Birudan washi– a traditional papercraft with a history spanning over 400 years – now has but one sole practitioner: Takakuni Kawahara.
His washi papercraft goes above and beyond the limits of what we call “traditional crafts,” and is highly regarded all over the world. His work catches many eyes, as it can be seen on display at international exhibits and in public facilities, among other places. When we asked Mr. Kawahara what he considered his magnum opus to be, he hesitated slightly before answering, “the Tateyama talismans.”
Said talismans are offered in May at Oyama Shrine, located within Ashikuraji Temple. Believed to ward off misfortune, Mr. Kawahara prints each talisman himself on hand-made paper.
After viewing Edo Period talismans on display at a museum, it was love at first sight. He consulted directly with the museum to find a way to revive this craft in the modern age, leading him to carve his own wood printing blocks.
“They are my greatest work,” says Mr. Kawahara about the Tateyama talismans. “Although I’m grateful for the many, many people who know me, that doesn’t mean that they’ll own one of my pieces, right? But with the talismans, a fair amount of people tell me they own one. Even though washi paper is almost never used in daily life, everyone seems to want those talismans. Toyama locals do love Tateyama, of course.”
What does Tateyama represent to Mr. Kawahara?
“When I first moved to Tateyama, I wasn’t particularly wild about the place. Anywhere would have been fine as long as it was quiet. But I think it ended up influencing me.
“I am always influenced by the ‘-ism’ of things. Toyama is steeped in this inscrutable ‘Tateyama-ism.’ It’s snuck into my work as well; It’d be wonderful if more and more people said, ‘Oh, I’ve got Kawahara washi paper. I never noticed before.’ That’s the kind of art I wish to create.”
Washi paper is only made during the winter because the summer heat damages the paper. At his workshop in the frigid cold of the Hokuriku region, Mr. Kawahara focuses on his craft. Washi usually requires a division of labor, but Mr. Kawahara covers every aspect of the craft by himself. He raises hybrid mulberry trees specifically for washi-making, then simmers the pulp, flattens it with a wooden mallet, creates the paper, then dries it by squeezing out the moisture with a stone weight – all by himself.
Why did he want to become a washi maker in the first place? Mr. Kawahara isn’t originally from Toyama Prefecture, let alone Tateyama. His family moved frequently, and so he has no real “hometown.” He tells us of his life in Indonesia, and how he always felt that “the world isn’t all that big.”
As a teenager, he became a soccer aficionado, and while living in Chiba Prefecture he enrolled in a school famous for its soccer team.
“I thought life as an athlete was short-lived, so it wasn’t something I could have done forever. That’s when I came up with traditional crafts. I was dumb but vigorous in my 20s, so I’d say that if it came down to it, I’d do anything as long as it was a traditional craft. That’s when I learned the traditional craft in my neighboring town of Asahicho was washi paper, and I went to a workshop.”
Full of vim and vigor, Mr. Kawahara would first meet with a washi craftsman. His name was Torakichi Yoneoka, and he was already retired due to his age. Mr. Kawahara relates the shock he received back then…
“He made washi at home, not at a facility. He’d made a nook at home. I was a bit moved; I had no idea that that world existed.”
Mr. Kawahara became Mr. Yoneoka’s apprentice and thus began his days as a washi craftsman. Unable to raise his shoulders to demonstrate due to age, Mr. Yoneoka earnestly instructed Mr. Kawahara verbally.
As he learned many things, he also faced the limits of traditional crafts. He could not make a living by that alone. He managed to make ends meet every day by working part-time at a zoo while studying.
After Mr. Yoneoka’s death, Mr. Kawahara left Asahicho and moved to Tateyama. At that time, he felt that traditional crafts did not have to be bound to any given region.
“Looking at the data throughout history, I understood that as long as you had the skill, you could create anywhere, and I thought proving that would be good for the industry. I experimented in a constructive way, without being bound by history or regressive thinking.”
Looking at it regionally, Birudan washi is traditionally an Asahicho craft. However, Mr. Kawahara proudly states that he “didn’t inherit the craft from the place, but from a man called Torakichi Yoneoka.”
Unbound by region or history, Mr. Kawahara easily created works that leapt beyond so-called “traditional craftsmanship.” For instance, he has mixed rice ears into his washi, created round pieces that represent planets and the full moon, collaborated with high-profile brands on large projects, created washi that is 50 meters long, as well as washi that gradually becomes thinner, among other works.
“I thought everything would be fine if I could protect traditional crafts, but that’s not the case. Rather, what draws people is assertive, challenging craft that is not traditional.
“I believe my job is to sell a process, to sell a story. In other words, washi is the way I do so. If I’m involved, it’ll inevitably involve washi, so it’s better to suggest something like enclosing a space with organic matter while concealing a light source, rather than say, ‘You can do X or Y with washi.’ ”
We were surprised to learn that Mr. Kawahara brims with ideas as we speak. When asked where those ideas come from, he responded: “What I lack in planning, I make up for with initiative.
“Everyone’s full of ideas, just like me. But where other people hesitate, I start creating.
“I do get a lot of pushback, but most of it is jealousy. I shake them off and keep going. When the support outweighs the criticism, the latter naturally fades away. If anything, they’re right to be skittish with something new, even when everyone else is praising it.”
Mr. Kawahara mentions that when he first got involved with Birudan washi, people doubted him for having neither experience nor a local upbringing. Apparently, even his Tateyama talismans were poorly received at first. Despite that, he pressed on, and as he did his work was increasingly appreciated.
Mr. Kawahara stares at the Tateyama talisman once more. “I think this talisman saved me.”
Unconcerned with the craft or locale he pursued, Mr. Kawahara arrived at his masterpiece, which turned out to be a traditional talisman. When we said that to him, he responded with “That’s a bit annoying to hear.” In his unbounded spirit, we sensed something of his “Kawahara-ism.”
