stones, strange stones, or wabi-sabi, so perhaps there really are special radio waves that exist.)

If one were to theoretically explain the positioning of baskets, three lineages can be identified.

One is the appreciation-craft style of basket, which developed after the Meiji era when the concepts of art and craft were introduced, focusing on formative beauty and appreciation rather than physical transport functions like flower baskets.

Another is the folk-craft position, which is at the opposite end of those handiworks meant for viewing; these were made in large quantities as tools in local regions and refined through use.

Apart from that, there is also the flow of basketry, which includes handicraft-style items introduced as hobbies or pastimes. I feel that the lineage developed through the school system of the Meiji era and the post-war handicraft boom also exists in a continuous stream. Of course, there are multiple water veins, and since it is normal for them to mix, one could make detailed observations, but the radio waves we are receiving do not correspond to any of these. It is close to folklore, but there is no particular intention to systematize or record it; it is just about admiring them. To put it plainly, it is 'oshi-katsu' (supporting one's favorite).

And if I must explain why I have to explain such things at length, it is because there is a situation where I cannot proudly support my favorite without explaining the context. It is very painful not to be able to openly support what you love.

Although the distribution of handiwork that is currently considered 'aramono' (rough goods) has decreased in Japan, there were still many handiworks during the peak period up until just after the war, and a tremendous amount was produced. I think this applies to various genres, not just baskets and brooms. There was a time when it seemed possible to earn a decent living and maintain a balance, but there are inevitably places where tools made in large numbers cannot command high unit prices (partly due to the scarcity of cash at the time), and I think there are situations in various places where one cannot easily make a living as a job if they continue to make them at the same price and pace today.

Therefore, it is necessary to increase the value, and as a major trend, there are two paths: the route toward high-end traditional crafts and appreciation crafts, or if following the flow of tools, there is a market for folk crafts and general crafts. Furthermore, among these, one can say the major paths are either creating tools that have both beauty and function as daily tools suitable for use, carrying the background and values of folk crafts, or releasing works as an 'artist' who creates living tools that fit modern life, often in a form that mixes arrangements and contexts. (Sometimes a designer is involved in between.)

And at this time, in handiwork that is close to handicrafts and has relatively low barriers to entry, there is the problem that professionals and amateurs coexist. (Depending on the genre, there are some industries that hardly mix at all.) The argument that it doesn't matter whether you are doing it as a job or not—if you are skilled and earning an income, you are a professional, and people who do handiwork as a hobby are also living very rich lives, so isn't that fine?—is also extremely reasonable and there is no room to deny it. However, it cannot be denied at all that there are times when it causes trouble in reality.

I do not think at all that handicrafts or hobbies are bad, but the background that people who do it as their main profession have carried over a long time and the weight of what they should continue to do in the future are different from those who make them in their spare time. Of course, there are times when there is a clear difference in appearance between professionals and amateurs, and there are often big differences in the results ten or twenty years down the line, such as in preparation and base work. On the other hand, there are cases where people who are not professionals or have less experience sell items with eye-catching presentations or price settings that clearly do not cover the cost, and for general consumers, that may be easier to pick up. I can hear voices saying, 'What is wrong with that? Isn't that the market economy?' That is also very true, very true, but depending on the genre of work, it may be a precious occupation like an endangered species, and furthermore, such people are often clumsy at everything except their work and are bad at presentation and getting along in the world. There must be not a few handiworks that have been lost in this way, and losing a job means that the culture, history, wisdom, and ecology associated with that job are lost all at once. Even if I don't say to keep every single job, it is necessary to face it very carefully and seriously. Saying that only the ones that win should survive is a rather crude way of speaking about culture.

Intervening in handiwork is also participating in that lineage. And here, finally, is the story of my bamboo 'oshi-katsu'. Because of those circumstances, I have deeply warned myself that no matter how much I like a handiwork, doing anything more than buying it—like making it or imitating it—is the ultimate taboo. However, recently, after work or in between, I have been steadily splitting and weaving 'nemagari-take' (dwarf bamboo). I was very hesitant to get to this point, and I feel like I have finally given myself the go-ahead after continuing to verify things.

In the first place, to an amateur's eye, all braided goods look like relatives, and I am sometimes asked if I can weave baskets, but the answer is that I absolutely cannot. The only thing braided goods have in common is that the weave is vertical and horizontal; the weaving methods are different, and the preparation and processing of the materials, which are the key, can be said to be on the other side of the river. However, I sometimes use bamboo for some parts of a broom, and since I use scrap wood for the handles, I do shave and split it on a daily basis.

Although I cannot grasp the total number, I feel that bamboo crafts are being re-evaluated year by year. In addition to the aforementioned charm of crafts, folk crafts, and general crafts, it is also attracting attention as a symbol of wild mountains as an environmental problem, and as a renewable material that grows at an overwhelming speed. Besides, compared to things like brooms, the variations that can be made are distinct, and anything can be made. Despite that, the tools used are few, and it is a craft unique to the Asian region. Since the quality of the material changes depending on the climate, the characteristics also change, and because there are countless variations of tools, it cannot be overlooked as a cultural accumulation. My thoughts on bamboo only continued to grow.

I held a workshop for weaving baskets with 'nemagari-take' (scientific name: Chishimazasa, classified as bamboo grass) at 'Gatan-Goton' after meeting the creator, 'Kagoami Ito'. At first, I participated in a test session for Ito-san, who was about to start workshop activities. Ito-san originally came to Hokkaido as a member of the Nakagawa Town Community Revitalization Cooperation Squad, and she is a rare artist nationwide who makes baskets not only from 'nemagari-take' but also from walnut and birch. Because of my job, I had acquaintances who were artists of various materials, and I knew a little about the outline, but what overwhelmingly captured my heart was bamboo.

Walnut and birch are bark and are sheet-like, so they can be cut with a large utility knife, but bamboo has a process of peeling the bamboo harvested in its round state into thin strips, and the handmade feel and wildness are irresistible. Walnut bark craft seems to have existed for a long time, but perhaps because of its hardness, there are not many variations among old folk tools. Birch is authentic in Northern Europe and Russia, and it seems that its recognition and the number of related people have increased considerably in the flow of the craft boom later. It is not that it is good because it is from Asia or Japan like bamboo, but I am probably not the only folklore lover who rolls up their sleeves when I hear 'bamboo basket'. Bamboo has a tension that makes it hard to believe it is grass, and it is difficult to peel and difficult to weave. However, because of that strength, there are huge structures without supports and unique formative objects with few pieces among braided goods. In the Southeast Asian region, they even build houses with it, and the volume zone of daily tools made of bamboo is overwhelming. (When I was in university, there was even a two-story reference room filled only with bamboo crafts.) Also, because bamboo increases through underground stems, it can sometimes increase too much, and it is sometimes called 'bamboo damage'. However, it does not increase uncontrollably; there are considerable differences in climate and region, and 'nemagari-take' seems to have a limited habitat. It varies in cold areas like Tohoku and Nagano, and even in Hokkaido, and even the thickness is determined by environmental conditions, so I have only been able to locate a few areas where thick, long, and optimal 'nemagari-take' can be harvested. (There are areas where there is plenty.) This level of regional difference and individuality stands out even among many handiworks. (If I talk this much, I might be asked why I don't become a basket maker, but there are connections, and the responsibility of a broom maker with few players is great. Besides, I am aware that my personality is sloppy and I am not suited for full-scale, elaborate bamboo crafts.)

Ito-san's workshop was a lot of fun, and there were many things that I could not feel without experiencing the difficulty and incomprehensibility of 'nemagari-take'. It goes without saying that it is important for valuable work to spread, but there are delicate circumstances as mentioned above, and there are parts that touch on taboos. However, the workshop held by Ito-san was quite hard, and it was a practical and quite full-scale content that could be called a hobby, including limiting the location to where materials can be harvested locally and including the experience of splitting (you cannot split it at all at first). I also deeply agreed with her words, 'I want to return the natural techniques that once existed in each land to each land.' It goes without saying that in modern times, there are more mountains that are not touched by human hands, and I think the forests are becoming desolate.

I also asked a respected maker of green bamboo crafts. Regarding holding workshops, they told me, 'I think it's a good thing for the number of makers to increase. However, it is sad to see only similar techniques spread while local culture disappears.' I felt there could be no better guiding principle than that. It is true that there are cultures being lost, but if you mix them in a crude or arbitrary way, you might end up crushing something fragile instead. I have seen many cultures and jobs disappear due to overwhelming forces. That was what I feared most.

So, I began to explore local bamboo crafts every day. Fortunately, my children were small and our travels were limited to within Hokkaido, and since bamboo enthusiasts are few, it was easy to gather information. My job also put me in a position where it was easy to collect information. Another fortunate thing is that there are currently very few bamboo crafts rooted in the land in Hokkaido. Also, since they spread after the Meiji era when trade was active, it feels like the structure is not as complex as in the mainland. I decided to try to supplement what I could.

There are quite a few people in Hokkaido who make baskets out of 'negari-dake' (dwarf bamboo), but it is clear that many have adopted techniques from the mainland. I don't interview everyone, but there are many things you can tell just by looking at the objects. It is not rare to find them hanging in garages or warehouses in various regions, or left in old folk houses, so it is easy to find things that serve as references.

As a result of several years of research, I found that in the Shioya and Yoichi areas where I live, and within the Shiribeshi region, the focus is on harvest baskets with handles made using a weaving method that creates a hexagonal pattern called 'mutsume' (six-eyed). Negari-dake harvest baskets are durable, light, breathable, and flexible, so I still see people using them today because of their cushioning and lightness. It is also a basic weaving method taught in workshops. I came to the conclusion that perhaps no techniques or forms beyond that became widespread, or even if they existed temporarily, they have left no trace.

Besides, there are no more makers in the area where I live, and it seemed that no one would be harmed by a maker getting involved.

Eventually, I found that negari-dake also grows in the vicinity of Mt. Shioya-Maruyama, right in front of where I live, so the point of local production for local consumption was also cleared. I concluded that as long as I weave the 'mutsume' pattern rooted in the local form, negari-dake activities in the Shioya area would be in a culturally safe zone, so I had Ito-san hold multiple workshops and planned talk events.

This is also a guess (or perhaps because no traces remain today), but I think that decorative, flashy bamboo crafts did not develop in Hokkaido. I feel like I can see the prototype of that in the work of Katsuyuki Kobayashi from Asahikawa.

Katsuyuki-san, who will be 90 next year, started bamboo crafting by learning from his father. His father worked in forestry, but after the war, he lost his job and hired three craftsmen to start working with negari-dake. The variety of things he makes is not large; they are mostly round 'mutsume' baskets and baskets with handles. He apparently worked for a company for 30 years, but started making them again at 60, and next year will mark 30 years since then. It is a life cycle as clean as splitting bamboo.

There is no process called 'habahiki' (width adjustment) or 'urazuki' (thinning the back), where width and thickness are adjusted by fractions of a millimeter, which is done in exquisite bamboo crafts; the wildness of basically just splitting the bamboo is also cool.

There were various circumstances, but this year, for the first time, I submitted Katsuyuki-san's baskets from 'Gatan-Goton' to the New Craft Exhibition at the Japan Folk Crafts Museum, and all of them were successfully selected.

There is a story that when Bernard Leach visited a pottery production area and demonstrated his craft, by the time he left, everyone in the village had imitated his technique, which annoyed him. However, talking about technical preservation and culture is a post-war phenomenon; the local people who were truly making a living from these things didn't worry about the details, but adopted what they thought was good and continued to make things simply. I am also continuing to work steadily, having started together with others at the workshop. (If the people at the venue give up first, things that could be continued won't be.) I don't make a large amount as a break from work, and I probably won't get any better, but if I keep at it until I'm 60 like Katsuyuki-san, I might become someone who can pass something on to someone else. Since handiwork is inherently something that makes you rich and happy, I decided to try facing what I like honestly, even if I'm clumsy, without thinking about petty things like being a professional or an amateur. It is also a joy to be connected to the land. It is also a joy to be able to leave behind things that I think are beautiful. As an amateur, I have made friends, and the number of makers is steadily increasing. I think that in a few decades, something resembling a culture will be born from that.