Learn About Japanese Crafts & Kogei: Woven Textiles | Part II
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Japanese Woven Textile Crafts: History & Techniques (Part I)
20. Yaeyama cotton cloth
Yaeyama minsa is a traditional cotton fabric from Okinawa. It comes from two places: Taketomi town and Ishigaki city, both in the Yaeyama Islands. People have been weaving this cloth for centuries, but no one knows exactly where it started. Some believe the kasuri-style belt, which inspired the design, traveled to Okinawa from Afghanistan, passing through China. Others think it came straight from India, where cotton was first used. Either way, the fabric has deep roots in Okinawa's history and culture.
A Traditional Okinawan Cloth
This cotton cloth is ribbed, with stripes and blurry-edged kasuri patterns. It's woven using threads dyed with deep indigo, both in the warp and weft. The process gives it a bold look, with strong navy and white contrast. The word "min" means cotton, and "sa" means belt. Originally, Yaeyama minsa was woven into narrow belts for everyday wear. It was also used to make the stiff sash, or kakuobi, worn with traditional Okinawan dress called ryuso.
The patterns are made by hand, using a tying technique to resist dye. This is what creates the signature kasuri effect. Indigo dyes have always been part of the process. Makers use Ryukyu indigo, indigo from India, and even dye made from Okinawan vines called kuru. They also use plant-based dyes from trees like fukugi. In modern times, chemical dyes have joined the mix.
Two Ways to Weave Yaeyama Minsa
There are two main weaving methods. One uses a tall treadle loom called takabata, which comes with a reed to help pack the threads. The other skips the reed completely, using a hand-tightening method called tejime. Both produce different textures, so the finished cloth can feel very different depending on how it’s made.
The Meaning Behind the Patterns
This fabric isn’t just practical. It carries meaning, too. During the Ryukyu Dynasty in the early 1500s, Yaeyama minsa was already being used. Women gave the belts to men as a sign of marriage. At that time, couples often lived apart, and the husband would visit the wife now and then. The belt was a quiet way to say, “Come see me often.”
The main pattern features four or five small squares in a row. Alongside them, you’ll see fine edges that look like a centipede’s legs. This wasn’t random. The centipede design meant the wife wanted the husband to visit as often as the creature moves. The numbers also have meaning. “Five” is itsu, which also sounds like “whenever.” “Four” is yo, which can mean both “world” and the number four. Together, itsu no yo mademo sends the message: “Visit me forever.”
From Taketomi to Ishigaki
Taketomi used to be the main place where Yaeyama minsa was made. That’s changed. Now, Ishigaki island is a major production site too. Back then, the fabric only came in dark navy, dyed with indigo. Today, you’ll find it in all sorts of colors and materials. Makers use ramie, silk, cotton, and even fiber from the Japanese banana plant.
Now, Yaeyama minsa isn’t just for belts. It’s used to make bags, scarves, wallets, and other accessories. These handmade goods are popular with travelers and help keep the tradition alive. The cloth may have a long history, but it's still part of everyday life in Okinawa today.
How Yaeyama Minsa Is Made
Planning the Warp Threads
To start, makers decide how many cotton threads they'll need for the warp. These are the long threads that run down the length of the fabric. The amount depends on how wide the finished belt or cloth will be. Then they sort the threads into three groups: kasuri threads for the pattern, striped threads for the white lines, and base threads for the main color. The threads are lined up based on the chosen design. This setup locks in the final length and width of the fabric.
Tying the Kasuri Threads
Once the warp threads are ready, the kasuri threads get tied up to prep for dyeing. They get soaked in water, then tied tightly in certain spots to keep those parts from taking in the dye. This is what creates the white spaces in the final pattern. The tied areas act like a barrier. In the past, artisans used banana plant fiber to tie the threads. Now, they usually use vinyl string instead. Everything is measured by hand, using a ruler, so the patterns stay sharp and even.
Indigo Dyeing
After the threads are tied, they’re washed and sorted into warp and weft piles. The weft threads run across the fabric during weaving. The dyeing part uses a slow, hands-on method. Indigo works by reacting with air, so the threads are dipped in dye for a few minutes, pulled out, and exposed to oxygen. This gets repeated until the color reaches the right depth. Traditional Yaeyama minsa uses natural indigo, along with other local dyes made from plants like kuru, fukugi, red bayberry, and Japanese mallotus.
Untying the Threads
Once the threads are dyed and dried, the strings used to tie the kasuri areas are carefully removed. Then, the dyed kasuri threads and the base threads are arranged again. This step helps reset their shape and length before the weaving begins.
Applying Starch for Even Tension
Cotton threads can stretch, which throws off the pattern during weaving. So, artisans apply starch to stiffen the threads and keep them from moving too much. The threads are stretched between stakes hammered into stone walls, and they dry outside. The weather matters here. On some days, drying takes two full days. But it’s worth it because it helps the cloth come out clean, sharp, and balanced.
Setting Threads in a Temporary Reed
Before actual weaving, the threads are laid out in the planned design and passed through a reed. This tool helps keep the threads spaced evenly. It’s only a test run, so the threads are pulled out afterward. This step is called kari, which means “temporary.”
Winding the Warp Threads
Now that everything is measured and checked, the warp threads are rolled up again. This has to be done with care. The threads can't be too loose or too tight. The kasuri patterns need to stay lined up perfectly. If the tension is off, the fabric won’t look right.
Threading the Loom
Next, each thread is pulled through the heddle, then through the reed again. The heddle is the part of the loom that lifts threads up and down to let the weft go through. Most Yaeyama minsa uses plain weave, which means over-and-under weaving. But the pattern can be changed depending on how the threads are placed through the heddle or reed. If the weaver is using the hand-weaving method, this step with the reed can be skipped.
Final Weaving and Finishing
Now it’s time to weave. The warp threads are kept tight, and the weft threads are passed through using a shuttle. These weft threads are also dyed with indigo. As the cloth takes shape, the pattern starts to show. Once the weaving is done, the fabric is washed and checked for quality. Then it’s ready to be used.
Every part of this process is slow, detailed, and done by hand. That’s what gives Yaeyama minsa its strong look and lasting value.
21. Yaeyama ramie cloth
Yaeyama jofu is a traditional fabric made in Ishigaki City, Okinawa. It comes from the Yaeyama region and is made using ramie, a natural plant fiber. This cloth has been part of local life for centuries. In the old Ryukyu Kingdom, people paid taxes with it. Back then, this wasn't just fabric. It was a form of currency and a symbol of skilled craftsmanship.
How Yaeyama Jofu Is Made
This is the only textile in Okinawa that uses both rubbing and printing. The fabric is made from hand-spun ramie threads. The patterns, often dark brown kasuri or ikat designs, are printed on a soft white background. This cloth is mostly used for summer kimonos because it feels light and stays cool.
The dye comes from kuru, a wild vine that grows in Okinawa. Both the ramie and the dye are local, taken straight from the land. The fabric goes through a special treatment. After it’s woven, it’s soaked in the ocean. The saltwater and sunlight work together. The water lightens the white background, and the sun brings out the dark pattern. This gives the cloth a strong, clean contrast and sharp detail.
Time and Labor Behind the Cloth
Weaving Yaeyama jofu takes time. It takes around fifty days just to prepare the warp threads and another forty to get the weft threads ready. That’s months of work before weaving even starts. The threads are all hand-spun, which gives the fabric a dry, crisp texture and makes it feel light and breathable. Because the process is so demanding, more artisans are now using machine-spun threads for the warp to save time. But traditional hand-spun ramie is still used when possible to keep the texture authentic.
A Craft Rooted in Okinawan History
The use of ramie in Yaeyama goes way back. Records from the Joseon Dynasty show that people in the area were already making ramie cloth long ago. When the Ryukyu Kingdom ruled Okinawa, high-quality ramie cloth was made for official use. It was based on sketches by royal court painters, showing just how important it was.
In 1609, the Satsuma domain invaded Ryukyu and forced a poll tax on the people of Yaeyama. Instead of money, they had to pay with ramie cloth. Every woman on the island got involved in weaving. Over time, the patterns became more detailed and beautiful. That’s how today’s Yaeyama jofu came to be. Back then, it was so rare and costly that only a few people ever wore it.
From Heavy Tax to Cultural Heritage
When the tax system ended in 1886, things changed. Weaving ramie became a local business. New types of looms were created, and men began helping with production. During the Taisho era, better looms made the work more accurate. These looms kept the thread tension steady, which made the kasuri patterns more exact.
Now, Yaeyama jofu is part of Okinawa’s cultural identity. Both the city of Ishigaki and the prefecture are working to protect the craft. They are training new artisans and building programs to keep the tradition alive. It’s not just about preserving the past. It’s about making sure this rare and beautiful cloth has a future.
Step-by-Step: How Yaeyama Jofu Is Made
Harvesting and Preparing Ramie Threads
Everything starts with the ramie plant. It belongs to the nettle family and grows fast, reaching about a meter tall. You can harvest it four to five times a year. But it has to be done gently. The stalks are soaked in water for several hours to soften the bark without damaging the plant. Once soft, the bark is peeled off and soaked again. Inside the bark is the fiber. That fiber is carefully stripped out, dried in the shade, then soaked again. After that, it's shredded by hand into thin, even threads.
For the warp threads, a spinning wheel adds extra twist to make them stronger. The weft threads are twisted by hand. This difference gives structure to the fabric and helps it hold its shape.
Planning the Pattern and Design
Before any weaving happens, the artisan plans the full layout of the cloth. This includes how the warp and weft will line up and where the patterns will fall. The design process matters because Yaeyama jofu patterns are precise and take time to get right.
Creating Ikat Threads
There are two ways to create the ikat, or kasuri, patterns. One uses a brush to paint the design directly on the threads. The other uses a tie-dye method where certain parts are tightly bound to resist the dye.
For the brush method, the warp threads are stretched around a wooden frame. The artisan draws out the pattern and separates the threads into base threads and patterned threads. These are sorted by length and number, then starched and dried. This keeps the dye from bleeding and holds the pattern in place.
With the tying method, the threads are marked, then tied off with cotton or plastic strings. This prevents those sections from taking on color. If the cloth has a dark base color, the pattern areas on the weft are tied off too. Once everything is tied, the threads are soaked in hot water to remove any leftover starch from the parts that need to take in the dye.
Dyeing the Threads
Yaeyama jofu uses natural dyes made from local plants. Each one gives a different shade.
Kuru, a vine native to the region, is peeled and grated. It’s boiled and strained to produce a reddish brown dye. Acacia confusa, a type of evergreen in the pea family, has leaves that are boiled to create a yellow dye that can range from pale to bright.
Indigo is also common. The leaves are soaked in water, still attached to their branches, and fermented with lime. As the threads soak in the dye, they’re lifted and exposed to air at intervals. This oxidation deepens the color and brings out the blue.
Setting the Pattern and Getting Ready to Weave
Once dyed, the warp threads are lined up based on the planned design. They’re threaded through the reed and stretched out. To make sure the pattern doesn’t change, thick paper is placed between the threads as they’re wound around the wooden frame. This locks the ikat design in place so it stays aligned during weaving.
Stencil Dyeing for Mass Production
After the poll tax ended, makers started using stencil dyeing to produce more fabric at once. Kuru, the native vine used for dye, is grated and pressed. The liquid is dried under the sun until it thickens into a rich dye paste. A bamboo brush is used to apply this paste to the threads.
To start, weft threads are pulled across a drawing stand and marked with ink. These marks help keep the pattern consistent. The threads are then soaked in water and stretched across a wooden frame that matches the fabric’s width. Once dry, the artisan uses the bamboo brush to apply dye directly onto the threads while they stay in place on the frame. The dyed threads are left to dry naturally before weaving begins.
Winding Threads onto the Machine
After dyeing, the base threads are passed through a reed and wound around a part of the loom called the jiitsuburu. A layer of thick paper goes between the threads and the jiitsuburu to protect the alignment of the patterns during weaving.
Weaving the Fabric
Now the threads are ready to be woven. The dyed linen threads are loaded onto a tall treadle loom called a takabata. This loom uses a separate wooden frame and a built-in jiitsuburu. The warp threads are kept moist during weaving so they don’t become brittle. The weft threads are wrapped around small tubes and placed inside a boat-shaped shuttle that glides through the warp.
Weights are used to control the tension in the warp. This keeps the threads steady and the ikat patterns in the right place. Everything has to line up just right, or the pattern will change. Weaving Yaeyama jofu takes constant attention and care.
Setting the Colors in Seawater
Once the weaving is finished, the fabric is laid out in the sun for about ten days. The sunlight makes the colors stronger and more vibrant. After drying, the fabric is soaked in seawater for five hours. This step removes any leftover residue and softens the color so the kasuri patterns blend more cleanly into the cloth. It's a process unique to Yaeyama jofu and adds to its signature look.
Beating the Fabric for Softness
The last step is pounding. The finished cloth is wrapped around a round piece of wood. A layer of cotton cloth is wrapped over it. Then, the fabric is placed on a wooden stand and pounded with a pestle.
This step isn’t just for tradition. It makes the fabric feel better against the skin. The pounding loosens the fibers just enough to give the cloth a soft, natural texture without damaging the weave.
22. Honba oshima tsumugi silk
Honba Oshima Tsumugi is a traditional silk fabric made on Amami Oshima, a small island in Kagoshima Prefecture. It’s made entirely from plain silk and woven by hand using looms like the shime-bata and te-bata. This fabric has soft, dark tones and subtle kasuri patterns that look like gentle splashes. These colors come from natural dyes, especially the yeddo hawthorn plant and the island’s iron-rich mud. The result is a deep, earthy look that doesn’t fade with time.
Even with frequent use, this silk holds its shape. The texture actually improves as you wear it. It’s smooth, light, hard to wrinkle, and easy to move in. That makes it one of the most comfortable traditional fabrics still made in Japan. People value it not just for its feel but also for the amount of work that goes into making it.
Handmade, Step by Step
There are over thirty detailed steps in the production process. From harvesting the materials to dyeing and weaving the silk, the entire thing can take more than half a year. Every piece is made by hand. That level of care is why the fabric lasts so long.
Traditionally, this silk was used for kimonos. But today, artisans are adding new twists to keep the tradition alive. They're experimenting with brighter colors, fresh designs, and different textures. These changes make the fabric more appealing for modern use. It's now common to see it at special events like weddings and coming-of-age ceremonies. People are also using the silk in Western-style clothing and home interiors.
A History That Runs Deep
The roots of Honba Oshima Tsumugi go back to the 600s. It kept growing in Amami through the early 1700s. At some point, the craft spread to mainland Kagoshima, but there’s little written proof. What is known is that in 1720, the ruling Satsuma domain banned the people of Amami from wearing this silk. The reason isn’t clear, but it marked a turning point in how the fabric was viewed and used.
Amami’s location between Okinawa and mainland Japan made it a cultural melting pot. It was a common stop for ships heading south, so it naturally blended northern and southern traditions. From 1850 to 1855, a Satsuma clansman wrote about life on the island in a book called Essay of a Southern Island. His notes and drawings showed how locals raised silkworms and wore tsumugi.
The climate on Amami is warm and humid, perfect for raising silkworms. That helped the local silk industry grow naturally. By 1907, artisans had started using the shime-bata handloom. With it, they created their signature kasuri pattern, a design that’s not found anywhere else in the world.
War and Recovery
World War II hit the region hard. Both Amami and Kagoshima suffered major damage. Production almost stopped completely. But by 1950, funding helped bring the craft back. Even now, the industry is still recovering. Modern life and the changing economy have made things harder. Today, production is only a fraction of what it used to be. Less than ten percent remains compared to the peak years. Still, the fabric hasn’t lost its value. People see it as a rare and beautiful part of the island’s identity.
How Honba Oshima Tsumugi Silk Is Made
Honba Oshima Tsumugi silk takes time, skill, and patience. From start to finish, the process can last six months to over a year. Every step matters. Each part of the work shapes the final texture, color, and quality of the fabric.
Pattern Design
The first step is designing the pattern. This isn’t random. The maker decides the design based on the thickness of the silk and the type of fabric they want in the end. These patterns are carefully drawn out on graph paper to guide the entire process.
Gluing the Threads
Next, the warp and weft threads are prepped for tying. To make sure they’re strong and easy to work with, they’re coated with glue made from seaweed. Two kinds of seaweed, ceramium and gloiopeltis, are used. This glue helps protect the silk from bugs, gives it some stretch, and keeps it from getting damaged later. Each bundle has sixteen threads. They get fully coated, then dried in the sun.
Tying the Warp
After drying, the threads are tied one by one based on the design. This is done using a special loom called a shime-bata. It’s hard physical work, and traditionally it’s been done by men. The shime-bata technique, developed by Touhachi and Ieo Nagae in Kagoshima, changed how kasuri patterns are made. It lets craftsmen tie with better precision and saves time. Other regions use boards or tie by hand, but Oshima Tsumugi’s splash patterns are all done on this loom.
Natural Dyeing
For the first round of dyeing, the trunks and roots of the yeddo hawthorn tree are chopped and boiled for about fourteen hours. The thread is dipped into this dye around twenty times. The result is a soft, reddish-brown tone full of natural tannins.
Mud Dyeing
After the hawthorn dyeing, the thread goes into a mud pit made from local iron-rich soil. This step is done three or four times. The iron in the mud reacts with the tannins and turns the color into a deeper, muted black. This isn’t just for looks. It also helps the fabric resist wrinkles, stains, static, and even fire.
Getting Ready to Weave
Before the actual weaving starts, there are twenty-eight smaller steps. These include warping, gluing again, reeling the silk, stretching with starch paste, partial decoloring, rubbing in more dye, untying the kasuri bundles, and fixing the pattern layout.
Hand Weaving the Silk
Weaving is done on a tall foot-powered loom called a takabata. The weaver adjusts the threads by hand. Each section of the pattern is lined up with a needle, one by one. Even a simple design can take more than a month. Complicated ones take much longer.
Fine-Tuning the Pattern
Every seven centimeters or so, the weaver loosens the warp threads and repositions the pattern by hand. This is done with a needle to make sure each part of the kasuri design matches perfectly.
Final Inspection
When the weaving is finished, the fabric is sent to the Honba Oshima Tsumugi Association. Inspectors check everything: the length, width, color quality, and the alignment of the kasuri patterns. Only the bolts that pass every part of the test are labeled as real Honba Oshima Tsumugi. They get an official mark to show the work is genuine.
This is how one of Japan’s most refined silk textiles is made. Every step is hands-on, and every bolt of fabric holds months of careful effort
23. Shinshu tsumugi silk
Shinshu tsumugi is a traditional silk fabric made in Nagano prefecture. It’s also known as pongee silk. Almost every region in Nagano makes its own version, with small differences in how it’s woven and dyed. You’ll hear names like Matsumoto tsumugi, Ueda tsumugi, Ina tsumugi, and Yamamayu tsumugi. Even though they're all part of the same craft, each one has a slightly different feel and style.
How Shinshu Tsumugi Is Made
What makes this silk stand out is the subtle shine and natural, deep color. The dyeing process uses old plant-based methods that go back centuries. Since the dyes are made from plants and mixed by hand, you’ll never get the same shade twice. The silk threads are hand-spun from raw silk, floss silk, dupioni silk, or wild silk. Some weavers even use naturally green cocoons from Japanese oak silkmoths.
Patterns are either plain, striped, checked, or made with a splash effect. Every thread is dyed before weaving, so even if two fabrics have the same design, they’ll never look exactly alike. Each roll of Shinshu tsumugi is hand-woven, which gives the cloth a warm, textured, and natural finish. This is one reason why these kimonos last so long. The fabric is light but strong and often passed down in families.
Where It Came From
This silk has roots in the Nara period, over a thousand years ago, when a cloth called ashiginu was woven in the region. For centuries, Shinshu was called the "silkworm province" because it had ideal conditions for raising silkworms. In the early Edo period, the local government began supporting silk farming. Farmers started weaving silk on the side, spinning raw and floss silk into thread. Soon, the area became a major center for pongee production.
Back then, large amounts of this silk were shipped to Kyoto every year. The climate in Shinshu helped plants grow well, which meant dyeing was also easy to do using natural materials. All of this made the area a stronghold for hand-dyed silk cloth.
Keeping the Craft Alive
By the middle of the Showa period, when Western clothes became popular, demand for kimono fabrics dropped. Still, the skills used to make Shinshu tsumugi didn’t disappear. After World War II, Nagano prefecture took steps to support the industry. They invested in keeping the weaving tradition alive, and it worked. The fabric came back strong.
Today, Shinshu tsumugi is seen as a high-end kimono fabric. It’s known for being fully made within Nagano, from start to finish. That means everything from raising the silkworms to spinning the cocoon and weaving the final fabric happens in the same area. The result is a handcrafted silk with deep roots, natural beauty, and lasting value.
How Shinshu Tsumugi Silk Is Made
Starting with the Cocoons
The first step begins with raw silk cocoons. For generations, these have been boiled and softened using straw-ash lye. This liquid is made by filtering ash from burned straw. It helps remove sericin, which is the sticky protein that holds the silk threads together. Without it, the silk becomes smoother and shinier. The lye also leaves minerals like potassium in the fibers. This adds strength, a soft rustling sound, and that subtle glow tsumugi silk is known for.
Making Floss Silk by Hand
To make floss silk, cocoons are boiled for several hours. Then each one is opened by hand and pulled into a soft bag shape. The cocoon is sometimes stretched flat on a wooden frame to form silk squares. Picking the right mix of cocoons matters. The texture and strength of the final fabric all come from how good the floss silk is at this stage. When fresh cocoons are used, the floss is stretchy and soft, making it the best type for pongee.
Spinning the Silk Threads
Once the floss silk is ready, it’s time to spin it. This is done by hand, pulling the fibers and winding them onto a flyer-type hand-spinning tool. The threads aren’t twisted tightly. That gives them a raw, natural look that feels almost entirely hand-spun. These threads aren’t even in thickness, which adds character to the fabric. If the silk comes from wild cocoons, the result is even more prized. Wild silk is rare and known as the queen of fibers because of its value and texture.
Dyeing with Natural Plants
Next comes the dyeing. The silk threads are simmered in dye made from local trees, leaves, nuts, or fruit, depending on the season. Since natural plants are used, the dyeing process changes throughout the year. The threads are dyed and dried many times to build up rich, deep colors. Often, multiple dyes are blended. This takes real skill and a good eye, because mixing plant dyes is more art than science.
In Shinshu, there aren’t big dyeing factories. Everything is done by hand in small workshops. The people who dye the silk often use methods passed down in their families. This gives each weaver the chance to create original colors and patterns, which makes the finished fabric even more personal.
Weaving by Foot and Hand
The last step is weaving. Shinshu tsumugi is woven on a tall, foot-operated loom. The weaver presses a wooden pedal to open the warp threads, throws the shuttle through by hand, catches it on the other side, then presses the pedal again to close the warp and press the new thread down. This step-by-step rhythm becomes second nature for each weaver. The process takes time, but it makes the fabric tight, smooth, and strong.
This type of weaving creates silk that’s perfect for kimono. It fits well, holds its shape, and feels soft against the skin. Each roll of cloth shows the hands behind it, from the person who boiled the cocoon to the one who wove the last thread. That's what gives Shinshu tsumugi its value. It’s not just fabric. It’s tradition, craft, and careful work in every inch.
24. Shuri brocade
Shuri brocade, known as Shuri ori in Japanese, is a traditional textile made on Okinawa’s main island. It's one of the oldest and most refined fabrics in the region. There are two types: kasuri orimono and mon orimono. These include several styles like hanaui, hanakura ori, doton ori, kasuri, and minsa. Each one has its own distinct look and weaving method.
A History of Trade and Weaving
Back in the 14th and 15th centuries, when the Ryukyu Kingdom ruled Okinawa, trade with China and Southeast Asia was booming. Along with goods, these trade routes brought new weaving techniques. Okinawan weavers mixed those outside ideas with their own knowledge and created something unique. Over time, they developed fabrics that worked well in Okinawa’s hot and humid climate.
Materials and Dyes in Shuri Brocade
Artisans weave Shuri brocade with silk, cotton, hemp, and banana fiber. The threads are dyed using plants like Ryukyu indigo (ai), fukugi tree, shibuki, tekachi, and guru. These plant-based dyes give the fabric a deep, rich color. The natural materials also keep the cloth breathable, which fits Okinawa’s weather.
Weaving for Royalty in Shuri
In the old capital of Shuri, weaving became a serious craft. Back then, the fabric wasn’t for everyone. It was woven just for the royal family and the upper class. Styles like hanakura ori and doton ori were only made in Shuri. Hanakura ori is known for solid colors like yellow, blue, and dark blue, with gentle fades that form part of the design. Doton ori is more colorful but usually set against a dark indigo background. It was mostly worn by men during the Ryukyu dynasty. These days, people use it for kimono belts and handmade accessories.
Design, Pattern, and Symbolism
Many Shuri brocade patterns show Okinawa’s nature. You’ll see shapes that hint at local plants, animals, and landscapes. These designs come from the Ryukyu kasuri technique, which uses tied threads to resist dye and create soft-edged patterns. Ryukyu kasuri is one of the oldest versions in Japan and helped shape other kasuri traditions across the country.
Handcrafted With Care
One thing that sets Shuri brocade apart is how it’s made. Every part of the process happens by hand, start to finish, with no division of labor. That means one artisan handles the whole thing. This limits how much can be made at a time, but it also makes each piece special. Because the work is done so carefully, the fabric stays true to its roots.
A Craft That Survived War
During World War II, many parts of Okinawa’s culture were destroyed. Shuri brocade was almost lost, but the knowledge survived. Families who remembered the craft passed it on. Now, the tradition continues. Even today, artisans in Okinawa keep weaving these rare fabrics, preserving the same care, detail, and history that has always defined Shuri brocade.
How Shuri Brocade Is Made
The process of making Shuri brocade is long and detailed. Every step is done by hand, using traditional methods passed down for generations. This isn’t factory-made fabric. It’s carefully crafted from start to finish by skilled artisans in Okinawa.
Designing the Pattern
Shuri brocade includes styles like hanakura ori, hanaui, doton ori, and minsa. All of these fall under the larger category of Okinawan woven textiles. The technique used for kasuri, where patterns are made by tying and dyeing the threads, started here and later spread to other parts of Japan. Shuri kasuri is believed to be the origin of Japanese kasuri because of its unique hand-wound method.
Every design starts with a pattern. These patterns come from an old design book created by an artist who worked for the royal family in Shuri. The designs are traditional, but often updated to fit a modern style. Once a pattern is chosen, the next step begins.
Thread Winding
The threads need to be cleaned and prepared before dyeing. First, any impurities are removed. Then the threads are boiled in hot water to make the warps stronger. After that, they’re sized and starched. This keeps the threads from breaking and makes them easier to work with during weaving.
Warping the Threads
Warping means measuring and setting up the right number and length of threads needed to weave one bolt of cloth. This is done very precisely, based on the design chosen earlier.
Tying the Warp
Next comes kasuri kukuri, or warp tying. This is where the pattern really starts to form. The warp threads are stretched out on a large frame, and parts of them are tied off by hand so they don’t absorb dye. This resist-dye method is what gives the fabric its soft, blurry-edged pattern. The threads are tied according to the design, and a special loom is used to help handle the complicated setup. The length and number of weft threads (the ones that go side to side) also depend on the design. All of this takes time and focus.
Dyeing With Okinawan Plants
Now it’s time to dye the tied threads. The dyes are made from local plants like Ryukyu indigo, Yeddo hawthorn, and bark from the fukugi tree. Ryukyu indigo originally came from Southeast Asia and has long been used in Okinawa. People believed it repelled insects, so it was often used for clothing and daily items.
Making the indigo dye isn’t quick. In summer, it takes about a week. In winter, it can take two. The process turns indigo leaves into a dyeable liquid. When the flowers turn red, the liquid is ready. The tied threads are dipped into the dye vat, gently rubbed to let the dye soak in, then wrung out and exposed to air. After that, they’re laid out to dry in the sun. This process is repeated several times to get the right color. For the gold tones seen in Shuri brocade, artisans use dye from fukugi bark.
Getting Ready To Weave
Once the threads are dyed and dry, they’re untied and placed back on the loom. They have to be aligned perfectly to match the design. Threads are added in a specific order: kasuri threads, stripe threads, and background threads. Then comes temporary reeding, winding, heddle drawing, and final reeding. The weft threads are wrapped around a small tube that fits into the shuttle.
Weaving the Fabric
The weaving is done by hand on a traditional wood loom called a takahata. This is slow work. Even the most experienced weavers can only complete about 30 square centimeters in a day. The shuttle carries the weft threads back and forth while the artisan carefully weaves according to the pattern. It’s detailed, repetitive work, but it’s what gives Shuri brocade its rich texture and precise design.
Once the weaving is finished, the fabric is washed, stretched, and left to dry. Only then is the brocade considered complete.
That’s how Shuri brocade is made; step by step, with steady hands and years of knowledge behind every thread.
25. Tama brocade
Tama brocade, or Tama ori, is a silk fabric woven in Hachioji, a city in western Tokyo. It’s been around for a long time and was once simply called Hachioji woven fabric. Today, Tama ori refers to five types of silk textiles that are officially recognized as traditional Japanese crafts. Each type has its own look and texture, but all fall under the same tradition.
The Five Types of Tama Ori Fabric
The five types of Tama ori include Tama yuuki, known for fine wrinkles called shibo that give it a soft, textured feel. Then there's futsu-ori, which is double-woven and has reversible patterns on both sides. Tsumugi-ori has a bumpy surface with a rough texture that's still smooth to the touch. Mojiri-ori looks delicate, almost like lace. Kawaritsuzure-ori uses colorful weft threads to create patterns that stand out in bold contrast. These fabrics are usually made from raw silk, floss silk, or dupioni silk. The result is a light, wrinkle-resistant textile.
How Tama Ori Is Made
Each piece of Tama brocade goes through several stages, and each step is handled by a different specialist. This keeps the quality high and the craftsmanship consistent. Even now, some fabrics are still handwoven, especially when the silk threads are uneven or textured. Machines are used more often these days, but the older hand techniques haven’t been forgotten. While Tama ori was once used mainly for kimonos, it’s now also made into ties, scarves, and other modern accessories.
History of Tama Ori Silk Weaving
Records show that silk weaving in the area goes back to the end of the Heian period, almost a thousand years ago. By the late Muromachi period, the Hojo clan gave financial support to silk production along the Tama River. That gave the local textile industry a solid base to grow.
During the Edo period, a market was held on the fourth and eighth days of every month where silk and cloth from Hachioji were sold. The area became known for its weaving, and that’s how the name “Hachioji woven fabric” stuck. As the local industry grew, it split into three parts: farming silkworms, reeling silk, and weaving cloth. Brokers began managing these links in the supply chain and helped speed up production and trade.
In 1887, the government opened the Hachioji Textile Dyeing Training Institute to teach better techniques. It later became the Tokyo Textile Dyeing School, now known as Hachioji Technical High School. This helped train a new generation of craftsmen and gave the industry a boost.
Modern Uses and Recognition
As Japan modernized, weaving went from hand looms to machines. Local sales at markets turned into direct business with shops. When Western clothing became popular, the area began making neckties. The first ones were produced near the end of the Taisho period. During the early Showa era, the production process became even more specialized. Tama yuuki, the oldest style of Tama ori, was adapted for everyday use and made in larger amounts.
In 1980, Tama ori was officially named a traditional Japanese craft by the Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry. That recognition helped preserve the tradition while letting it grow in new directions. Even now, Tama brocade stays true to its roots, blending silk weaving history with designs made for today.
How Tama Brocade Is Made
Degumming the Silk
The first step in making Tama brocade is removing the outer protein layer from raw silk. This layer, called sericin, makes the silk stiff and dull. To get rid of it, raw silk is placed in a cloth bag and boiled in lye made from wood ash or straw. This leaves only the inner protein, called fibroin, which gives the silk its soft feel and natural shine. After boiling, the silk is washed with water and left to dry. Besides this treated silk, the weavers also use thread made from dupioni silk, which comes from double cocoons, and floss silk, made by pulling apart damaged cocoons.
Planning the Design
Once the silk threads are ready, the next step is creating the design. A layout is drawn on a design sheet showing how the warp (the long, vertical threads) and the weft (the crosswise threads) will form the pattern. The color plan is included, too. Today, many designers use computers to handle this step.
Dyeing the Threads
Tama brocade is made with silk threads that are dyed before weaving. The threads are hung on rods, soaked in dye, and gently heated in a large pot. The dye never reaches a full boil. The silk is watched closely the entire time to make sure the color sets evenly. This soaking is done multiple times. Afterward, the threads are rinsed, wrung out, and left to dry.
Once dry, the threads are starched. This helps them stay strong and smooth during weaving. A special rice starch is used, made from non-glutinous rice aged for three years. The rice is soaked and rinsed daily during that time. This starch is rubbed into the silk along with camellia oil to keep the threads from fraying and bracken starch to prevent oil stains. The threads are stretched tightly on rods so the starch soaks in fully. This step is especially important for a type of brocade called omeshi-ori, where the weft is twisted. That type of thread needs a lot of starching to hold up.
Reeling and Spinning the Yarn
For omeshi-ori, the yarn goes onto a skein reel, pulled and wound into shape. There are two kinds of twist: right-hand and left-hand. Both are used and labeled separately. The twisted threads are spun using a traditional silk winding machine. While spinning, the level of humidity is kept stable. Each thread is twisted about 3,000 times per meter.
Then comes warping. This is the process of setting up the warp threads for the loom. The number of threads, their length, and width are decided first. Then the warp is wound onto a large drum. Any loose threads can cause problems later, so it’s done carefully and slowly. Once done, the warp is rolled onto a rod using a tool that keeps it from moving out of place.
Weaving the Fabric
Next, weaving begins. The warp threads go through the heddles of a loom. When the heddles lift, they create a space for the weft thread to pass through. The threads are woven back and forth, left and right, one row at a time. A large reed comb is used to pack the threads tightly. Tama brocade has a dense weave, with at least 100 warp threads packed into every centimeter.
Finishing the Brocade
After weaving, the fabric is washed again to remove any starch or leftover dye. It’s soaked in hot water, dried, then steamed. Any shrinkage is smoothed out by hand. The fabric is then checked closely. If there are any scratches, loose threads, or design flaws, they are fixed. Once that’s done, the Tama brocade is finished. It’s ready to be used in garments, accessories, or fabric for traditional and modern wear.
26. Yomitanzan-hanaori textiles
Yomitanzan hanaori is a traditional woven textile made in Yomitan, a village in Okinawa. The name comes from “hana,” meaning flower, and “ori,” meaning weave. This cloth stands out for its flowerlike patterns and deep, rich colors. Each piece is made by first dyeing the threads, then weaving them into fabric using fixed designs that carry symbolic meaning.
Hand-Dyed Threads and Plant-Based Colors
The threads used in Yomitanzan hanaori are dyed before weaving. Artisans use silk or cotton, and they rely on natural dyes. Indigo gives a dark blue base, while plants like fukugi and sappanwood add red, yellow, or white to form the flower shapes. Ryukyu indigo is the most common dye used for the background, which is almost always a dark navy. The flower patterns stand out in bright contrast, giving the fabric a bold, detailed look.
Patterns That Tell a Story
These flower patterns aren’t random. They follow set shapes and sizes, and each one has a meaning. Jinbana, or rhododendron, looks like a coin and is tied to wealth and success. Ojibana is shaped like a fan and symbolizes a wish for strong family lines. Kajimayabana is a pinwheel-style design used to mark a person’s ninety-seventh birthday in Okinawa, wishing them long life.
Artisans often mix these flower shapes with stripes or checkerboard patterns. This gives the cloth a layered look that can seem almost three-dimensional. It’s not just pretty to look at. These designs show skill and care, which is why the fabric was once seen as high-status.
Only Royalty Could Wear It
Yomitanzan hanaori was more than decorative. It was restricted. During the Ryukyu Kingdom era, only the royal family, nobility, and people living in Yomitan were allowed to wear it. That’s because making the fabric took a lot of time and effort. The cloth was rare, delicate, and expensive. Everyone else was banned from owning it.
No one knows the exact year this textile was first made. But most agree it began sometime in the 1400s. The Ryukyu Kingdom was trading with China and Southeast Asia then. Foreign ideas and tools came in through those trade routes, and many believe this fabric design came from South Asia.
As the weaving grew more detailed, the cloth became even more exclusive. It was chosen as an official textile of the Ryukyu Kingdom, which helped advance the weaving techniques even further.
How the Craft Almost Disappeared
When the Meiji government took over in the late 1800s, the royal system ended. Japan replaced the feudal domains with prefectures, and Okinawa became one of them. With that change, the special support that kept crafts like Yomitanzan hanaori alive started to fade. Without royal funding, production stopped. For decades, the knowledge and skill behind the cloth were nearly lost.
That changed in 1964. After almost ninety years of silence, local artisans and culture supporters worked to bring the craft back. Thanks to their effort, Yomitanzan hanaori weaving started again. Today, it survives as a cultural tradition, and the technique lives on in Yomitan where it began.
How Yomitanzan Hanaori Is Made
Making Yomitanzan hanaori is slow, detailed work. It takes time, skill, and patience. Every step matters. If even one thread is off, the whole pattern can fall apart. Here’s how the process works from start to finish.
Designing the Patterns
The first step is drawing the design on graph paper. Artisans use colored pencils to map out each part. The main shapes are ojibana, which looks like a fan, kajimayabana, which is a pinwheel shape, and jinbana, shaped like a rhododendron flower. These are the base forms, but they’re often mixed with stripes and checks to build up more complex designs. There are around thirty different patterns made from different combinations of these three.
Tying the Warp Threads
Before any dyeing begins, the silk threads are tied in certain places using cotton thread. This keeps parts of the silk from absorbing dye. Cotton shrinks when wet, which blocks the color from seeping into the tied spots. This is how the kasuri pattern is made. The tied threads are then dyed using plant-based colors like Ryukyu indigo, fukugi, China root, and autumn olive. Indigo gives a deep blue, and fukugi gives a bright yellow.
Winding the Threads
After the dyeing is done, the threads are wound onto a reel to prepare them for weaving.
Preparing the Warp
To make enough fabric for one kimono roll, the exact number of threads must be lined up. Each centimeter of cloth needs twenty-eight threads. That means every line has to be perfect. If this step is rushed or off by a bit, the pattern won’t match up right when it’s woven.
Threading the Reed
Next, the dyed threads are pulled through the thin grooves of the reed, one by one. This sets up the colored and background threads based on the design. The reed only holds the threads temporarily. It’s removed before weaving starts.
Setting the Warp on the Loom
The threads are then stretched across the loom and wound tightly. The tension has to be just right. It can’t be too loose or too tight. Both the base threads and the colored ones are pulled evenly. If the tension is off, the cloth won’t turn out right. This step decides how good the final fabric will be.
Threading the Heddle
After the reed is taken off, the warp threads go into the heddle. This is the part of the loom that moves threads up and down to let the weft thread pass through. The threading changes depending on how the pattern is being woven.
Adjusting the Flower Heddle
Then comes the flower heddle. This part helps change the threads to match the flower designs. Each thread is put through by hand. It takes focus to get everything aligned just right.
Untying the Kasuri Threads
The cotton ties that created the kasuri pattern are removed. The threads are then wound onto spindles and placed into the shuttle. The shuttle is what carries the weft thread through the loom.
Weaving the Fabric
Now the weaving begins. The weaver uses a foot pedal to control the loom and guide the shuttle through. The flower heddle moves up and down as the pattern takes shape. Each section of the design has to line up perfectly with the dyed threads. This part is slow and exact. It can take up to two months to finish one full roll of Yomitanzan hanaori fabric.
27. Isesaki traditional resist-dyed textiles
Isesaki Kasuri is a traditional woven fabric made in Isesaki, a city in Gunma Prefecture, Japan. It started out as a textile mainly used for kimono, but it’s now also used for neckties and shop curtains, known locally as noren. People have admired it for centuries because of its strong texture and soft feel. What makes Isesaki Kasuri unique is how the patterns get better the more you use it. Over time, the fabric takes on a richer shine and deeper color, which adds to its appeal.
This fabric is made using several hands-on dyeing methods, including kukuri kasuri, itajime kasuri, and katagami oshizomekako kasuri. These are all detailed, traditional resist-dyeing techniques that require time and skill. Most of the work is still done manually, preserving the handmade quality that sets it apart from modern mass-produced textiles.
Isesaki has been involved in silk farming for a long time. The area has good soil that drains well, and the climate supports mulberry trees, which are key to feeding silkworms. That’s one reason silk production has done well here for so long. In fact, archaeologists found a piece of woven cloth in a burial mound in Fuchina that dates back to the 6th century. That discovery proves the history of weaving in this region goes back more than 1200 years.
The area’s ties to textiles run deep. Ancient texts like the Nihon Shoki, written in 720 CE, mention a fabric called Ashiginu being offered to the Imperial Court. Even the local shrines reflect this cultural connection. Shidori Shrine is dedicated to the god of weaving, and Akagi Shrine honors the ancestors who worked as weavers. These sites show how deeply respected and important the textile craft has always been in Isesaki.
By the early 1700s, silk markets were thriving in cities across Japan. It was around this time that Isesaki’s woven fabrics started selling widely. Two popular designs from that period were Isesaki shima and Isesaki futori. As demand for cloth grew, more local farmers began weaving. Production expanded quickly, especially after motohataya, or finishing-focused weaving shops, were introduced.
A turning point came in 1847 when a new weaving method was developed. It later became known as the foundation of Isesaki okasuri. This technique helped make the fabric even more detailed and beautiful. As the production process kept evolving, the quality of the fabric kept improving.
In the late Meiji era, between 1868 and 1912, new machines changed the game. Mechanization brought about a golden age for Isesaki Kasuri. After World War II, the area slowly rebuilt and brought the weaving tradition back to life. In 1975, Isesaki Kasuri was officially recognized as a traditional craft.
To this day, the fabric is still honored. Every March, Isesaki holds an event called Isesaki Meisen Day to celebrate the art and culture behind this time-honored textile. It’s a way for the community to keep the tradition alive and pass it on to future generations.
Isesaki Kasuri Fabric: Step-by-Step Production Process
Designing the Pattern
It all begins with a design. The pattern is sketched on special plotting paper, kind of like a blueprint. This design decides how many threads will be used and what size the fabric will be once finished. At this stage, the number of pieces to make and the exact steps to follow are set. Every craftsman has their own go-to designs, often shaped by years of practice and personal style.
Preparing the Silk Threads
Raw silk threads are cleaned by boiling them in a solution to strip away any impurities. This brings out the natural shine and smoothness of the silk. After boiling, the threads are starched. Once this step is done, the silk is ready for the next phase.
Reeling and Warping
The starched silk threads are then wound onto a wooden frame to match the design plan. The thread tension is checked to make sure it's even throughout. When that’s done, the threads are rolled into balls.
Marking the Threads for Dyeing
This stage, known as sumitsuke, sets up the threads for dyeing. Using the same plotting paper with the design on it, markings are made directly on the silk. A wooden frame, the same width as the finished fabric, helps guide the placement of these marks.
Dyeing the Design Sections
The process called surikomi nassen involves rubbing dye deep into the silk between two flat bamboo spatulas. The dye is applied exactly where the design markings were placed. This step takes a skilled hand to get the color precise and even.
Tying the Threads
Once the dyed sections dry, the rest of the threads are prepped for base color dyeing. Special tape is wrapped around the dyed parts so those areas don’t mix with the next dye layer. This tying process was often done by the whole family in traditional weaving households. The first six steps are done by kukuri kasuri artisans. From this point forward, kasuri zome artisans take over.
Dip Dyeing the Base Color
Now the threads are dip-dyed in hot water to lock in the pattern colors. Then they’re dipped again into a boiling dye bath to apply the base color. The dye is gently stirred for about an hour, keeping the temperature steady. This helps the color spread evenly. After dyeing, the threads are rinsed to wash out extra dye, then dehydrated and starched again.
Drying and Pattern Alignment
The protective tape is removed, and the threads are laid out to dry under the sun. As they dry, the weavers carefully realign the patterns to match the original design.
Adjusting the Width
The fabric width is set to match the original blueprint. The threads are laid onto a frame and spaced using a special tool to keep everything even.
Threading the Loom
The threads are placed onto the loom, drawn through specific slots so they’ll line up correctly when woven.
Weaving the Fabric
Here, the real fabric takes shape. The silk threads are woven into cloth. The weaver has to be highly skilled to keep the pattern sharp and the weave tight. A steady hand and good eye are crucial at this stage.
Final Touches
Since the threads were starched earlier, the finished fabric still holds some stiffness. That starch is now washed out. The fabric is then steamed and straightened, giving it its final shape and softness.
Quality Check
Last, the fabric goes through a full inspection. It’s checked against the original specs for length, width, and pattern accuracy. Each step is handled by different specialists, from dyeing to weaving to final adjustments. Isesaki Kasuri is a group effort, shaped by hands that know the craft inside and out.
28. Honba Kihachijo
Honba Kihachijo is a rare silk fabric made on Hachijojima Island, part of Tokyo. The name comes from the island’s historic fabric, known for its striped and checked patterns. These designs are usually dyed in three deep, natural colors. Bright yellow versions are called kihachi. Patterns in solid black are known as kurohachijo, and the reddish-yellow or birch-colored ones go by tobihachijo.
The fabric’s standout feature is the color palette. Everything is dyed by hand in just three shades: yellow, black, and reddish yellow. Skilled artisans handle the whole process. They use three traditional plant-based dyeing methods called fushizuke, akutsuke, and dorotsuke. These techniques only use local plants found on Hachijojima, since other dye sources weren’t available in the island’s tough climate.
Yellow dye comes from a wild grass called jointhead arthraxon. The dark reddish tint is pulled from the bark of the Japanese bay tree, which the islanders call madami. The black dye is taken from the bark of the Japanese chinquapin. These three plants are the heart of Honba Kihachijo's unique look.
To keep the colors bright and prevent fading, artisans treat the silk with natural mordants. These are made from either mud or the lye from camellia and Japanese cleyera leaves. After dyeing, the threads are handwoven using a loom called a takahata. The result is a smooth fabric with a subtle shine, usually with solid or plaid patterns that reflect the island’s own traditions.
The history of silk weaving on Hachijojima goes back to the late Heian period. By the time of the Muromachi era, people had started using this fabric to pay taxes instead of crops. That was the start of what became Honba Kihachijo. This fabric remained an important tribute item all the way through the Edo period, and continued until 1909 when Japan switched from tax-in-kind to a cash-based system.
In its early years, Hachijojima silk was worn only by the elite, like feudal lords and high-ranking nobles inside palace walls. Over time, it caught on with everyday people too. The bright yellow color was seen as protection against evil and bad luck. That belief made plain yellow cloth especially popular among doctors. Because of this demand, the yellow versions became rare and expensive.
At first, the cloth came in just yellow or white. That basic style was called Hachijo silk. Later, the use of reddish and black dyes allowed new striped and checked designs to emerge. These updated styles became known as Hachijo stripes.
In 1977, Honba Kihachijo was officially named a traditional Japanese craft. It’s still made by hand, mostly by women on the island, and it continues to support the local economy. This fabric stands as a living part of Hachijojima’s culture, history, and pride.
Honba Kihachijo Silk: Traditional Dyeing and Weaving from Start to Finish
The process of making Honba Kihachijo silk is long, careful, and completely handmade. Every step matters. Each one plays a role in bringing out the fabric’s smooth feel, deep color, and lasting quality.
Refining the Raw Silk
It begins with raw silk. Bags of it are simmered on low heat in water mixed with sodium carbonate. This boiling goes on for about three hours. After that, the silk is rinsed. This step removes the glue-like coating from the threads. What’s left behind is clean, soft silk with a natural shine.
Natural Plant-Based Dyeing
Next comes the dyeing. Honba Kihachijo only uses three natural colors. Yellow comes from jointhead arthraxon, birch color from the bark of the Japanese bay tree, and black from the dried bark of the Japanese chinquapin. While the main colors are the same, each workshop has its own twist on how the dye is made and used.
Yellow Dyeing: Fushizuke Technique
To get the yellow color, a process called fushizuke is used. First, jointhead arthraxon is boiled for a few hours. The boiled plant water, known as fushi, becomes the dye. Silk threads are placed loosely in a tub and hot fushi is poured over them. The threads are arranged in staggered lines and dyed layer by layer with a ladle. Then they’re left to soak overnight.
The next morning, the threads are wrung out and hung outside to dry. To untangle them, they’re beaten several times and then dried again under the sun. Even drying is what helps the dye set right. This isn’t a one-time job. The whole fushizuke and drying process is repeated twenty times. Over time, the color deepens into a dark, smoky yellow.
Akutsuke for Yellow
After dyeing, a process called akutsuke is done. This is when lye made from ash water is used to set the color. For yellow dyeing, they use ash from camellia or Japanese cleyera leaves. Water mixed with the ash sits for a week. Once the ash settles, the clear lye is poured over the silk. It’s rubbed in, left to sit, then wrung and dried again. This locks in the brightness of the yellow.
Birch Color Dyeing
To dye threads in a birch tone, bark from the Japanese bay tree is boiled inside a bamboo bag. The dye is then used for fushizuke, but the steps here are slightly different. Threads are shaken in the dye using two sticks. Afterward, they’re gently squeezed, hung overnight, and dried the next day. This shaking step is called fushiaki and is only done for birch color.
Fushizuke for birch is repeated fifteen times. But here, after each round, the threads are pressed between boards and covered with cloth overnight. This keeps the color even. If exposed to air, the dye may become patchy.
Akutsuke for Birch
The lye used for birch dyeing is made the same way as for yellow. It uses the ash from small local trees and follows the same soaking and drying steps.
Black Dyeing Process
For black, fushizuke and drying are done twenty times. After the fifteenth round, the threads are dyed in iron-rich mud, a process called dorozuke. Then more rounds of fushizuke follow, along with a second dip in mud. These steps repeat until the silk turns the deep black color they’re after.
Dorozuke: Using Local Mud
Dorozuke is done in natural marsh mud found on Hachijojima Island. This mud is full of iron. It’s drained and put into tubs. The silk threads are soaked in it, one skein at a time, for three hours. After soaking, they’re washed clean in a river, then wrung and left to dry completely.
Weaving the Final Fabric
Once dyed, the threads are reeled and wound onto spools. After choosing the design, the threads are starched and arranged for weaving. The warp threads are lined up and set into a takahata loom. Weaving is done by hand with a shuttle, creating the fabric’s signature plaid patterns.
Honba Kihachijo uses two old weaving styles passed down since the Edo period: hita ori and aya ori. Both are still used today to keep the craft true to its roots. The whole process reflects the patience and skill it takes to turn raw silk into one of Japan’s most treasured traditional textiles.
29. Nibutani bark cloth
Nibutani Bark Cloth, or Nibutani-attushi, is a traditional bark fiber textile made near Biratori in Hokkaido, Japan. The word Nibutani comes from the Ainu language. It means “land thick with trees.” The Ainu are the Indigenous people of northern Japan, and they’ve kept their handmade crafts alive for generations.
This bark cloth stands out for a few reasons. It’s breathable, water-resistant, strong, and has a textured surface that feels raw but refined. The fibers come from the inner bark of wild Manchurian elm trees that grow near the Saru River. To spin and weave these fibers, the Ainu use a special tool called the attushi karape. It works like this: one end gets tied to something solid like a table leg or post. The other end wraps around the weaver’s waist. As the weaver leans back, they pull the threads tight with their body. This method hasn’t changed much in over a hundred years.
People used this cloth to make everyday clothes like kimono, short jackets called hanten, aprons, belts, and smaller accessories. Originally, families made it for their own use because of how tough and practical it was. Over time, Japanese traders saw the value in it. They began buying and selling it, which helped spread the fabric outside the local community. Eventually, Nibutani Bark Cloth earned recognition as a formal traditional craft.
The Ainu’s Bark Fiber Tradition
Ainu women have been making clothing from bark fibers for centuries. They did everything by hand: collecting bark, spinning it into thread, and weaving it into strong fabric. Since the Ainu didn’t have a written language, what we know about their cloth-making history comes from Japanese records.
By the late 1700s, trade between the Ainu and Japanese had picked up. Demand for Nibutani bark cloth grew. One document from 1958 mentions a trade record from 1792. It says that three rolls of attushi and two smaller ones were traded for a bag of rice, about 14.4 liters. That shows how valuable the cloth was. The Ainu who lived inland didn’t have fish or seafood to trade, so they leaned into crafts like bark cloth to take part in trade.
From Handcrafted Clothing to Local Industry
After World War II, in the late 1940s, demand for Ainu crafts started climbing again. By the 1950s, there was a folk craft boom across Japan. That helped turn Nibutani Bark Cloth into more than just a family tradition. It became a community business. Men helped gather bark. Women spun and wove the threads. Tasks were split up, and they built a system that let them produce cloth on a larger scale.
The cloth wasn’t the only thing getting noticed. Alongside it, Nibutani Carved Trays also gained attention. In March 2013, both the bark cloth and the trays were officially listed as traditional crafts by Japan’s Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry. That was a first for Hokkaido.
Why Nibutani Bark Cloth Still Matters
Today, Nibutani Bark Cloth is more than a fabric. It’s a piece of Ainu identity. It’s also a symbol of how handmade crafts, even from small communities, can survive and grow. Every thread tells a story of survival, skill, and heritage. The way it's made hasn't changed, and that's part of what keeps it real.
This cloth is still made in Nibutani. It still starts with raw bark and ends as something strong, useful, and beautiful. It still connects people to the land, the trees, and the culture that shaped it.
How Nibutani Bark Cloth Is Made
Collecting the Bark
The process starts in early summer. That’s when Manchurian elm and Japanese lime trees hold more moisture, which makes the bark easier to peel. These trees grow in Hokkaido, and June is the best time to collect. Trees with fewer joints and branches between 15 to 20 centimeters wide are ideal. The bark is cut about 30 to 40 centimeters above the base using a hatchet. But only the surface gets cut. Damaging the wood underneath would ruin it. The bark is lifted using both hands, aiming to pull off strips about 7 to 8 centimeters wide. The goal is to get long strips. The longer they are, the better the threads.
Removing the Outer Layer
The rough outer bark is peeled off in the mountains. The soft inner layer gets taken home fast, so it doesn’t dry out. To peel it, the bark is bent until it cracks. From that crack, the rough layer is pulled off by hand. If needed, a hatchet helps get things started. The clean inner layer is folded up and bundled together using strips of itself.
Drying and Softening
Once home, the inner bark is stretched out and left to dry for two or three days. If dried like this, it can be stored for years. When it’s time to use it, the dried bark is bundled and boiled with wood ash. Boiling helps soften the bark and makes it easier to separate the thin layers. The bark goes into boiling water. Just before it boils again, wood ash is added. Then the pot is covered and left to simmer for hours. It’s stirred well so the alkaline ash can soak through evenly.
Washing and Separating
After boiling, the bark turns a reddish brown. It’s then washed in running water. Any leftover slime needs to be removed because it makes the fibers weak. Once the layers begin to separate, they’re pulled apart and kneaded. This part is done carefully so the fibers don’t tear or end up too thin or uneven.
Sun Drying the Fibers
The fiber strips are hung outside for about two weeks. They dry in the sun, stretched over a frame or pole. The sunlight fades the red color, and rain helps even it out.
Shredding the Bark Fiber
Once dried, the bark gets soaked again to make it soft. The goal now is to peel each piece down into a single thin layer. Each layer is sliced into strips about 2 millimeters wide. After that, it’s dried again to prepare for spinning.
Spinning Thread by Hand
When the thin strips are ready, they’re spun into thread. Each fiber gets lightly twisted and connected into one continuous thread. This step takes time. Making a single ball of thread can take nearly a month.
Preparing the Loom
Before weaving, the warp threads have to be set. They need to be longer than the cloth itself. This is done outside on calm days, so the threads don’t get tangled. A stake is hammered into the ground to anchor one end of the loom. Another stake is set on the opposite side. One person walks between the two stakes feeding out thread, while the other attaches it to the loom. When it’s all set, the threads are grouped together in sections of 70 to 90 centimeters. Once grouped, the stakes are pulled out.
Weaving the Fabric
The weaving is done using an old-style backstrap loom called an attushi karape. One end of the warp threads is tied to something solid like a pillar. The other end connects to the loom and then wraps around the weaver’s waist. The weaver sits down, pulls back with their waist, and starts weaving. The cloth builds up on the floor and gets rolled as they go, moving forward as more thread is woven in.
That’s how Nibutani bark cloth is made. Every step is done by hand. Every thread comes from the forest. And the final cloth carries all of that work, skill, and care.
30. Uetsu tilia bark cloth
Uetsu Shinafu is a natural bark fiber textile made in parts of Yamagata and Niigata prefectures, near the Japan Sea in the Tohoku region. The name Uetsu comes from combining "Uzen" (an old name for Yamagata) and "Echigo" (an old name for Niigata). This fabric is one of the oldest known bark cloths in Japan, and it’s made from the inner bark of native linden trees: Tilia maximowicziana and Tilia noziricola. These trees have grown wild in this area for ages.
The threads are pulled from the bast, or inner bark, of these trees. Locals have used them to weave Shinafu, a fabric known for its raw texture, water resistance, and toughness. In the past, people made practical things with it - bags for vegetables, grain sacks, filters, and work clothes. Now it’s used in more modern ways. You’ll find it in bags, wallets, fashion accessories, and home decor like wall hangings.
Making this bark cloth is slow work. The whole process follows the seasons. Trees get cut during the rainy season. From summer into autumn, the bark gets stripped and the bast is gathered. During winter, that bast is turned into thread. Weaving continues until spring. In total, the process takes more than twenty steps. Nothing moves fast. Every part is done by hand, and it’s all shaped by the climate and the land.
Because the fiber is tough, the woven cloth holds up well over time. It doesn’t soak up water easily, and it has a natural stiffness to it. These qualities make it ideal for both practical and decorative use.
History of Shinafu Bark Fabric
No one knows exactly when people first started weaving this type of cloth. But it likely goes back thousands of years. Techniques for using tree fiber in textiles are believed to date back to the Jomon period, which lasted from about 14,000 BCE to 300 BCE. That makes this one of Japan’s oldest known types of cloth. Uetsu Shinafu is grouped with Bashofu from Okinawa and Kuzufu from Shizuoka as one of the three oldest woven textiles in Japan.
The word Shinafu itself shows up in documents from the Heian period, between 794 and 1185 CE. That tells us the cloth already existed back then, even if its spelling and characters have changed over time.
Long ago, bark fiber textiles like Shinafu were made in many parts of Japan. But after World War II, people switched to cotton, silk, and synthetic fabrics. The old methods almost vanished. Still, in the second half of the Showa period, people started taking another look at bark fiber crafts. Shinafu, with its strong texture and lasting quality, started gaining attention again.
Modern Revival of Uetsu Shinafu
In 1985, the Shina Ori Center was set up in Sekikawa, part of Tsuruoka City. That marked the beginning of a larger effort to bring back Shinafu production in the area. Since then, the region has worked together to keep the tradition going. Local artisans, workshops, and communities all play a part in keeping this bark cloth alive.
Today, Uetsu Shinafu is more than an old textile. It connects people to the land and trees of northern Japan. It shows that even the roughest materials can be shaped into something useful, beautiful, and lasting. This fabric carries the memory of how people lived before mass production. And it still holds up, even now.
How Uetsu Shinafu Is Made
The process of making Uetsu Shinafu takes close to a full year. It follows the natural cycle of the seasons, and every part of it is done by hand. The material comes from linden trees, and the work starts in early summer and ends the following spring. There are more than twenty detailed steps from tree to finished fabric.
Harvesting the Bark
Linden trees are cut during the rainy season, usually from mid-June through early July. The branches are trimmed off, then the bark is peeled away from the trunk. Inside that outer bark is the bast fiber. That’s what gets turned into thread.
Drying and Storage
Once the bast is stripped from the bark, it’s laid out in the sun to dry for about a week in mid-July. After it dries completely, it’s stored in a dry space, often in a loft, until it’s ready for boiling.
Soaking and Winding
Before the bast can be boiled, it needs to soften. So it’s soaked for two days in a pond or river. After soaking, the fibers are taken out, shaped into a cross, and tied together. This helps keep them in place during boiling.
Boiling the Fiber
The bast is boiled in a huge pot over a clay stove using water mixed with wood ash. The boiling lasts anywhere from ten to twelve hours. This step helps break down the tougher layers in the fiber.
Peeling and Washing
Once boiled, the bast is lightly rinsed in water. Then it’s worked by hand to loosen the layers. The fiber is carefully peeled apart one layer at a time.
Scrubbing in the River
By late August, the peeled fibers are taken back to the river. There, they’re scrubbed downstream using smooth stones or bamboo sticks. This removes any leftover bark or waste. After scrubbing, only the clean fibers remain.
Soaking with Rice Bran
In September, the cleaned fiber gets soaked again, this time in a tub filled with water and rice bran. It stays there for two full days and nights. Once that’s done, the rice bran is washed away in the river.
Drying and Shredding
The washed fiber is hung outside to dry in front of the house. When the fiber is dry, it’s slightly moistened again and shredded by hand into thin strands. These strands are bundled and dried once more. This usually happens around the time snow starts falling.
Joining the Threads
Next comes a detailed step that takes real skill. The shredded fibers are joined together into long threads. A small hole is made at the end of one piece, and another is pushed through and twisted into place. This makes one continuous strand.
Preparing the Thread for Weaving
The long threads are first rolled into balls. Then, to make them stronger, they’re twisted tightly using a spinning wheel. After that, they’re reeled onto a wooden wheel mounted on a stand called an uttate. This step usually takes place around mid-December.
Setting Up the Loom
Once the threads are ready, they’re sorted into warp and weft. Warp threads are placed on a warping stand, and weft threads are set on a tool called kuda. The warp threads are wrapped around the core of the loom with paper spacers called hatakusa in between.
Threading the Loom
Each warp thread is pulled through a small hole in the heddle, which is part of the loom's frame. After that, the threads go through the reed, which keeps them evenly spaced. Then they’re tied to a cloth called oritsuke nuno. This cloth is wound around a stick that will take up the woven fabric as the work continues.
Weft Thread Setup and Weaving
The weft threads are wrapped around a spool called kuda, then placed inside the shuttle. Weaving begins around March. The artisan uses one of two types of looms. One is the older izari style, which sits low to the ground. The other is the takahata loom, which is taller and operated with foot pedals.
A Fabric Shaped by the Seasons
From the first cut in June to the final weave in March, the production of Uetsu Shinafu moves with the rhythm of nature. Each season adds a step. Each part of the process needs patience, timing, and care. This isn’t fast work. But the result is a bark cloth that has stood the test of time. It's built from trees, shaped by weather, and held together by hands that know the land.
31. Awa-shijira cotton cloth
Awa Shoai Shijira Ori is a cotton fabric made in Tokushima City, in Tokushima Prefecture. It has a long history that goes back to the 18th century. Locals have been weaving this type of cloth, known as Shijira Ori, for generations. When it’s dyed using natural indigo from the area, it’s called Awa Shoai Shijira Ori. This fabric was officially recognized in 1978 as a traditional Japanese craft by the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry.
What Makes Shijira Ori Different
The word "shijira" refers to the tiny wrinkles you see on the surface of the fabric. These fine folds are called "shibo." They give the cloth a soft, bumpy texture that stands out. That texture isn't just for looks. It makes the fabric feel light and cool on the skin, which is why people wear it in the heat. The wrinkles stop it from clinging to the body when you sweat. That makes it perfect for Japan’s hot and humid summers.
The cotton itself is plain and breathable. When dyed with Awa indigo, it takes on a deep, rich blue known as "Japan Blue." The combination of that bold color and the light feel of the fabric is what gives Awa Shoai Shijira Ori its appeal. It’s mainly used for making yukata, which are casual cotton kimonos people wear in the summer and early fall. But the fabric isn’t limited to clothing anymore. These days, it’s also used to make accessories like ties and handkerchiefs, and even home items like tapestries and curtains.
The Accidental Discovery That Started It All
The story behind Awa Shoai Shijira Ori began in 1866. A woman named Hana Kaifu, who lived in what is now Tokushima City, played a key role. Back then, people wore cotton cloth called Tatae Jima, which was popular among the common folks. One day, Hana was drying this fabric when it suddenly rained. The wet cloth shrank as it dried again, and she noticed the surface had a new, wrinkled look.
That wrinkle effect caught her eye. It gave the fabric a new texture. She decided to try to recreate that same look on purpose. After testing different weaving methods, she figured out how to create that embossed pattern using varying thread tension. It was a low-cost cotton textile that was lightweight and breathable. People loved it, and it spread quickly across the region.
The Role of Awa Indigo in the Fabric’s Growth
A big reason for the success of Shijira Ori was the local production of indigo. During the Edo period, the feudal lord of the Awa region, Hachisuka, pushed for more indigo farming. Farmers grew it along the Yoshino River. By the time the Meiji period began, Awa was producing about a quarter of all indigo in Japan. Awa indigo was known for being top quality, especially for dyeing cotton. It worked perfectly with Shijira Ori.
Even when the indigo trade declined later on, the craft itself didn’t disappear. Awa Shoai Shijira Ori stayed popular as everyday wear, especially in summer. Today, it’s still made in Tokushima and continues to be valued as a traditional fabric. It has become a part of modern life while holding onto its deep roots in Japanese culture.
Awa Shoai Shijira Ori: How the Cotton Fabric Is Made from Start to Finish
The process of making Awa Shoai Shijira Ori is careful and hands-on. Each step shapes how the cloth looks, feels, and holds color. It’s slow work, but that’s what gives the textile its distinct look and cool texture.
Making the Skeins
It starts with winding the threads into skeins. This just means wrapping the threads around a frame to bunch them together. That makes the threads easier to handle later when it's time to dye them. The skein shape helps the dye cover every part of the thread evenly.
Dyeing the Threads
Once the skeins are ready, they get soaked in dye pots. Some use natural Awa indigo. Others use chemical dyes to create a range of colors. The longer the threads sit in the dye, the darker the color gets. It's all done by hand and eye, so the maker controls how deep the shade goes.
Washing the Dye Out
After dyeing, the skeins get rinsed. This isn’t a one-time rinse. It takes repeated washing to bring out the true tone of the indigo. The water pulls away any extra dye and helps the color settle. With Awa indigo, the shade only comes through after a full, clean wash.
Drying in the Open Air
Next, the threads are dried in the sun. Before they hang, the threads are coated with funori. That’s a plant-based glue used in Japan to stop the threads from fraying or puffing up. Sunlight also reacts with the indigo. As the air hits the dye, oxidation sets in. This chemical change deepens and brightens the color, making it richer with every pass. The whole cycle (dyeing, washing, drying) has to repeat several times to get that strong, lasting blue.
Preparing for Weaving
Once the color is right and the threads are dry, they’re wound again. This time, the goal is to set them up for the loom. The skeins are wound onto reels and separated out. The warp threads, which run lengthwise on the loom, are cut to the right number and size. The weft threads, which run crosswise, are loaded into a shuttle for weaving.
Starting the Weave
Now the actual weaving begins. This part demands precision. The warp and weft threads are pulled with different tensions as the weaver works. That mix of tight and loose is what creates the shibo, or the textured wrinkles, across the fabric. The yarn combinations used in this step are different from basic plain weaving. It takes skill to get that texture just right.
Final Wash and Finish
After weaving, the cloth goes through one more soak, this time in hot water. That last wash helps the fabric shrink a little. The shibo texture becomes more visible and permanent. The textile is dried one final time. Once that’s done, the Awa Shoai Shijira Ori is complete and ready to be used.
From thread to textile, every part of the process shapes how the cloth looks and feels. That’s what makes this cotton fabric so good for warm weather and everyday wear.
32. Kijoka banana fiber cloth
Kijoka no Bashofu is a handmade cloth from Kijoka, a small village in northern Okinawa. This textile is made from banana plant fibers, taken from a local species called basho. For centuries, people in Okinawa have used it to make kimono. What sets this fabric apart is how smooth, light, and breathable it is. It's so thin and sheer that people often compare it to a dragonfly’s wing. Even in Okinawa’s muggy climate, it doesn’t stick to the skin. That’s part of why it’s been treasured for generations.
Even though basho trees grow naturally in Okinawa, the people in Kijoka chose to grow and manage them carefully to get stronger, cleaner fibers. From the time the plant is first trimmed to when it’s ready for spinning, it takes three full years. After harvesting, the trees are processed by hand to remove the fibers. Then those threads are used to weave the cloth. Making just one bolt of fabric takes about three months and uses about sixty banana trees.
Because every step is done by hand using local materials, from farming and cutting to dyeing and weaving, this cloth is often called a phantom textile. Very few places in Japan still do this kind of full-process weaving, which makes Kijoka no Bashofu rare and deeply respected.
Bashofu: A Fabric with Centuries of History
Bashofu has been made in Okinawa since the 1200s. During the Ryukyu Dynasty, the royal court took it seriously. They even had an official in charge of managing banana groves, just to make sure there was enough high-quality cloth for the royal family and nobles. Eventually, commoners started wearing it too. Families made it at home, mostly for daily use. The fabric back then was usually plain or striped.
In 1895, the women in Kijoka introduced a new look: kasuri. This was a patterned style that gave the fabric more visual depth and helped turn Bashofu into a full-on craft. Farmers began producing it as a side job, and it soon got noticed outside of Okinawa. In 1939, Bashofu was shown at an exhibition at Mitsukoshi Department Store in Tokyo. People loved it, and the cloth got nationwide attention.
Production stopped during World War II, but after the war ended in 1945, the people of Kijoka brought the craft back. In 1972, the fabric was officially named an intangible cultural asset. Today, Kijoka still keeps that tradition alive. The cloth is still made the old way: by hand, with care, and always in small batches. It remains one of Japan’s rarest and most respected traditional textiles.
How Kijoka Bashofu Is Made: The Full Banana Fiber Cloth Process from Start to Finish
Making Kijoka Bashofu takes time, precision, and steady hands. Every step is done by hand, and each part of the banana plant is used with care. The process starts with growing and harvesting the Japanese banana plant, known locally as basho. From there, the steps move through peeling, boiling, spinning, dyeing, and finally weaving the cloth. Here’s how it’s all done.
Peeling the Banana Plant by Hand
After harvesting, the stalks of the banana plant are peeled by hand. The stalks look a bit like onions and are sliced layer by layer using a knife. These layers are split into four types. The outermost layer is thick and tough, good for smaller items like wall hangings. The next two layers are softer and used for weaving fabric for kimono. The innermost layer, which is the most delicate, is saved for the dyeing process.
Boiling the Fibers in Ash Water
Next, the peeled stalks are boiled in a special solution made from wood ash. This step helps soften the fibers. But the mix has to be just right. If the ash solution is too strong, the fibers snap. If it’s too weak, they stay stiff. Getting this right takes skill and practice.
Scraping Out the Silk-Like Fibers
Once boiled, the stalks are scraped with a bamboo tool to pull out the fibers inside. These are thin, silky threads that need to be cleaned and dried with no wind around. After drying, the fibers are sorted by softness. Softer fibers are used for the weft, while the tougher ones are set aside for the warp.
Tying the Fibers into Thread
The dried fibers are wrapped into small bundles called chingu. From there, each fiber is tied to the next by hand to create long, continuous thread. At first, each piece is only about a meter and a half long. But by tying them one by one, they’re made long enough for weaving. The knots are tied as smoothly as possible to keep them hidden. This step is slow and detailed, but it directly affects the quality of the finished Bashofu.
Twisting and Preparing the Threads
Before dyeing, the threads are gently twisted to keep them from fraying. They’re misted with water to soften them, and their length is carefully adjusted to match the design plans.
Tying for Pattern Dyeing
For patterns, the threads are stretched sideways. Certain parts are wrapped with strips of banana fiber and tied off with string to keep dye from reaching those areas. This resist-dyeing method is tricky. If the ties are too tight, the thread breaks. Too loose, and the dye seeps through. Precision matters here.
Dyeing with Plant-Based Colors
Bashofu is dyed using natural plant dyes like Assam indigo and Acacia confusa. Assam indigo, in particular, is delicate and needs to be watched closely. To make kasuri patterns, the tied threads are dyed in stages so that when woven, the small details line up perfectly. This is what gives Bashofu its soft, geometric look.
Setting Up the Loom
Once dyed and dry, the warp threads are spooled and placed on the loom. At this point, the fabric is almost ready to be woven.
Weaving the Bashofu Cloth
Weaving is the final part, but it takes only about one percent of the whole process. Basho threads are fragile. They break easily if the air is too dry. That’s why the rainy season is usually the best time for weaving. When weaving during other times of year, the threads are sprayed with water to keep them moist. Even then, the process takes patience and full focus.
Final Cleaning and Strengthening
After weaving, the cloth is still too weak to use. So it's washed and scrubbed with water. Then it's boiled again in the ash solution to remove oils and impurities. After that, it's soaked in fermented rice-water, which is slightly acidic. This cancels out the alkaline ash and strengthens the fabric. At the end, the cloth is gently pulled into shape and polished with a ceramic cup, which gives it a smooth finish.
This entire process, from plant to fabric, takes months. But every piece of Bashofu made this way carries that time, care, and tradition in its threads.
33. Tokamachi traditional resist-dyed textiles
Tokamachi Gasuri is a silk fabric made in Tokamachi City and Tsunanmachi, both in Niigata Prefecture. This region gets a lot of snow in winter and sits in a basin, which gives it high humidity and calm weather all year. That mix makes it perfect for weaving fabric. Tokamachi is also known for another textile called Tokamachi Akashi Chijimi, which has a strong history in silk weaving. These two types of fabric share the same kasuri weaving style, known for creating blurred or splashed patterns, but they use different thread-twisting methods called nenshi. That difference changes the way each fabric feels and how strong it is.
What makes Tokamachi Gasuri stand out is the shine of the silk and the patterns woven into it. It features both tategasuri (vertical splashed patterns) and yokogasuri (horizontal splashed patterns), which give the fabric a soft shimmer and detailed look. The result is a smooth, strong material that feels luxurious but still holds up well. People wear it as both formal kimono and casual pieces for everyday life. It blends classic design with a modern look.
The Origins of Tokamachi’s Weaving Techniques
The fabric-making techniques used in Tokamachi go way back. As early as the 1700s, resist-dye methods were already used in the region to make Echigo Chijimi, a hemp cloth made mostly around Ojiya in Niigata. This part of Japan has deep snow, thick air, and no strong winds. That kind of climate made it easy to grow ramie, the plant used to make hemp fabric. People have been producing ramie here since the Asuka period, which was between 592 and 710 CE.
A method called yukizarashi, where fabric is laid out on snow to brighten and soften it, helped improve the quality of the cloth. Over time, that led to the use of silk and the creation of finer textiles. By the Edo period, from 1603 to 1867, Tokamachi was known across Japan for producing Echigo Chijimi. It was used for lightweight summer kimono and formal clothes worn by samurai. By the late 1800s, another fabric called Akashi Chijimi, a light silk made for hot weather, became popular nationwide. That’s when kasuri weaving also began to be used on silk.
Kasuri’s Growth in Tokamachi’s Silk Industry
During the Meiji period, from 1868 to 1912, new ways to resist-dye thread for kasuri were developed. The demand for kasuri increased as the fabric became more diverse in design and more available. Even after World War II, Tokamachi kept its reputation as a stronghold of silk production. Tokamachi Gasuri and Akashi Chijimi remain the two fabrics that define this area. Together, they keep the tradition of fine silk weaving alive and make sure Tokamachi stays known as a town built on silk textiles.
How Tokamachi Gasuri Is Made: Step-by-Step from Pattern to Cloth
Planning the Kasuri Pattern
Everything starts with a plan. The kasuri design is drawn first. This pattern comes from a sample or original sketch. On graph paper, the design is broken down and marked clearly. The goal is to figure out exactly where each part of the kasuri pattern will appear. Once that’s mapped out, the design is split into vertical (tategasuri) and horizontal (yokogasuri) elements. Each direction gets its own ruler to guide the rest of the process.
Twisting and Refining the Silk Threads
Next, raw silk and dupion raw silk are loaded into a twisting machine. Dupion silk, also called fushi-ito, has thick spots and knots. Twisting the threads evens them out, making their thickness and strength consistent. After that, they get boiled to strip away the sericin, a natural coating on the silk. This helps the threads absorb dye better later.
Starching and Thread Stretching by Hand
Once the threads are twisted and cleaned, they’re starched. Starching helps them hold shape and makes handling easier. The threads are then wrapped around bobbins or frames and arranged based on how long and how many are needed to match the pattern. Every thread gets sorted and measured exactly to fit the design.
Marking and Tying the Threads for Resist Dyeing
With the threads set up, the next step is to mark where each pattern goes. The rulers made earlier show exactly where to mark both the vertical and horizontal threads. These marked sections are tied tightly with either cotton thread or flat rubber bands. That keeps the dye from reaching those spots. If the ties are loose or off, the pattern won't show up right when woven.
Dyeing the Threads with Kasuri Techniques
Once tied, the threads are ready for dye. Dye gets rubbed deep into the exposed sections using a spatula. The threads are then bundled into skeins. After this, both the patterned and base threads are soaked and kneaded in dye together. When the color is even, the dyed threads are steamed at 100 degrees Celsius. This helps lock in the color. After steaming, they’re starched again so they’ll hold up during weaving.
Getting the Threads Ready to Weave
Now it’s time to prep the loom. First, the rubber ties or cotton threads used to resist dye are removed from the warp threads. These threads are loosened, then wound around the omaki, which feeds the threads into the loom. Each thread is carefully passed through a tool called a heddle. This is a square frame with wires, each holding a single thread through a small hole. After that, they’re threaded through the reed, which guides them during weaving. About 1,200 warp threads are used, and each one needs to be placed right so the final pattern matches the plan.
Meanwhile, the weft threads go through their own prep. They’re untied, loosened, and wound onto a pulling frame. From there, each thread goes onto a separate holding frame, then bundled into skeins. Finally, they’re wound onto spools for the loom.
Weaving the Fabric
Now comes the weaving. Thanks to the heddle and reed setup, the warp threads move up and down. That creates space for the weft threads to pass through. The weft threads move side to side, weaving in and out of the warp threads. This process repeats over and over to build the fabric.
The real challenge is matching the marked edges so the kasuri pattern lines up correctly. Throughout weaving, these spots have to be adjusted often. Once the fabric is fully woven, it's checked for flaws. If there are stains, uneven colors, or problems in the weave, they’re corrected. Only when it passes inspection is the fabric considered finished.
This entire process is what gives Tokamachi Gasuri its precise patterns, clean texture, and lasting strength.
34. Tokamachi akashi chijimi textiles
Tokamachi Akashi Chijimi is a thin, lightweight silk fabric made in the Tokamachi area of Niigata Prefecture. It’s known for its clean finish and detailed patterns, but it takes a lot of skill to make. Only experienced weavers can pull it off. The fabric itself started as an experiment based on a summer textile from Nishijin in Kyoto. By the late 1800s, during the Meiji era, full production and sales began.
What sets Tokamachi Akashi Chijimi apart is its crisp texture and fine, woven designs. It uses top-grade weft threads that are tightly twisted, which gives the fabric its cool, smooth feel. But not just any silk thread will work. Silkworm cocoons have rough parts at the start and end of the thread. Those damaged spots show up when the thread is twisted hard, so only the clean middle part of the thread gets used. That’s why this fabric looks so refined. Skilled artisans work carefully, lining up each thread to create subtle, elegant patterns. The result is a finished roll of silk that feels light but looks rich.
The History Behind Akashi Chijimi’s Craft
Silk weaving has a long history in Tokamachi. Archaeologists found a spindle base in nearby ruins, showing that thread-twisting tools were used in the area about 1500 years ago. That means silk production probably started here long ago. During the Edo period, a fabric from this region called Echigo Chijimi was used for formal robes worn by samurai.
At the start of the Meiji period, farming families began weaving as a side job during the winter months. Not long after, a new type of fabric arrived from Kyoto. It inspired weavers in Tokamachi to create their own version. A local textile called Tokamachi Sukiya was already around and served as the base. Around that time, they also figured out how to twist weft threads tightly. That led to the creation of a silk crepe fabric called Sukiya Chirimen, which eventually grew into Tokamachi Akashi Chijimi.
By the middle of the Meiji era, the fabric was being sold in markets. It became one of Tokamachi’s signature textiles. Both Tokamachi Akashi Chijimi and Tokamachi Kasuri were later recognized as official traditional crafts in 1982. These fabrics still represent the legacy of fine silk weaving in this snow-covered region.
How Tokamachi Kasuri and Akashi Chijimi Are Made
Designing the Kasuri Pattern
The process starts with designing the kasuri pattern. This includes choosing the layout and the color scheme. Every design is drawn out on graph paper, either from scratch or based on a sample idea. Once the placement of the motifs is set, work instructions are written for the steps that follow. At this point, the patterns are split into warp kasuri and weft kasuri. Special rulers are made for each to mark the correct positions on the threads.
Twisting the Silk Threads
Next, the silk threads are prepared. Raw silk or dupion silk is fed into a doubling machine to align and combine them until they reach the needed thickness. After that, a twisting machine gives the threads strength by twisting them tightly.
Stretching the Threads by Hand
Once twisted, the threads are wound around bobbins or frames using a winding machine. They’re then measured and sorted into the right length and number based on the original pattern. Warp and weft threads are handled separately.
Marking the Threads with Ink
The sorted threads are stretched across a pulling stand or frame. A ruler with marks that show the fabric’s full width is used to ink the positions where the pattern will appear. The warp and weft threads are each marked this way. Once the marks are made, the areas that should resist dye are tied tightly with cotton thread or flat rubber bands to block color from seeping in.
Dyeing the Threads
With the ties in place, dye is rubbed into the exposed parts of the threads using a spatula. Then, the threads are bundled into skeins and dyed again, this time including the base threads that won’t have any patterns. Everything is steamed at around 100°C to set the dye for good.
Hard-Twisting the Weft Threads
The weft threads go through one more twist after dyeing. They’re stiffened with starch, then twisted using a special twisting machine called a Hacho Nenshiki. These hard-twisted threads are known as Akashi yoko and are what give Akashi Chijimi its signature crepe texture. This step is only done for Akashi Chijimi, not other kasuri types.
Getting Ready to Weave
Before weaving starts, all the rubber bands and cotton ties are removed. The threads are unwound, sorted, and arranged on the loom according to the design. About 1,200 warp threads are threaded by hand through the heddles of the loom. Then, two threads go through each dent of the reed. Once the weft threads are untied, they’re stretched, loosened, and wound onto wooden bobbins. These bobbins are then used in the actual weaving.
Final Touches
Once the fabric is woven, it gets checked closely. If there are any marks, stains, or uneven spots, they’re corrected. The finished roll is then ready for use. This detailed and careful process is what gives Tokamachi textiles their unique look and high quality.
35. Yonaguni brocade
Yonaguni brocade, known as Yonaguni Ori in Japanese, comes from Yonaguni, a small island in Okinawa Prefecture. This fabric is handmade from start to finish. It’s dyed with natural plant-based color and woven by hand, using local methods passed down for centuries. The island’s climate plays a role in how the fabric turns out. Everything, from design to final weave, is usually done by a single artisan.
Types of Yonaguni Ori
There are different styles of Yonaguni Ori, each with its own weaving method. Yonaguni Hana Ori has small flower shapes built into the weave. It often uses repeating stripe and flower patterns. Yonaguni Dotati is known for its striped design. The word Do refers to the four main parts of a kimono, and Tati means to make or create. This type of weave was often worn during festivals.
Another kind, Yonaguni Shidadi, uses crest patterns, while Yonaguni Kagan-nubu has splash-like marks that look like watercolor spots. The Kagan-nubu belt was usually paired with the Dotati textile and included a design called miuto kasuri, which symbolized marriage. Over time, the look and color of these weaves have changed, reflecting the trends of different generations.
How It’s Made
All threads used in Yonaguni Ori are dyed by hand with color pulled from plants that grow wild on the island. The whole process, designing, dyeing, and weaving, is done manually by a single person. This makes each piece unique and labor-intensive. The result is not just fabric for kimonos and belts but also for modern items like towels, neckties, and bags.
A Look at the History
Yonaguni Ori has been around since at least the 15th century. The earliest written record comes from 1479, found in the official records of the Joseon Dynasty in Korea. At that time, people in Yonaguni were already using looms to make cloth. By the late 1500s, Yonaguni Ori was offered as tribute to the royal court of the Ryukyu Kingdom. Only government officials were allowed to wear it.
The Ryukyu Kingdom brought in new materials and techniques through trade with other countries. That helped the weaving tradition grow and evolve. But the craft nearly disappeared during the world wars. Thread became scarce. In some cases, people took apart fishing nets just to have something to weave. Sometimes, weaving stopped altogether.
How It Was Revived
The tradition didn’t vanish, though. In 1979, the Yonaguni-cho Traditional Craft Center was set up to bring the brocade back to life. Since then, the community has worked to keep the craft alive. Today, the people of Yonaguni continue to pass this knowledge down, preserving a textile culture that’s been around for centuries.
How Yonaguni Hana Ori Is Made
Step One: Designing the Fabric
The first step is picking the right materials based on how the fabric will be used. The design often follows traditional Yonaguni Ori patterns, but weavers may adjust them depending on the final product. The idea is to keep the style rooted in history while still leaving room for personal touches.
Step Two: Preparing and Tying the Threads
Before dyeing, the threads are soaked in hot water to wash out any starch or residue. This helps the dye spread evenly later on. For kasuri patterns, the warp threads and base threads are separated and reeled. The warp threads are stretched out, then marked for where the design will go. Those marked sections are tightly tied using cotton string, so they resist the dye later. That’s how the signature patterns are created.
Step Three: Dyeing the Threads with Plant-Based Color
The threads get damp and are softened by beating them before they go into the dye. The dye bath is slowly heated, and the threads are boiled in it. Mordanting is often repeated between dyeing rounds. This means soaking the threads in a special solution that helps the plant dye stick better and appear brighter.
Kasuri threads and ground threads are often dyed together to keep the color consistent. Sometimes, depending on the fabric's purpose, they’re dyed separately. After dyeing, the threads are wrung out and beaten again to help them oxidize in the air. Then they’re dried in sunlight.
The dye comes from plants that grow on the island. For blue, yellow, and red shades, different plants are used. But each dye requires a unique process. Indigo is made by soaking the leaves in water for two or three days. The leaves are removed, lime is added to the water, then alcohol and sticky rice syrup are mixed in with the indigo paste. That blend is left to ferment naturally. For Clerodendrum inerme, the leaves are boiled for thirty minutes, strained three times, and the resulting liquid becomes the dye.
Step Four: Reeling the Threads
After dyeing, the threads are reeled using a machine. This gets them ready for the loom.
Step Five: Warping the Threads
The warp threads are then sorted by length and grouped in the right quantity. Each thread is stretched and pulled evenly to make sure the weave won’t be uneven.
Step Six: Feeding Threads Through the Reed
Two threads are passed through each opening in the reed. This keeps them straight and spaced correctly for weaving.
Step Seven: Winding the Warp Threads
The warp threads are wound carefully with paper between the layers to keep tension even. If the kasuri pattern doesn’t line up, the threads are adjusted by hand until everything matches.
Step Eight: Threading the Heddle
Each warp thread is pulled through the heddle one by one. This is a slow and careful job.
Step Nine: Adding Threads to the Flower Heddle
This step sets up the threads that will form the flower patterns. Getting this right is key to making Yonaguni Hana Ori look the way it should.
Step Ten: Weaving the Cloth
The flower heddle moves up and down to help form the woven design. It usually takes one to two months to finish weaving a full bolt of cloth. The pace is slow, but each piece is made with exact care.
36. Yuntanza minsa
Yuntanza Minsa is a traditional textile made in the Yomitan area of Okinawa. The name comes from the local words min, meaning cotton, and sa, meaning narrow belt. These belts have been made across Okinawa for centuries. They’re usually around 10 centimeters wide and dyed with indigo. The weaving styles and patterns change depending on where they’re made.
In Yomitan, this cotton belt is also known as Gushi Hanaori, which means it’s made with a method called the Gushibana technique. The weaver uses a bamboo skewer to lift the warp threads in the spots where they want to create a raised design. This is a hands-on, manual process that brings texture into the weave.
How It’s Made
Yuntanza Minsa is woven with dyed cotton threads. The fabric has a ribbed texture and often features bright, tropical colors. Patterns are pressed into the weave using tools like a pattern stick or a flower heddle. These raised shapes include flower designs called gushibana and soko hana, as well as kasuri motifs made with a tie-dye technique.
Along with floral shapes and tie-dye, stripes and other patterns are often added. The dyes come from plants that grow naturally in the region. This includes Ryukyu indigo, the Fukugi tree known as the “happiness tree,” and the Yeddo Hawthorn.
Where It Came From
Yuntanza Minsa likely began around the same time as Yomitanzan Hanaori, another local weave. During the 15th century, the Ryukyu Kingdom traded often with China and other parts of Southeast Asia. Many of the techniques used in Yuntanza Minsa, especially the raised and tie-dyed patterns, are believed to have come from those trade routes.
Cotton farming in Okinawa started in 1611. It was introduced by Shinjo Gima, who brought seeds back from the Satsuma Domain. The crop was limited, so cotton became valuable. Women began weaving narrow cotton belts for their loved ones. Making these belts was a personal act, filled with care and affection. That’s how Yuntanza Minsa is said to have started.
When It Was Nearly Lost
Yuntanza Minsa weaving stopped for a time in the late 1800s, during the Meiji era. The craft nearly disappeared. But in 1964, Sada Yonamine, a local weaver, helped bring it back. She worked with others in the village to revive both Yuntanza Minsa and Yomitanzan Hanaori.
They used stories from elders and old garments saved from wartime to rebuild the lost knowledge. It took about ten years, but they managed to restore the weaving techniques. Thanks to that effort, Yuntanza Minsa is still being made today, carrying on a long tradition of handmade textile art in Okinawa.
How Yuntanza Minsa Is Made
Planning the Pattern
Every Yuntanza Minsa design starts on graph paper. The artist uses colored pencils to map out the layout. Local flowers like the rhododendron (jinbana), pinwheel-shaped kajimayabana, and fan-shaped ojibana are the main inspiration. These are turned into about 30 geometric shapes. These get combined with tie-dye kasuri patterns and stripes to form the final design.
Preparing the Warp Threads
The fabric uses cotton threads for both the warp and the weft. To make the kasuri design, the threads are tie-dyed by hand. First, the cotton threads are starched and stretched out to dry. Then, specific parts are tied off with more cotton thread so the dye won't seep in. Cotton is used because it shrinks when wet, creating a strong seal that keeps the dye out.
Tied sections measure about 8mm, 6mm, or 1cm, with equal spacing. The threads are then dyed using plant-based color from local sources like Ryukyu indigo, Fukugi, Yeddo hawthorn, catbrier, and Japanese chinquapin. After dyeing, the threads are dried again and the tied cotton is removed. Because cotton stretches, the dyed threads are trimmed and sorted by length. They’re starched and stretched once more to hold the pattern in place.
Winding the Thread
Once dry, the threads are wound into skeins, then onto bobbins. This gets them ready for warping.
Setting the Warp
This step sets the length and width of the belt. The number and length of warp threads are counted and sorted based on the planned size. For a 10-centimeter-wide Minsa, around 320 warp threads are needed. Both kasuri threads and solid threads are arranged for weaving.
Temporary Thread Setup
Next, the warp threads are threaded through a reed, one by one. This step is just for checking the width and layout, so the reed will be removed later. After this, the threads are threaded through the heddle, then re-threaded through the reed to begin weaving.
Adjusting Warp Tension
The threads are wound with even tension across all strands. This matters. If the tension is off, the final fabric won't be uniform. A balanced pull between the kasuri and ground threads keeps the weave consistent and clean.
Threading the Heddle
Yuntanza Minsa is made on a Takahata loom. After winding the warp, the reed is removed, and the threads are sorted into front and back rows. Each thread is put through the heddle one at a time. This lets the weft pass through when the heddle moves. If a flower pattern will be added, this is the point where the flower heddle is set up.
Threading the Reed Again
With the heddle work done, the threads go back through the reed. This final threading sets the spacing exactly right before weaving starts.
The Weaving Process
Weaving uses a method called the gushibana technique. Here, the weaver lifts specific warp threads by hand using a bamboo skewer. This creates a raised look in the floral or stripe patterns. It’s a signature detail in Yuntanza Minsa.
The weft is added by hand with a shuttle. Flower heddles or a stick called monbo help bring out the detailed patterns. After weaving, the fabric is washed and pulled to set the shape. Then, it's inspected for quality. When everything checks out, the piece is done.
37. Flower pattern textiles
In the city of Haebaru, located in Okinawa Prefecture, there's a textile craft known as Haebaru Hanaori. These are traditional flower pattern fabrics, famous for their raised, detailed designs that almost look like hand embroidery. The colors used come from natural plants found in Okinawa. For example, artisans often use garcinia and Assam indigo to dye the yarn. The finished patterns have depth and texture that make them stand out. It takes years of hands-on experience to master the techniques behind these woven designs.
A Long History Rooted in Resilience and Innovation
The roots of Haebaru Hanaori go back to the Meiji period, sometime between 1868 and 1912. A major turning point came in 1914 when a girls’ school opened in Haebaru. There, young girls and women learned traditional weaving methods. They also began experimenting with new ideas, blending old techniques with a modern look.
After World War II, the people of Haebaru were left with very little. Most had lost everything. But they didn’t give up. Villagers started gathering materials from anywhere they could find them, all in an effort to bring their weaving traditions back to life. They focused on reviving their fabric art. Over the years, they kept refining the process and adjusted their styles to meet the changing demands of customers. That dedication is what has kept Haebaru Hanaori alive and relevant today.
The Step-by-Step Process of Making Haebaru Hanaori
First, the design gets planned out carefully. The pattern is drawn by hand on graph paper. This blueprint guides the entire process.
Next comes warping. This is where the maker lines up the length and number of warp threads. Warp threads run up and down the fabric and form the base of the weave.
Then, the threads are dyed. They use natural dyes, usually indigo or fukugi, depending on the shade needed. Some parts of the thread get tied off to create kasuri, which are splashed or blurred patterns that appear once the dye is applied.
After dyeing, they apply starch to the threads. This keeps the kasuri sections from moving out of place while weaving.
The next step is threading the warp yarns through two parts of the loom. One is the heddle, which controls how the threads move up and down. The other is the reed, which keeps the threads spaced evenly. This setup is what allows for precision during the weave.
After that, the threads are tied to the cloth beam. This beam holds the fabric as it gets woven.
Weaving begins by raising the warp threads with the heddle, while the weft threads (the ones that go side to side) get passed through with a shuttle. To make the flower shapes appear three-dimensional, they skip a few threads and use several heddles at once, usually between eight and ten.
Once weaving is done, they rinse out the starch and smooth the cloth using steam. This step also helps lock in the final shape. A tool called a tenter is then used to make sure the fabric stays straight and even in both width and length.
A Living Art Form with Deep Cultural Roots
Haebaru Hanaori is a reflection of Okinawa’s culture, survival, and skill. The mix of natural dyes, complex patterns, and handwoven texture gives it a look that can’t be copied by machines. Every thread tells a story of history, revival, and constant change. And even now, after more than a century, artisans in Haebaru continue to pass on these techniques and keep the tradition alive.
38. Oku-Aizu Showa Karamushi Textiles
In Showa Village, tucked deep in the Oku-Aizu region of Fukushima Prefecture, you’ll find a rare textile called Oku-Aizu Karamushi Ori. It’s made from ramie, a plant from the nettle family that’s also called China grass. The thread it produces is strong, smooth, and slightly shiny. You’ll find ramie textiles in other parts of Japan, like Niigata and the Miyako and Ishigaki Islands in Okinawa, but Showa Village is the only place on Japan’s main island where ramie is still grown and harvested. The ramie here is known for being especially fine and soft. People use it to make cool summer clothes and all sorts of accessories, and everyday items.
A Craft With Deep Roots in the Edo Period
Ramie production in this village goes back to the Edo period, between 1603 and 1868. Back then, the local ruler of the Aizu domain, Masayuki Hoshina, strongly supported ramie farming. Since Showa Village sits in a cold, mountainous area, growing ramie helped people make a living in a place where rice farming was tough. The quality of ramie grown in the region was so high that cloth makers in Niigata used it for luxury textiles like Echigo Jofu and Ojiya Chijimi. Niigata merchants would even travel to Showa Village just to buy it.
The industry peaked during the middle of the Meiji era, between 1868 and 1912. At that time, the village was producing around six tons of ramie each year. But things changed after that. As modern lifestyles took over and chemical fibers became common, demand for natural materials like ramie dropped. By the Showa period, which started in 1926, the future of ramie production was at serious risk.
Reviving Tradition Through Hands-On Learning
In 1994, the village decided to act. They invited people to come learn how to make karamushi textiles from scratch. This wasn’t just a quick lesson. It was a year-long program where participants learned every step, from planting ramie to spinning and weaving the finished fabric. That effort helped keep the tradition alive and brought new attention to the craft.
Even today, Showa Village continues to pass down these skills. Locals are still committed to growing high-quality ramie and making karamushi textiles by hand. Their work keeps an old tradition alive in a modern world, one thread at a time.
How Karamushi Textiles Are Made: Step-by-Step Ramie Fabric Process
The process of making karamushi textiles in Showa Village is done completely by hand. Every stage, from preparing the ramie plant to weaving the final fabric, takes patience and skill. Here’s how it works.
First, the outer skin is peeled off the ramie stalks. The stripped fibers are soaked in water until they’re soft enough to work with. Once soaked, the green outer layer is scraped off using a flat board and a metal tool. This reveals the pure white ramie fiber underneath, which is then carefully removed.
Next comes thread making. The dried fibers are pulled apart by hand into thin strips. These are spun into thread, one piece at a time. The thread used for the warp, which runs lengthwise in the fabric, is spun tight so it holds strong. The thread used for the weft, which runs across, is spun a little looser to give the fabric a softer texture.
After the thread is ready, it’s time to weave. The weaving is done using a traditional Japanese loom called a jibata, which sits directly on the floor or low table. This type of loom gives the weaver close control over the fabric. By working slowly and steadily, they weave the ramie threads into smooth, light cloth that holds its shape and texture well.
This hands-on process has stayed the same for generations. It’s not fast, but it creates fabric with real character and quality. That’s what sets karamushi textiles apart.
