Traditional Japanese Crafts: Rare Handicrafts and Art from Japan | Part I

 

1. Edo Kiriko cut glass

Edo kiriko is one of Japan’s best-known glass crafts. It began in Edo, the old name for Tokyo, during the Edo period from 1603 to 1868. The word kiriko means “cut glass,” so the name translates to “cut glass from Edo.” People still use Edo kiriko today, especially for sake glasses and other decorative glassware.

At first, artisans only used clear glass. They carved patterns into the surface using basic tools and simple methods. But that changed during the Meiji period, from 1868 to 1912. This was when Japan started opening up to the rest of the world after over 200 years of isolation. New techniques arrived from the West, and craftsmen began using colored glass. That’s when Edo kiriko really started to stand out.

Now, Edo kiriko is known for its detailed patterns cut into red, blue, or other colored glass. One of the most popular designs is called nanako, which means “fish eggs.” From far away, it looks like rows of small dots, but if you look closely, it’s actually made up of tiny squares lined up next to each other. Other common patterns include traditional Japanese plants like chrysanthemum petals and hemp leaves.

The craft dates back to 1834, when a man named Kyubei Kagaya first experimented with cutting glass. He ran a glass wholesaling business in Edo and used emery powder to shape the designs. That moment marked the beginning of Edo kiriko as a local craft.

Things took another big step forward during the Meiji era. In 1881, the Japanese government hired a British glass expert named Emmanuel Hauptmann. He trained local glassworkers in European cut glass techniques. This brought British methods into Japanese workshops, and the result was a unique mix of styles.

Around the same time, another glass style called Satsuma kiriko stopped being produced. Many of its craftsmen lost their jobs and moved to Edo, bringing their experience with them. They were skilled in layering colored glass, a method that quickly became part of the Edo kiriko process.

From the Taisho era through early Showa years, roughly 1912 to the mid-1900s, Edo kiriko was also called wa glass, meaning “Japanese-style glass.” It became popular for everyday use. People used it for cups, dishes, and even light fixtures. Several major makers of Edo kiriko started during the early 20th century. They’re still producing glass today.

This style of Japanese glassmaking blends tradition, craftsmanship, and outside influence. It keeps evolving, but it still reflects the history and design sense of old Edo.

How Edo Kiriko Is Made: Step-by-Step Glass Cutting Process

Marking the Glass

The first step in making Edo kiriko is marking the glass. There’s no detailed sketch. Instead, the artisan draws simple guide lines right on the glass surface. These grid lines are drawn using a bamboo stick or brush dipped in red iron oxide. After that, the base lines of the design are lightly etched into the glass using a whetstone. These fine lines act as a guide for the rest of the work. Every pattern starts from here, and the artisan’s hands do the rest with precision and skill.

Making the First Cuts

Next comes the rough cutting stage. The artist cuts the design into the glass, going about three-fourths deep and wide compared to the final result. They use a fast-spinning metal disc covered in sand paste to do this. The paste is made from emery powder, which is full of tiny abrasive grains. Bit by bit, the main lines of the design take shape. This stage sets up the structure, and every cut depends on the artisan’s sense of balance and control. They work without a full blueprint, so experience plays a huge role.

Fine Adjustments

In this stage, the artisan goes back over the design to sharpen the details. They smooth the surface and fix the rougher cuts made earlier. A different disc is used now, made from either natural or synthetic whetstone. This tool allows for more delicate work that wasn’t possible with the first disc. Since this is the last stage of cutting, the glass needs to be cleaned properly and shaped with care. Any leftover powder or rough spots would dull the final finish.

Final Polishing

Polishing is the last step. Most Edo kiriko is made with soda-lime glass, and this stage brings back its clear shine. The glass surface, which looked frosted after cutting, becomes transparent again. It also gains that clean, bright sparkle that Edo kiriko is known for. For more expensive pieces made from crystal, chemical polishing might be used. This involves treating the surface with hydrofluoric acid. Depending on the design, different polishing tools might be used. These can include discs made from willow or paulownia wood, cloths, belts, or brush wheels. Polishing powder and water are added during the process. For very tight or detailed areas, the artisan may polish by hand using a cloth or brush. A soft buffing disc is used at the end to bring out the full shine and depth of the cuts.

This careful, hands-on process is what gives Edo kiriko its fine detail, sharp lines, and glowing finish. Every stage depends on the artisan’s control and their deep understanding of the material.

 

2. Koshu lacquered deer leather

Koshu lacquered deer leather, also known as Koshu inden, is a traditional Japanese craft from Kofu in Yamanashi. It blends soft deer leather with urushi lacquer, a natural Japanese lacquer. This combo makes the leather both durable and flexible. Over time, the surface gets smoother and shinier the more it’s used. Today, you’ll find it in things like wallets, bags, and pouches.

Where It Comes From

The craft dates back to the Sengoku period, which lasted from 1467 to 1603. Back then, samurai used this leather for armor pieces. The lacquer helped protect the soft material, making it stronger and more reliable. The use of this technique in armor shows how important it was. Historical records even mention that Shingen Takeda, a famous warlord, stored his suits of armor in a Koshu lacquered deer leather case.

Why It Stands Out

Koshu lacquered deer leather isn’t just about function. It’s also known for its detailed and colorful designs. Artisans use stencils and paper patterns to add small motifs like cherry blossoms, irises, and dragonflies. These designs show off the seasons and nature in a simple and elegant way. The stenciling method brings out clean, detailed patterns that make each piece feel unique.

What makes it different from other leather crafts in Japan is how the leather is prepared. Craftsmen use straw smoke and natural resin to cure and dye the leather. This process takes a lot of experience and skill. It also gives the leather its distinct colors and finishes, which you won’t find anywhere else in the country.

How Far Back It Goes

The roots of Koshu lacquered deer leather go way back. Japan has been working with leather since the Nara period, from 710 to 794 CE. Around that time, tanning and lacquering techniques started to come in from abroad. The actual production of Koshu inden became more recognized during the Edo period, which lasted from 1603 to 1868.

As for the name “inden,” people think it came from items brought over from India. Between 1624 and 1643, foreign traders gave Indian leather goods to the Tokugawa government. Some say the word came from “Indo,” which means India in Japanese, or “Indo denrai,” meaning brought from India. While similar crafts were once made in many regions, only Yamanashi kept the tradition alive. Today, it's the only place where Koshu lacquered deer leather is still made.

How It Evolved

In the Meiji period, from 1868 to 1912, this type of leatherwork got more attention. Items like pouches and small bags won awards at national industrial shows. That helped build a name for the craft. By the Taisho period, from 1912 to 1926, artisans started making handbags with it, too. The look and quality made them popular among a wider group of people.

Finally, in 1987, the Japanese government named Koshu lacquered deer leather an official Traditional Craft. That status helped protect the techniques and support the artisans who continue the work today.

Why It Still Matters

Koshu lacquered deer leather is one of a kind. It blends old Japanese traditions with handmade detail and long-lasting quality. The colors, the patterns, and the feel all come from years of skill passed down through generations. It’s more than just leather. It’s a living piece of history that people still use, wear, and carry today.

How Koshu Lacquered Deer Leather Is Made

Step One: Dyeing the Deer Leather

The first step starts by smoothing the surface of each deer hide. Workers sand it down to prep it for lacquer. Then they toss about a hundred white buckskins into a large dyeing machine. It looks a lot like an industrial washing machine. Each hide takes the dye a little differently, so no two pieces ever look the same. The color soaks deep into the leather, bringing out the texture and natural grain.

After dyeing, every hide is fastened with chains. This holds them steady while any leftover hairs get cleaned off. Depending on the pattern, artisans may wrap hemp threads around the leather or glue down a stencil design before coloring. Some pieces go into a sealed cylinder filled with straw smoke. That smoking process gives them a rich honey or amber tone. Longer smoking times and added resin deepen the shade to a darker brown.

Step Two: Cutting the Leather

Once dyed and dried, each hide is cut using a method called aradachi. This is the rough cut stage. Artisans use different types of blades to fit the shape of whatever item they’re making. They try to avoid any waste. Sometimes the ends of the hide don’t line up perfectly. That’s not a flaw, though. It proves the leather is real and untreated.

Final cuts use a technique called fusube. This step adds more detail and helps prep the leather for design work.

Step Three: Adding the Patterns

There’s more than one way to pattern Koshu lacquered deer leather. One is the urushi oki method. Here, they place a hand-carved washi paper stencil over the leather. Then they spread lacquer across it with a spatula. The lacquer fills the open shapes in the paper, creating clear and bold designs.

Another way is called the sarasa technique. This uses separate paper stencils for each color. It’s a print-style method that gives the leather a brighter, more detailed look. Each color gets applied one by one. Since lacquer reacts to heat, air, and moisture, it takes real experience to get the coating even and smooth.

The fusube technique also comes into play again here. Chains help clear any lingering fuzz from the buckskin. Then, like before, thread or glued-on patterns are applied based on the design. The leather gets smoked in the cylinder drum, sometimes for hours, to lock in the right shade.

After that, the thread and glue are stripped away. The hides then dry in a special room kept at a steady temperature. Once that’s done, they rest in a shaded, airy space for a few more days.

Step Four: Sewing and Finishing the Final Piece

Once the lacquered leather is patterned, it’s trimmed to shape. The edges get thinned out and smoothed. That way, the seams don’t bulge when everything’s stitched together. Sewing takes time because the lacquered surface isn’t flat. Artisans do all the stitching by hand, right along the uneven texture, so the piece holds together without cracking.

Light hammering shapes the item. Then the leather is flipped inside out. Metal parts like snaps and zippers go on last. Every finished piece goes through careful inspection. Only the best ones get stamped with the inden label before shipping.

These days, Koshu lacquered deer leather isn’t just for showpieces. You’ll find it in phone cases, card holders, and other things people use every day. The craftsmanship still holds strong, and the material continues to be appreciated across all ages.

 

3. Kyo folding fans

Kyo folding fans, also called Kyo sensu in Japanese, are handmade fans mostly crafted in Kyoto. These fans have been around since ancient times and are known for their detailed designs, often decorated with gold leaf, silver foil, or gold lacquer. They’re more than just pretty objects. They’re also practical, made with care using strong but lightweight bamboo and either paper or silk.

Each fan is made using bamboo that’s both light and bendable, which helps the ribs move easily and hold their shape. That’s what gives Kyo fans their soft, smooth open and close. The balance between structure and flexibility makes them feel good in the hand and easy to use, even after years of handling.

Different Types of Kyo Folding Fans

There isn’t just one kind of Kyo folding fan. These come in many styles for different uses. Some are designed for weddings or other formal events. Others are meant for daily use.

One type is the hiogi, made by stacking thin slats of Japanese cypress. There’s also the kawahoriogi, which means "bat’s wing." This type uses washi paper pasted over five or six ribs. The maiogi is used during Noh performances, a traditional Japanese form of theater. For tea ceremonies, the chaogi is common. The shukugisen is made for official events and formal ceremonies.

All Kyo folding fans fall into two main groups: hariogi and itaogi. Hariogi means pasted fan, and it comes in two types. Kamisen is made from paper. Kinusen is made from silk. Itaogi is made by stacking thin pieces of wood from trees like white sandalwood, which adds a rich scent and smooth texture.

Every Fan Is a Team Effort

Each fan takes a lot of time and skill to make. One fan can involve around 87 different steps. Every part of the process is handled by a skilled craftsperson, from selecting the bamboo to cutting, gluing, painting, and folding. It’s slow, careful work. That’s why the fans look so clean and feel so balanced.

Even though these fans are handmade and beautiful, they’re not just for decoration. They’re meant to be used. The flexible ribs make them ideal for creating a soft breeze. And they hold up well with everyday handling.

A Long History Rooted in Kyoto

Kyo folding fans have been around for centuries. The first versions came from wooden tablets called mokkan, which date back to the early Heian period, around 794 to 1185 CE. The oldest fan found in Japan was discovered inside a Buddhist statue at Toji Temple in Kyoto. It was a hiogi, and it was marked with the year 877.

By the middle of the Heian period, kawahoriogi fans became common during the summer, while hiogi were used by the imperial family. During the Muromachi period, from 1336 to 1573, the style of fans started to change. Chinese fans had an influence, and Japan began making kamisens, which combined bamboo and paper.

By that time, fans weren’t just tools to cool off. They became a big part of Japanese customs. They were used in rituals, given as gifts, and included in formal events. The Muromachi period also marked the start of special fans for theater, tea ceremonies, and incense art.

Global Reach and Continued Tradition

In the 13th century, Kyo folding fans started to be exported to other countries like China and India. From there, they eventually made it to Europe. It’s believed that these Japanese fans helped shape how Western folding fans were designed. After being sent abroad, some fans were even brought back to Japan. That led to the creation of the kinusen style, which used silk or cotton fabric instead of paper.

Today, Kyo folding fans are still made using the same traditional methods. They’re beautiful, practical, and deeply tied to Japanese culture. Whether used for ceremonies or daily life, each fan carries a piece of Kyoto’s history.

How Kyo Folding Fans Are Made: Step-by-Step Production

Making a Kyo folding fan takes skill, patience, and a lot of time. Every fan goes through many detailed steps before it's complete. Here's a look at the full process from start to finish.

Preparing the Bamboo

It starts with cutting the bamboo. The stalks are sliced horizontally, and the joints are taken out. This gives a clean surface to work with.

Next, the bamboo is steamed. Once it's soft enough, it’s split into thin strips. Each one is measured and cut to match the width needed for the fan ribs. This part is done by hand with a small knife or sometimes a mallet.

After that, the ribs are carved. A rough planing separates the soft white inside from the tougher outer bark. Then the bark is shaved down evenly on both sides. Once carved, the bamboo sits out for a full day and night to dry.

A hole is then drilled at the base of each rib. The ribs are threaded onto a skewer, either bamboo or metal, and soaked in water for two or three days. This helps keep them soft and flexible for shaping.

Forming the Fan Ribs

The skewered ribs are laid out on a work table. Then they’re shaved and cut into their final shape using a chisel and a special curved blade called a wakikaki.

To help remove the natural blue tint from the bamboo, the shaped ribs are left outside to dry in sunlight.

Once dried, each rib is polished. For this, a tool made from wild boar tusk is used. This gives the bamboo a clean finish and smooth surface.

Then comes fitting the rivet. The ribs are fastened with a small pin, trimmed, and shaped again using a Japanese hand plane called a kanna. The middle part of each rib is thinned out (this area is called the nakabone) and it’s where the rib will later slide into the paper.

Working With the Fan Paper

The paper used for Kyo fans isn’t just regular paper. It’s made through a process called awase. This means pasting thin sheets of shell paper onto both sides of a base paper. Glue must be applied carefully so that the inner layer can still be pulled apart later when inserting the ribs.

Once the pasting is done, the paper dries. Then it's cut into a fan shape.

Some fans are decorated with gold leaf. Using a bamboo spatula, the leaf is cut on leather or a flat surface and turned into gold dust. This dust is then sprinkled across the paper. Sometimes the leaf is applied straight onto the design instead. A Kyoto-only technique also exists where super-thin gold leaf is pressed across the whole sheet for a full foil effect.

The painting stage comes next. Artists use colored pigments mixed with glue and apply the designs with one or more brushes. There are also local methods like kirigata surikomi and tsukihan that are unique to Kyoto. These techniques add extra style and character to the artwork.

Folding and Assembling the Fan

Once the artwork is finished, the paper gets damp. A bamboo spatula is used to split the pasted paper into two layers again. The damp paper is then placed between molds, and each crease is folded one by one.

After folding, a thin bamboo tool is used to open up spaces inside the paper. These openings are where the ribs will go.

Then, any extra paper at the top or bottom is trimmed using a large sharp blade. This step makes sure the fan is the right size and shape.

Next are the finishing touches. Air is gently blown into the layers to inflate the space where the ribs will slide in. If a fan has more ribs, the space inside gets tighter. This step takes real precision, especially when the ribs are thin and closely packed. The glue-coated ribs are inserted into these narrow pockets.

Final Assembly

The last step is attaching the side guards, called oyabone. These guards are slightly heated, so they curve inward. This helps the fan snap shut when closed. A small amount of glue is added to the inside of each side guard. Then they’re attached to both ends of the fan paper and left to dry.

Once finished, the fan is ready. It's balanced, detailed, and built to last. Every part of it is shaped by hand and made to serve both beauty and function.

 

4. Marugame uchiwa fans

Marugame uchiwa fans come from Marugame, a city in Kagawa Prefecture. These fans go back to the early Edo period, sometime between 1603 and 1868. They first showed up as souvenirs for travelers visiting the Konpira Shrine. The original look was simple but symbolic: a red background with a gold character in the center, representing wealth and blessings from the shrine. The whole fan was coated in persimmon tannin to protect it.

The Rise of Fan-Making in Marugame

Around the 1780s, during the Tenmei era, samurai who weren’t high in rank started making these fans to bring in extra money. The craft caught on fast. Before long, Marugame turned into a known hub for fan production. Most of these fans use bamboo, cut into one solid piece for both the handle and the frame. Some have round handles, others flat. Over time, these uchiwa came to dominate fan-making in Japan.

While cheap plastic fans now flood the market, the traditional bamboo ones made by skilled hands have stayed popular with people who want more than a throwaway item. They’re lighter, easier to grip, and just feel better in use. They carry a kind of texture and depth that factory-made plastic fans can’t touch.

When Fan-Making Reached Its Peak

Marugame fans were at their most popular around 1955. But things changed. Electric fans and air conditioners started showing up in homes, and that took a toll. Still, these handmade fans didn’t vanish. Craftsmen began putting more focus on quality and unique designs. Some fans are made for practical use. Others are made for display. All of them reflect a long tradition of local skill.

The Three Roots of Marugame Uchiwa

What makes Marugame fans special is that they didn’t come from just one source. They’re the result of three older fan styles coming together. First, there’s the thick bamboo fan from the early Edo period. It was round, coated with persimmon tannin, and first made in 1633 by a head priest from the temple linked to Konpira Shrine. Second, in the 1780s, the Marugame domain backed another type of round fan using thinner bamboo. This version became widely made by local families. The third root is a flat-handled fan called the shioya style. This one came from Nara and was spread by wholesalers in Tomiya during the Meiji period, which ran from 1868 to 1912.

Growth into a Full Industry

Between 1892 and 1896, a man named Takijirou Okubo opened a fan-making factory in Shioya village. Two years into that window, in 1894, Japan saw its first official fan company form. It was called the Marugame Fan Limited Partnership Company. Ten years later, in 1904, the Oya Company stepped in. They focused on selling flat-handled fans directly to stores outside the region. This helped Marugame fans reach new markets in countries like India and the United States.

By the Taisho period, which started in 1912, innovation helped speed things up. Takejiro Waki created tools to make fan-making quicker and easier. His machines handled the cutting and drilling parts of the job. Local makers were free to use them, so production climbed fast. Thanks to that, Marugame became Japan’s top fan-producing area.

From Tools to Promotions

A new logo printing machine was invented around 1933. That made it easy to print names and designs on fans. Companies used them as marketing items. Some people ordered them as keepsakes. It opened up another use for uchiwa, outside of just keeping cool.

During World War II, after 1938, demand for flat-handled fans kept growing. They started to replace the older thin-handled styles. The biggest spike in fan sales came between 1955 and 1964. But after that, electric cooling options took over, and sales started to fade.

Why People Still Care About Marugame Uchiwa

Even with modern technology, Marugame fans haven’t been forgotten. People still admire them for the craftsmanship. Some buy them to use. Others keep them as decor or collect them as folk art. For many, they’re more than just tools to beat the heat. They’re tied to Japanese culture, slow living, and a more natural way of life.

How Marugame Uchiwa Fans Are Made

Step One: Cutting the Bamboo

The whole process starts with fresh bamboo. Craftsmen cut the logs into pieces about 40 to 45 centimeters long. Each one is then split into narrow, even strips. These thin pieces are shaved down at the joint area, so they feel smooth and sit comfortably in the hand.

Step Two: Splitting the Strips

Next, each bamboo strip gets around 35 to 45 cuts along its length. These cuts go down about 10 centimeters from the top. A cutting machine is used to make these slices clean and precise.

Step Three: Drilling the Joint

Once the cuts are done, a hole is drilled through the bamboo joint. After that, a skilled craftsman uses a small sickle and inserts it into the hole. This helps open the space and get it ready for the next part of the work.

Step Four: Carving the Pattern

A small knife is used to carve the fan’s pattern. The design depends on the type of fan being made. Some are simple, others more detailed. Each cut needs steady hands and a sharp blade.

Step Five: Wrapping the Thread

A thin bamboo rod is passed through the hole in the handle. The ends are then wrapped tightly with thread to hold everything in place. This step adds strength and detail.

Step Six: Adjusting and Binding

Because the thread wrapping can twist the shape, the bamboo rod might warp a bit. The angle is adjusted by hand to make sure the fan is even. After that, it’s bound with thread again to keep it firm and balanced.

Step Seven: Gluing on the Paper

Glue is brushed onto the head of the fan. Then paper is carefully placed over the surface. This is where the look of the fan really starts to take shape.

Step Eight: Trimming the Shape

With the paper in place, the edges are trimmed into shapes like a full moon or an egg. A curved sickle is laid on the fan, and a mallet is used to strike it, cutting clean around the outline.

Step Nine: Final Details

A long, thin strip of paper is glued around the edge to keep it from peeling. Then, more strips are added to both sides of the bamboo bar. Once that’s done, the whole fan is pressed with a roller to flatten everything and give it a smooth, clean finish.

This whole process is done by hand, piece by piece. Every step calls for skill, patience, and experience. That’s what makes each Marugame uchiwa fan not just useful, but something to admire.

 

5. Boshu uchiwa fans

Boshu uchiwa fans are handmade flat fans from the southern part of Chiba Prefecture, mainly around Tateyama and Minamiboso. These fans are part of the top three traditional uchiwa styles in Japan, alongside Marugame fans from Kagawa and Kyo uchiwa from Kyoto.

Boshu uchiwa fans have a clear difference from the others. They use medake bamboo, which is thin and small, instead of the thicker odake bamboo found in Marugame fans. And unlike Kyo uchiwa, which are decorated after assembly, Boshu uchiwa fans feature a pattern made by how the bamboo is cut and arranged.

The process starts with medake bamboo about 1.5 centimeters thick. Craftsmen slice this bamboo into sixty-four narrow strips. These strips form the skeleton of the fan. When they’re tied together with thread and opened up, the bones create a clean lattice design in the rounded top part of the fan.

This framework is what gives Boshu uchiwa fans their identity. The structure isn’t just for support. It’s part of the design itself. The fans are light, but strong. They’re made to last, and they keep their shape well.

Traditional and Modern Designs

The surface of Boshu uchiwa fans has often featured classic ukiyo-e prints. These are detailed artworks, usually showing elegant women, nature scenes, or kabuki actors. But in recent years, the look has changed. Now, many fans are covered with folk craft patterns or dyed fabrics used in yukata and maiwai clothing. This mix of old and new gives each fan a fresh style while still honoring tradition.

About the Bamboo

Medake bamboo grows wild and small. It’s only gathered during the coldest months, between October and January, when it’s dry and easier to work with. The bamboo comes from the mountains in the Boshu region. Unlike odake bamboo, which is thicker and used in other fan types, medake gives Boshu fans their slim and delicate shape.

History of Boshu Uchiwa Fans

Flat fans first appeared in the Kanto region sometime between 1781 and 1788. Even though Boshu had plenty of high-quality medake bamboo, it wasn’t used for fan making during the Edo period. The craft hadn’t reached that area yet.

There are two main stories about how it all started in Boshu. One record from 1911 says fan production began in 1877 in what’s now Tateyama. Another report, published in 1918, claims that in 1884, a man named Sougorou Iwaki brought in skilled fan makers from Tokyo to start the craft there.

During the Meiji and Taisho periods, Boshu supplied bamboo fan frames to Tokyo, where they were finished as Edo uchiwa fans. But things changed in 1921. Torakichi Yokoyama, a wholesaler from Nihonbashi in Tokyo, saw an opportunity. He built a fan-making factory in Funakata, where medake bamboo was already being shipped. He wanted to make the whole fan in one place, from bamboo strips to the final product.

Just two years later, in 1923, a massive earthquake hit Tokyo and destroyed most of the fan workshops there. After that, Boshu picked up the slack. Full production moved to Funakata, and Boshu uchiwa fans became a fully local product.

Why Boshu Uchiwa Fans Still Matter

Boshu uchiwa fans aren’t just souvenirs. They’re part of Japan’s long history of craftsmanship. Each one shows how tradition, technique, and regional materials come together in a useful, beautiful object. With new patterns and fabric styles, these fans continue to evolve, while staying rooted in a process that’s been handed down for generations.

How Boshu Uchiwa Fans Are Made

Selecting and Cutting Bamboo

Production begins in October. Craftsmen head into the mountains to find medake bamboo that’s dry, clean, and bug-free. They only pick stalks about as thick as a finger. Anything too soft or uneven gets tossed. A single stalk usually yields enough for just two or three fans. The bamboo is cut down to size, and only ones with a uniform thickness make the cut.

Removing the Outer Layer

Once selected, the outer husk of the bamboo is peeled away. Any small shoots near the joints are trimmed off. This step smooths the surface and gets rid of any parts that could mess up the shape later on.

Polishing the Bamboo

The cleaned bamboo goes into a machine with rice husks and water. This mix gently scrubs and polishes the surface without damaging it. When that’s done, the rice husks are taken out, and the bamboo is set aside to dry fully.

Soaking and Splitting

Next, the bottom of the bamboo stalk is sliced into eight spots. Then the bamboo is soaked overnight. This softens the material so it can be worked without cracking.

After soaking, craftsmen tie thread above the joints to hold the pieces in place. The bamboo is split along those cuts. First into eight, then sixteen, then thirty-two, and finally into sixty-four thin strips. Any extra wood is trimmed away so only smooth, even pieces remain.

Smoothing the Splits

A few of these thin strips are grouped together and rolled back and forth over rough stone or concrete. This rounds out the sharp edges and smooths the angle of the cuts, making the sticks easier to work with and better looking.

Drilling Holes

Each strip gets a small hole drilled near the joint. They don’t use power tools here. A knitting pin is used to carefully pierce the bamboo without snapping it.

Binding the Frame

Thread is wrapped around the bamboo about ten centimeters above the cut ends. This lines them up neatly and locks them into place. Some use a one-by-one method. Others do two at a time. The one-by-one approach takes more effort but gives a cleaner finish and is used for high-end fans.

Attaching the Handle

Handles are cut and shaped separately. A willow branch, thin and flexible, is fitted into a hollow carved inside the handle. This gives strength and flexibility where the handle connects to the fan.

Creating the Bow Frame

Thick odake bamboo is sliced thin, then shaved down on both sides into a bow shape. These curved pieces are added to the fan’s bamboo skeleton to hold everything steady.

Making the Bottom Window

The fan is spread open evenly so the spaces between each bamboo strip match. Thread tied around the lattice is connected to the ends of the curved bow-shaped bamboo.

Securing the Top Curve

The curve is bent further, and the thread is pulled tighter to hold the shape. This keeps the form locked in and balanced. The frame is adjusted again to make a clean oval window just above the handle.

Adding the Loop

A slim bamboo stick is placed right above where the thread sits. This gives extra hold to the structure and sharpens the overall shape on the back end of the fan.

Trimming the Frame

A straw-cutting blade is used to slice off the extra parts sticking out. This trims the fan into its final form.

Heating to Set the Shape

The fan frame is heated using fire or metal tools. This stiffens the bamboo and sets the final curve. When it cools, the fan holds its shape. The inner sticks used to support the form are removed. Now the skeleton is finished.

Applying the Cover

Pre-cut cloth or paper is glued to the skeleton. Craftsmen brush adhesive onto the frame, then lay the cover carefully over it. They use a bamboo spatula to press the material down so it fits cleanly over the bamboo gaps. After that, another layer of cloth or paper is added to the back.

Final Trimming

The edge of the fan is trimmed using the cutter again. This makes sure all sides are even and match the fan’s clean shape.

Sealing the Edges

To stop the edges from splitting, narrow strips of washi paper are glued along the border where the frame meets the holes. This seals the whole thing in place.

Undercoating the Handle

The bottom of the handle is coated with a mix of glue and ground shell powder. The bottom edge is rounded off to finish it cleanly.

Adding Color

Once the first coat dries, lacquer or pigment is brushed on. This gives the bottom of the handle a glossy finish or adds color, depending on the design.

Final Touches

The last step is using a roller across the paper. This presses the surface tight so the bamboo strips underneath show through in neat, clean lines. It gives texture and a sharp finish to the fan face.

Finished Fan

At this point, every part of the Boshu uchiwa fan is complete. From the bamboo structure to the surface design, each one is made by hand, with care and skill passed down over generations.

 

6. Gifu lanterns

Gifu lanterns, known in Japan as Gifu chochin, come from Gifu City in Gifu Prefecture. This traditional craft goes back over 300 years. In 1995, the Japanese government officially recognized them as a National Traditional Craft because of their detailed workmanship and long-standing heritage.

These lanterns are most often used during Obon, a summer festival that honors ancestors in Japanese Buddhist tradition. Families hang them in their homes as part of the ritual. They’re also used as interior lighting and for home decor, adding a soft, natural glow to the space.

One of the main types of Gifu lanterns is the gosho, an oval-shaped lantern made to hang. There are also gotenmaru, which are round, and ouchiandon, a type that stands upright on a tripod. All types carry a calm, elegant look.

How Gifu Lanterns Are Made

What makes Gifu lanterns stand out is the mix of materials and artistry. Makers use high-quality Mino washi paper and strong local bamboo. They paint delicate images on the paper, often of birds, flowers, and seasonal scenery. These drawings are soft and detailed, giving the lanterns a quiet, graceful feel.

Mino washi paper is famous on its own. It’s light, strong, and has been made in the area for centuries. It’s also listed as a National Traditional Craft. When used with bamboo from the region, the final lantern has both strength and beauty. Each part of the lantern, from the frame to the surface art, shows real skill and care.

Gifu's surrounding areas have always been known for paper and bamboo production. That’s why other local crafts, like Japanese umbrellas and hand fans, also use Mino paper and bamboo. These materials and skills have supported many traditional crafts across the region.

Early Records and Famous Recognition

The origin of Gifu lanterns isn’t clear. Some say they first appeared between 1596 and 1615. Others believe they were first crafted around 1650. What is certain is that by the 1700s, the lantern had taken on its current shape. A maker named Chochinya Juzo, active in the mid-18th century, made lanterns for official use in the Owari domain, which covered southern Gifu.

By the 1820s, Gifu lanterns decorated with plant designs had become popular across Japan. One was even mentioned in a poem written by a noble in Kyoto, showing how well-known they had become among the upper class.

Back then, these lanterns were expensive and treated as luxury items. Regular people couldn’t afford them. That changed in the Meiji era, from 1868 to 1912. In 1878, Emperor Meiji visited Gifu. He saw the lanterns and was impressed. After that, they became known across the country as a special craft from Gifu Prefecture.

Gifu Lanterns Today

Today, Gifu lanterns are still made using traditional techniques. Artisans continue to use Mino paper, bamboo, and hand-drawn designs. People use them for festivals, decor, and lighting. Their soft light and natural materials make them a popular choice for those who want both tradition and beauty in their homes.

Whether hung during Obon or used year-round, Gifu lanterns keep a centuries-old art alive. They’re a symbol of the region’s skill in paper and bamboo craft, and they continue to bring quiet elegance to any space they light.

How Gifu Lanterns Are Made: Step-by-Step

Preparing the Paper

To start, artisans coat the Japanese washi paper with a solution called dosa. This mix of aluminum sulfate and glue gets simmered in water. It makes the paper stronger, adds a subtle shine, and stops paint from bleeding during stenciling. If the paper isn’t meant to stay white, it gets a layer of base color next.

Adding the Design

The design gets printed during the stenciling stage. A specialist starts by sketching the artwork onto the part of the lantern called the hibukuro (this is the main oval body where the paper wraps around).

First, they create a wooden block to press the outline onto the paper. Then, they cut custom stencils to apply the colors. Each layer of color needs a separate stencil. For complex designs, this can mean cutting over a hundred stencils just for one lantern. Every pass has to line up exactly, so the colors don’t change or blur.

Crafting the Wooden Parts

Next comes the woodwork. This includes making the kuchiwa, the round rings at the top and bottom, and the teita, a flat board that supports the lantern from above. Skilled woodturners use cedar or cypress for this part. They also carve the tripod legs for ouchiandon lanterns.

Decorating the Wood

Once the wood pieces are ready, they’re decorated using maki-e and moriage. Maki-e involves painting with lacquer, then dusting it with gold or silver powder. Moriage adds raised patterns, like flower petals, by layering white pigment. This creates a soft 3D effect, often used in designs like chrysanthemums.

Building the Frame

Now it’s time to form the lantern frame. A base shape called the harikata gets built first. Thin bamboo strips, often under a millimeter wide, are wrapped around it in a spiral. These wraps follow small grooves carved into the base. Keeping the tension even is tough. One slip can throw off the whole shape.

Pasting the Paper

To keep the lantern’s shape tight, string is wound around the back of the bamboo frame. Then, small sheets of lining paper are pasted onto the top and bottom. Glue is brushed onto the bamboo ribs. The decorated washi paper is then added in sections, one piece at a time, to make sure the patterns stay aligned. Each sheet fits into a space between the frame strips. The whole surface is covered this way, slowly and carefully.

Trimming the Seams

Once the paper is all in place, any extra edges get trimmed with a razor. The seams where each piece of paper overlaps must be narrow - ideally about one millimeter. If they’re too thick, the lantern will cast uneven light. Clean seams make the glow look smooth and even.

Removing the Inner Frame

When everything dries, the internal frame gets taken out. The lantern’s paper body, the hibukuro, now holds its own shape. Folds are gently made with a spatula to help it stay round and balanced.

Final Drawing and Assembly

Some lanterns are finished with hand-painted artwork. This isn’t the same as stenciling. Artists use traditional Japanese-style brushwork to paint directly on the lantern. Since the design needs to look right when lit from inside, the artist must adjust colors carefully. Getting the same look on more than one lantern takes a lot of practice.

After painting, the final step is assembly. The rings, baseboard, legs, and any tassels get attached. That’s when the lantern is officially finished.

This whole process blends art, craft, and tradition. Every step relies on skill passed down for generations. Gifu lanterns aren’t just decorations. They’re handmade pieces of cultural heritage built to last.

 

7. Yamaga lanterns

Yamaga lanterns, or Yamaga toro, are handmade paper lanterns from the city of Yamaga in Kumamoto, Japan. These aren't your everyday lanterns. They're crafted entirely from washi, which is a traditional type of Japanese paper, using nothing but glue and a few simple tools like scissors, rulers, knives, and a flat iron. No nails, no metal, no extra support. Just paper, perfectly measured and cut.

Each lantern is built with careful attention to detail. The makers don’t leave space for seams or adhesives. Instead, they adjust the thickness of the paper to fit everything together smoothly. The structure holds on its own. And the final result? It looks solid. Like a real building. Not something made from paper.

Some lanterns are built to resemble castles or shrines, scaled down to about one-twentieth or one-thirtieth of the original size. The perspective is adjusted so that when you look at them, it feels like you’re seeing a full-size building from the front. They play with illusion. They make your eyes believe.

This level of skill and creativity led to Yamaga toro being officially recognized as a traditional Japanese craft in 2013.

The Yamaga Lantern Festival: A Celebration of Light and Culture

Every summer, the city of Yamaga holds a festival to honor these lanterns. It’s called the Yamaga Lantern Festival. Thousands of women dress in cotton yukata and dance through the streets, each one wearing a golden paper lantern on her head. The lanterns glow with soft light as they move together. The sight is unforgettable.

During the festival, large paper replicas of famous structures like castles and shrines are made as offerings. These are given to the local Omiya Shrine, continuing a tradition that’s been around for centuries.

Where It All Began: The Story Behind the Lanterns

There’s an old story tied to the roots of this tradition. It goes back to the time of Emperor Keiko, the twelfth emperor of Japan, who ruled during the first century CE. While traveling through Kyushu, he and his group got lost in thick fog near the Kikuchi River. Locals lit torches to guide them safely to Omiya Shrine. That same shrine still stands today.

For years after that, people offered torches to the shrine every year. Then, during the Muromachi period, those torches were replaced by handmade paper lanterns. By the Edo period, wealthy merchants began commissioning lanterns with more elaborate designs. Some resembled tatami rooms, others five-tiered pagodas. Many of those styles are still used in today’s lanterns.

How Paper Became Part of Yamaga’s Identity

The growth of Yamaga’s paper industry is also part of this story. During the Bunroku and Keicho wars in Korea, starting in 1592, a military leader named Kato Kiyomasa returned to Japan with two Korean papermakers named Kyoshun and Dokyo. They were tasked with teaching Japanese-style papermaking. Kyoshun eventually settled in what’s now Yamaga and passed on his skills.

Over time, papermaking took off in the region. The area became known for its high-quality washi. This paper craft helped fuel the evolution of the Yamaga toro. The demand for handmade paper and paper-based art grew, and the lanterns became a symbol of both local pride and cultural beauty.

Why Yamaga Toro Still Matters

These lanterns are more than decoration. They tell stories about survival, artistry, and community. They tie together history, craft, and ceremony. Each one is made by hand. No shortcuts. Every detail reflects the skill and care passed down over generations.

Yamaga toro stands out in the world of Japanese traditional crafts. It's living proof that something made from paper can last, can matter, and can continue to light up a whole town.

How Yamaga Lanterns Are Made: Step-by-Step Craftsmanship

Making a Yamaga lantern takes time, patience, and skill. Every piece is shaped by hand, starting with traditional washi paper. Even the gold or silver sheets used for decoration are backed with washi. No shortcuts. Here's how the process unfolds from start to finish.

Backing the Paper with Washi

Every lantern starts with handmade washi. This isn't optional. It's the base for the entire structure. Whether the outer layer is plain, gold, or silver, washi always lines the back to keep the form strong and flexible.

Pricking the Pattern

Next comes pricking. A tool called a bugami is used here. It's a paper template with tiny holes that mark the size and position of each part. The artisan pricks the paper with a needle through each hole. These marks guide the cuts and folds. Even a small lantern might have over 200 separate parts, so precision matters.

Marking the Lines

After that, a metal spatula called a hotarugai is used to connect the prick marks. This tool presses faint lines into the paper, showing exactly where to cut, bend, or glue.

Cutting the Roof, Piers, and Hexagon

Now the cutting begins. A small knife is used to shape the roof, the compound piers, and the hexagonal base. Each part is cut with care to keep the shapes sharp and clean.

Drawing Curves with a Pattern

Curved parts need to be traced first. A paper template and a pencil are used to mark these curves on the surface before cutting. This keeps everything smooth and balanced.

Cutting the Remaining Pieces

The rest of the parts are cut next. These vary depending on the design. For tricky spots like the ornamental rooftop, there's no room for glue, so the paper edges are cut at a 45-degree angle. This lets them fit together neatly.

Gluing the Sections

Now that the pieces are ready, they’re glued one by one. Each part is prepped and set aside, waiting for the final build.

Building the Ornamental Rooftop

The top of the lantern, known as the ornamental rooftop, is its own challenge. It’s made from six separate parts. These are joined at the chamfered edges, which were cut earlier. The fit needs to be exact, or it won’t hold.

Putting It All Together

The last step is assembly. Each finished section is connected to form the full lantern. Once it’s done, you’re left with a bright, gold Yamaga toro that looks like it came straight out of a dream. Every corner, edge, and detail is made by hand. It's light as paper, but built like a sculpture.

 

8. Kyo Uchiwa fans

Kyo uchiwa fans are a traditional type of flat fan made in Kyoto, Japan. They belong to a long line of handmade Japanese fans. Out of the three major styles of Japanese fans (those influenced by China, the southern islands, and Korea), Kyo uchiwa come from the Korean-inspired group.

The English word “fan” can mean both folding fans and flat ones. But Kyo uchiwa fall under the flat category. These fans don’t open and close. They’re one solid shape.

Each fan starts with thin strips of bamboo. These ribs are laid side by side to create the surface. The handle is made separately and added in after. It’s crafted from tortoise-shell bamboo, then dyed or lacquered.

Two sheets of paper are pasted on both sides of the bamboo base. Some fans have fifty ribs, others go all the way up to one hundred. The more ribs a fan has, the more refined it looks and feels. The ones with a hundred are called hyakudate, which means “a hundred sticks.” These are often used as decor.

Other Names and Their Meaning

Kyo uchiwa are also called Miyako uchiwa. That name means “capital fan” because Kyoto used to be the capital of Japan. Another name is Gosho uchiwa, or “imperial palace fan.” These fans stand out for their detailed artwork and high-end touches. You’ll often see gold leaf, lacquer finishes, and traditional paintings on them. Many designs show seasonal flowers, old landscapes, or quotes from classic Japanese poems like haiku and tanka.

Where They Came From

The idea for these fans came from Korea in the 14th century. Pirates called wakou were active along the coasts of Korea and China at the time. They brought these fans over to Japan. From there, the fan-making skill spread inland until it reached Kyoto. That’s where the local version, Kyo uchiwa, was born. The name “Miyako uchiwa” stuck because Kyoto was still the capital back then. The Imperial Court liked them for their beauty and fine design.

The Handle Came Later

The inserted handle, known as sashie, wasn’t always part of the design. It got added after the Edo period ended, sometime in the late 1800s. Around that time, two respected Japanese painting schools, Tosa and Kano, began to decorate these fans. Both had worked for noble families. Their interest helped the fans gain status, and the name Gosho uchiwa became more common. That change also made them more popular with everyday people. They weren’t just luxury items anymore. They were fans for regular homes, too.

Kyo Uchiwa Today

Most homes and shops in Japan now have air conditioning. But fans are still part of daily life. You’ll see them at festivals, in train stations, or inside busy offices. They’re light, portable, and useful in hot weather.

People still value Kyo uchiwa today, not just as tools to cool off, but as beautiful handmade items. Some use them around the house, while others carry them with a yukata in the summer. Either way, these fans are a lasting piece of Japanese craft. They blend function with tradition, and their design continues to reflect Kyoto’s long history of art and style.

How Kyo Uchiwa Fans Are Made

Making a Kyo uchiwa fan takes patience and precision. Every step in the process is done by hand. Craftsmen follow traditional methods passed down for generations. Here's how it all comes together.

Cutting and Splitting the Bamboo

First, dried bamboo is cut along the grain. A broad knife splits it into strips that match the size needed for the fan ribs. These strips form the core frame of the fan.

Trimming the Edges Evenly

Each strip is then trimmed along the sides. This step makes sure the ribs are all the same width, so the fan sits flat and balanced when finished.

Slicing the Strips Thin

Next, the bamboo strips are shaved down into very thin layers. This makes them flexible but still strong enough to hold the fan’s shape.

Making Indents at the Top

Tiny indents are added to the top ends of each strip. These small notches help guide the splitting that happens later.

Widening the Indents

The craftsman rubs each indent to make it deeper. The bamboo naturally splits on both sides, following the direction of the grain. This adds a bit of texture and allows the ribs to fan out evenly.

Smoothing the Surface

Once split, the ribs are planed to a consistent thickness. This helps the fan open smoothly and feel light in the hand.

Decorating the Paper

Now comes the artwork. The paper used for the fan can be painted by hand, printed with woodblocks, dyed, or even collaged. This step sets the visual tone for the entire fan.

Building the Frame

The first sheet of paper is called the backing. It gets pasted directly onto the ribs. This creates the base of the fan. Then the ribs and paper are pressed together to set the shape.

Removing the Top Paper

After the frame is dry, a thin layer of paper that was placed earlier is dampened and peeled off. This reveals the ribs beneath and cleans up the surface.

Adding the Front Design

Now, the front sheet of paper is pasted on top of the backing and ribs. This front piece usually carries the main design or artwork.

Securing the Ribs

Once the glue is dry, the inside edge of each rib is pressed with a small spatula. This creates small creases in the paper, so it holds tight around the ribs.

Reinforcing the Handle Area

The spot where the handle will go is strengthened by adding cloth or thicker paper. This keeps the fan sturdy and prevents tearing.

Cutting the Shape

The whole piece is now cut into the final fan shape. The curves and edges are trimmed clean to give the fan a finished look.

Final Assembly

Last, a thin strip of paper is pasted around the edge to seal it. The handle is then attached to the reinforced center. Once that’s done, the Kyo uchiwa fan is complete.

This process blends skill, tradition, and time. Each fan is slightly different. But every one reflects careful craftsmanship and Kyoto’s long history of handmade art.

 

9. Tendo Japanese chess pieces

Tendo shogi pieces, also called Tendo shogi koma in Japanese, are made in the cities of Tendo, Murayama, and Yamagata in Yamagata Prefecture. The tradition goes back to the Edo period, which lasted from 1603 to 1868. Today, Tendo handles nearly all of Japan’s shogi piece production. It’s the heart of the industry.

These pieces stand out for their smooth black finish and hand-painted kanji characters. The original style, known as kakigoma, features cursive kanji written straight onto the wood using black lacquer. That method was the starting point. After World War II, a square-style font became common. Today, there are more than 150 different writing styles in use.

While the traditional kakigoma style is still made, it's rare. Most pieces now use engraved methods. In the horigoma style, the kanji is carved into the surface and then painted with lacquer. Another method, called moriagegoma, goes one step further. It adds extra lacquer to raise the character slightly above the surface. These styles, kakigoma, horigoma, horiumegoma, and moriagegoma, were all named National Traditional Crafts in 1996.

What really makes these pieces special is the wood. Craftsmen use natural woods with beautiful, visible grain. Magnolia, painted maple, hakusanbou, and especially boxtree are all common choices. The best wood comes from Mikurajima Island, part of the Izu chain south of Tokyo. That boxtree is dense and smooth, and the grain patterns are ideal. Full sets of 40 matching shogi pieces made from this wood can be very expensive, especially when the colors and patterns line up.

Shogi is Japan’s version of chess. It’s believed to have come from India and arrived in Japan during the Nara period, between 710 and 784 CE. Piece-making likely began near the end of the Azuchi-Momoyama period, which ran from 1568 to 1600. That’s when artisans developed the black lacquer kakigoma style.

By the late Edo period, shogi had become popular with everyday people. Around that time, Tendo was struggling financially. To help revive the local economy, workers there learned how to make shogi pieces from neighbors in Yonezawa, now called Yamagata City. That led to the growth of the kakigoma style. Once production picked up, the town saw a change. Former samurai began carving wood or painting kanji characters. They worked together to build a local industry.

It didn’t take long for Tendo to become the biggest name in shogi piece manufacturing. During the Taisho era, between 1912 and 1926, factories began using machines. Production scaled up fast. Even kids helped paint the pieces. A stamped version, called oshigoma, was introduced in the early Showa era, which began in 1926. By then, Tendo had passed Osaka to become the top producer in the country.

In 1955, production of kakigoma and oshigoma hit its peak. After that, demand changed. People preferred carved pieces like horigoma. Around 1965, craftsmen in Tendo began experimenting with newer styles. That’s when horiumegoma and moriagegoma came into the picture.

Tendo’s chess pieces blend tradition, craft, and precision. Every part, from the style of kanji to the grain of the wood, adds to the value. Even now, this small city remains the center of Japan’s shogi world.

How Tendo Shogi Pieces Are Made: A Step-by-Step Look at the Process

Preparing the Wood

It starts with carefully chosen logs. These aren’t fresh. They’re dried out over several years to keep them from cracking or warping later. Once they’re ready, the logs are sliced into thin rounds, each about the thickness of a shogi piece. The slices follow the natural wood grain. Boxtree is the most sought-after wood for this. It’s strong, fine-grained, and holds up over time. The highest-grade boxtree comes from Mikurajima Island near Tokyo and Satsuma in Kagoshima. Those are saved for premium sets.

Shaping Each Piece

Next, craftsmen use a komagirinata, a short hatchet, to chop the slices into smaller bits. Both sides get shaved down until the wood hits the right width for a shogi piece. The bottom gets flattened. The top gets carved into a shape with five uneven sides. That’s the classic form. At this stage, they also make sure the wood grain looks consistent across the full set. The grain matters a lot. A trained eye has to match them up just right before moving forward.

Calligraphy and Carving

Then it’s time to add the kanji. A piece of paper with the character already written on it gets glued onto each wood piece. That helps guide the engraving. The piece is clamped down while a sharp knife carves the character into the wood. Some expert carvers skip the paper and go straight into the wood using a method called sukashibori. After carving, a thin layer of persimmon tannin or natural glue goes over the characters. These days, most use a modern glue instead.

Lacquering and Finishing

Pieces with engraved kanji that get lacquered are called horigoma. These can be made by hand or machine. For higher-end styles like horiumegoma, each character gets layer after layer of rust lacquer. Every coat has to dry fully before the next one goes on. This process alone can take up to a month. Once the lacquer levels out with the wood surface, the piece gets polished smooth. The final polish uses porcelain to get a clean, finished shine.

Adding Raised Lacquer

Moriagegoma takes things further. After the horiumegoma is finished, more lacquer gets brushed over the kanji to build it up. Each layer has to dry before the next can go on. You can’t rush this part. The lacquer gets applied slowly until the character sits slightly raised on the surface. Only top-level artisans can pull this off evenly. These pieces are rare and often used in pro-level matches. They’re among the most expensive shogi pieces made.

Writing in Lacquer by Hand

Kakigoma skips the carving. The kanji characters are painted straight onto the wood using thick black lacquer. Sounds easy, but it isn’t. The surface is small, and the lacquer is sticky. It takes years of practice to make each stroke clean. But master artisans can do it in seconds with a few quick moves. These pieces use either a traditional cursive style or a square font. The cursive design is the oldest and most iconic look in Tendo.

This whole process shows why Tendo shogi pieces are so well known. It’s not just about carving wood. It’s a mix of fine materials, calligraphy, steady hands, and attention to detail. Every step adds to the quality, and every piece tells a bit of that story.

 

10. Edo glass

Edo glass is handmade glassware that started in Tokyo, mainly in Edogawa, Sumida, and Koto. Some is also made in nearby parts of Chiba, but it’s officially recognized as a traditional craft of Tokyo. What sets it apart is how it’s made. Everything follows techniques, tools, and materials that have been passed down since the Edo period, which lasted from 1603 to 1868.

This kind of glass isn’t pumped out by machines. Each piece is made by hand, one at a time. That means no two are the same. Every item has its own look, feel, and character. That’s why people in Japan and abroad value it so much. It’s personal, well-crafted, and it feels different when you hold it. It makes a great gift or souvenir, especially if you want something truly tied to Japanese culture.

How Edo Glass Is Made

The process of making Edo glass hasn’t changed much in centuries. Every step is done by skilled artisans using old methods. The steps are detailed and take time, and nothing is rushed. These makers train for years to learn their craft. They shape the hot glass by hand, using techniques that date back hundreds of years.

To keep the craft alive, regular exhibitions are held. These shows let the public see the latest work and meet the artists. They also help spread awareness of the tradition. Craftsmen who win awards at these events gain a lot of respect. The top winners often earn recognition as masters in their field. That status helps keep the tradition strong and the quality high.

A Quick Look at the History of Japanese Glass

Glass first showed up in Japan way back during the Yayoi period, which was around 300 BCE to 250 CE. Back then, glass was rare, and the methods to make it were basic. Things changed in the Sengoku period, between 1467 and 1568, but glass was still mostly for the elite. You couldn’t find it in everyday homes.

It wasn’t until the Edo period that glass production really picked up. By then, Edo, now Tokyo, had become a massive city with over a million people. That kind of population created demand. Around the early 1700s, a craftsman named Kyubei Kagaya set up shop in Torishio, near Nihonbashi. He started making common items like mirrors and glasses for daily use.

At the same time, in Asakusa, Tomesaburo Kazusaya made more decorative items. He crafted hairpins, wind chimes, and kaleidoscopes that became popular with locals. These pieces weren’t just pretty; they were part of life in Edo.

The Rise of Edo Glass as a Recognized Craft

By 1877, Edo glass had made its mark. At Japan’s first national industrial expo, glass from Kagaya and his son Yasutaro Kumasaki was featured in the official catalog. That same era saw the start of organized glass production. In 1879, the Tokyo Glass Producers Association was formed. It later evolved into what’s now the TOBU Glass Industry Co-operative Association of Japan.

Even now, those traditional methods are still in use. The skills are passed down from master to apprentice. In 2014, Edo glass was officially named a Traditional Craft. That label gives the art form both legal protection and cultural importance.

Edo glass isn’t just glass. It’s a living piece of Japanese history, shaped by hand and made to last. Each item tells a story. And that’s what makes it worth holding onto.

How Edo Glass Is Made Today

The way Edo glass is made has changed a bit since the old days, but the core process still follows what artisans did during the Edo period. Most of it is done by hand. It takes a lot of skill, patience, and teamwork. Here’s how it all works from start to finish.

Melting the Glass

Glassmaking in Tokyo took a modern turn during the Meiji period. That’s when the Shinagawa Glass Works started using Western methods in a government-run factory. But even with modern tools, the basics stayed the same. Craftsmen still use raw materials that date back to the Edo era: silica sand, soda ash, lime, potassium, lead oxide, and other minerals. These are melted at about 1400 degrees Celsius, or roughly 2250 degrees Fahrenheit. The furnaces use fuel oil or gas now, but the result is the same - a thick, glowing liquid like hot syrup.

Shaping the Glass

Once the molten glass is ready, it’s shaped by hand. Timing and temperature control matter a lot here. The material, called garasu-dane, is extremely hot and heavy. Several artisans work together to pull it out of the furnace safely. Every movement needs focus and teamwork.

Press Molding Method

To shape it, they may use press molding. That means they pour the hot glass into a hollow mold, then press it with another mold from above. This creates the base form of the piece with clean, even lines. It’s fast and efficient, but still relies on a steady hand.

Free-Blowing Technique

Another way to shape Edo glass is by free-blowing. Here, a blob of molten glass is attached to the end of a long metal blowpipe. While one hand rolls the pipe, the artisan blows air through it to make a bubble. Tongs and other tools stretch, cut, and bend the glass into shape. They reheat the piece again and again to keep it soft while working. This process takes practice and a sharp eye. No two pieces ever come out the same. This is where the artisan’s personal style really shows.

Mold-Blowing Process

Mold-blowing is a bit different. The hot glass goes into a wooden or metal mold, and then air is blown in. This forms a set shape that can be made over and over. The mold gives a clear outline, but the artisan still needs to guide the glass with a spatula and careful pressure. When the form is ready, extra bits are trimmed off. The end result is a solid, clean piece.

Cooling the Glass in an Annealing Kiln

After shaping, the glass is still very hot. If it cools too quickly, it will crack or break. That’s why the next step is crucial. Each piece goes into an annealing kiln, which keeps it at about 500 degrees Celsius, or 932 degrees Fahrenheit. The temperature holds steady at first, then slowly drops over 12 hours or more. This slow cool-off relieves stress in the glass and makes it strong enough to last.

Finishing and Sending Out the Products

Once cooled, the item is polished and checked for quality. Any flaws are removed. Then it’s packed up and sent out to department stores, direct shops, or customers. You’ll find everything from everyday cups and plates to sake sets and flower vases made this way. Some workshops also run their own showrooms, where people can stop by, see the glass up close, and even hold it in their hands.

The full process, from melting to shaping to cooling, blends old-world skill with precise detail. That’s what gives Edo glass its character. Each step matters. And each finished piece is the result of work you can feel.

 

11. Edo patterned paper

Edo karakami is a type of traditional Japanese paper made by hand. It comes from parts of Tokyo like Bunkyo and Taito, and also from Matsudo in Chiba and Tokigawa in Saitama. In May 1999, the Japanese government labeled it a traditional craft. It's mainly used for sliding doors called fusuma and folding screens called byobu.

There are a few ways this paper gets made. Karakami artisans use simple woodblock printing. Sarasa artisans work with stencils. Sunago artisans add gold or silver powder by hand. Each group has its own way of making patterns. These techniques bring out a wide mix of styles and designs.

Early patterns were inspired by what people in Edo liked at the time, especially samurai and merchants. These included chintz prints, lattice styles, seasonal flowers, and everyday household items. People still love these old-school patterns, but many new ones have popped up too. Today, Edo karakami shows up not only on doors and screens, but also on walls and ceilings as wallpaper.

How Edo Karakami Got Started

This craft started when skilled paper makers moved from Kyoto to Edo to meet higher demand. The style changed over time, shaped by what people in Edo preferred. But its roots go back even further.

The earliest influence came from the Nara and Heian periods, between 710 and 1192 CE. Back then, paper was decorated with gold and silver to copy Buddhist texts. Another early style came from Heian-era poems written on printed paper. That printing style is the ancestor of today's Edo karakami.

As Edo grew into a city, more people wanted stylish paper for their homes. The merchant class especially drove the trend, and their taste helped shape the designs. Over time, the Kyoto-style karakami changed into something that felt more local. It wasn’t until between 1853 and 1869 that people began calling it "Edo karakami."

Edo Karakami Through Hard Times

In the 20th century, Edo karakami took several hard hits. The Great Kanto Earthquake in 1923 wiped out a lot of the tools and woodblocks used to make the paper. Then, in 1945, the Great Tokyo Air Raids caused even more damage. These events destroyed many irreplaceable pieces.

Another problem is the high cost. Making this paper takes a lot of time and effort, and it can’t be mass-produced. So during bad economies, the craft suffered. Even then, the few families who knew the techniques didn’t give up. They passed the craft down, keeping it alive through each generation.

Edo karakami is still here. It may not be common, but it’s still made by hand, still rooted in history, and still valued for the beauty it brings to traditional Japanese spaces.

How Edo Karakami Is Made

The process of making Edo karakami paper takes a lot of skill and time. It’s all done by hand using old techniques. Artisans use woodblocks, stencils, and gold or silver powder to decorate the paper. Each part of the work needs focus and precision. The tools are simple, but the results are detailed and beautiful.

Woodblock Printing Techniques

To start, artisans cover a carved woodblock with a special paste. This paste is made from ground mica, crushed seashells, and a sticky glue made from plants. Once the paste is ready, the block is pressed onto the paper to print the design.

Next comes brush dyeing. The paper is colored using different tools and methods. For brushwork, the dye goes on a brush with spaced bristles, which makes thin, even lines. Other techniques include using screens or stands to apply the pigment. In full-dye methods, the whole sheet is covered with mica and color. In tie-dye styles, the brush is soaked in water first, then several colors are added on top, creating soft blends.

After the paper is dyed, it gets an undercoat and is rubbed by hand. This creates wrinkles and cracks that add texture. It’s a careful step that changes how the paper looks and feels.

The last step involves gold or silver leaf. A wheat glue goes on the woodblock, which is then pressed onto the paper. Flakes of gold or silver are laid on top. Once dry, extra flakes are brushed off. The final touch is a sizing liquid made from animal glue and alum. This seals the paper and makes the design stay sharp.

Stencil Printing Techniques

Stencil printing uses a flat sheet called a katagami, which is hardened with persimmon juice. It’s laid over the paper, and pigment is pushed through the openings using a soft horsehair brush. This prints the pattern on the paper. The stencil method can be done in one color or many.

For multicolor work, more stencils are used. Each color needs its own stencil, and the process is repeated five to seven times at most. The colors are layered, one by one.

Another method used for family crests creates a raised effect. A thick paste of pigment is pushed through the stencil using a wooden spatula. This makes the shape pop off the paper, giving it a bold, 3D look.

Stencil artisans also apply gold and silver leaf, just like the woodblock artists. The main difference is that they use thin paper stencils instead of heavy blocks.

Gold and Silver Powder Techniques

Powder artisans work with flakes, dust, and paint made from gold and silver. One method uses a bamboo tube fitted with a copper mesh. The powder is shaken gently over the paper in even layers.

Another way uses flakes in different shapes and sizes. These are sprinkled through a bamboo tube with thread stretched across the end. The flakes can be square, long strips, or irregular hand-torn shapes.

Some artisans turn the powder into paint. They grind the metal finer and mix it with liquid glue. Only part of the brush is dipped in, which helps spread the paint in thin lines across the paper. This step gives the pattern a soft shimmer.

There’s also hand-drawn painting. Artisans use brushes to paint landscapes or traditional scenes directly on the paper. Each piece is unique.

In the final method, the powder or paint is put on the paper, which is placed on a carved woodblock. Then the paper is rubbed with a boar’s tusk. This transfers the carved pattern onto the paper and creates a raised surface, like embossing.

These old techniques are still used today. Each method has its own style, and each artisan brings their own touch. Together, they make Edo karakami one of the most detailed and time-honored paper crafts in Japan.

 

12. Yame lanterns

Yame lanterns, known as Yame chochin in Japanese, are traditional handcrafted lanterns made in Yame, a region in Fukuoka Prefecture. These lanterns are built around a bamboo frame with a light box inside. The outside is usually decorated with hand-painted images of flowers, plants, and birds. The bamboo structure is made using a special technique called ichijo rasenshiki. This involves wrapping one long, thin strip of bamboo around the frame in a spiral. This method laid the foundation for what we now call Bon festival lanterns.

Bon chochin, or Bon lanterns, are placed in front of Buddhist altars during the Bon festival, a summer event meant to honor ancestors. Most of the lanterns made in Yame today are for this tradition. There are thousands of variations. Some are long and narrow, like the sumiyoshi style. Others are round and designed to hang, like the gotenmaru. You’ll also find versions used for ceremonies or even for advertising.

The fire box, where the light shines, is made from thin handmade washi paper or silk. This makes the light glow through softly. That glowing, breezy look is why some people call them suzumi chochin, which means cooling lantern. These are recognized across Japan for their elegant and traditional design.

The materials used are all natural and local to the area. They use local bamboo, Japanese paper, lacquer, and wood. Every lantern reflects the craftsmanship passed down through generations.

History of Yame Chochin

The Yame lantern craft goes back about 200 years. The earliest known maker was Bunemon Aramaki. In 1813, he started making lanterns in Fukushima, a part of Fukuoka Prefecture. Back then, the lanterns were known as Fukushima chochin because of where they were made. His lanterns were made to hang in cemeteries. The artwork was simple. He used just one color to draw flowers like camellias and peonies.

Between 1854 and 1859, another local craftsman named Tahei Yoshinaga changed how these lanterns were made. He created the ichijo rasenshiki bamboo method and started using thin paper in the fire box. These changes took the craft to a new level and made the lanterns more refined and unique.

Later on, during the Meiji period, when lantern demand started to rise, Tahei’s younger brother, Ihei Yoshinaga, came up with a fast drawing method. This helped speed up the work and lower the price, which made it easier to sell more lanterns. As the quality improved and costs dropped, they started shipping these lanterns overseas to countries like the United States and the United Kingdom.

Why Yame Lanterns Still Matter

Today, Yame chochin carries the history, skill, and culture of its region. Every piece is handmade with care using local materials and time-tested techniques. Their soft glow and hand-painted designs still draw attention across Japan and beyond. Whether used for festivals, rituals, or decoration, Yame lanterns continue to hold their place as one of Japan’s most respected and enduring paper lantern crafts.

How Yame Lanterns Are Made

Preparing the Bamboo Strips

The base of each Yame lantern starts with thin bamboo strips. These strips are around 0.4 millimeters wide and about 4.5 meters long. To make one long strip, anywhere from twelve to twenty-five of these thin pieces are joined together. This long bamboo piece is what forms the spiraled frame that holds the lantern’s shape.

Building the Wooden Frame

Next, a wooden frame is built to match the size and shape of the lantern. This frame includes a round wooden disk and curved boards called wings. These wings act as the guide for the bamboo spiral. Usually, a single frame needs between eight and sixteen wings. Once the parts are in place, the full structure is ready to hold the bamboo.

Winding the Bamboo Spiral

Two support rings, known as hari-wa, are set at the top and bottom of the wooden frame. These rings keep the whole thing steady. The long bamboo stick gets fixed at the top and is then wrapped in a spiral all the way down to the bottom ring. The spiral follows the grooves in the wooden wings. After the bamboo is wrapped, thread is tied vertically from top to bottom over the spiral to protect the paper that will be added later. These threads help the lantern hold its shape and make sure the paper won’t tear when it stretches or shrinks.

Pasting the Silk Layer

Silk is added to strengthen the mouth of the lantern. It's pasted from the top ring and bottom ring down to the fourth or fifth bamboo spiral. Once that’s done, wheat starch paste is brushed onto each section between the vertical threads. Silk is added, but only to every other space. It’s laid down slightly loose so it can flex with the lantern.

Trimming the Silk Seams

After the silk has been pasted on, the extra bits are trimmed off. A razor is used to slice off the excess, leaving just a sliver of overlap so glue can be added for a clean seam.

Sealing the Surface with Washi Paper

A mix of alum and animal glue is brushed over the entire fire box. This coating stops the paint from smudging later on. It also keeps the paper firm and smooth, so the designs can be applied clearly.

Taking Out the Wooden Frame

Once everything is dry, the wooden frame is taken apart and removed from inside the lantern. What’s left is a solid bamboo and paper shell, ready to be painted.

Hand Painting the Designs

Skilled artists step in at this stage. They paint the outside of the lantern by hand without using stencils or outlines. The work is done freehand, directly onto the paper. Common designs include flowers, birds, and nature scenes. Every brushstroke is done with precision, often from years of training.

Crafting the Wooden Parts

While the fire box is drying or being painted, other craftsmen make the wood parts. These include the top and bottom rings, known as gawa, and the handle, called teita. The rings are made by bending strips of wood by hand. The handle is cut out using a thread sawing machine, then filed smooth to the touch.

Applying Lacquer to the Wood

Once the wooden parts are shaped and smooth, a lacquer specialist coats them with a soft lacquer. This is done twice to seal the wood and give it a smooth, polished finish.

Decorating with Maki-e and Raden

After the lacquer dries, the wood is decorated. A craftsman uses gold lacquer to sketch a design. Then gold, silver, or colored powder is sprinkled on the design while it’s still tacky. This technique is called maki-e. Sometimes, small pieces of abalone or pearl shell are added for extra shine. This is known as raden. Both techniques give the lantern a detailed, high-end look.

Final Assembly

Once the fire box, rings, and handles are done, all the parts go to the lantern shop. Skilled workers assemble the lanterns by hand. They add final touches like tassels, metal pieces, and other details that give each lantern its finished look. The result is a handmade, detailed piece of traditional Japanese craftsmanship that blends beauty with utility.

 

13. Owari Cloisonné

Owari Cloisonné, or Owari Shippo in Japanese, is a type of enamel art that comes from Ama and Nagoya in Aichi prefecture. These pieces are made by applying colored glass enamel to metal, like copper or silver. The designs often show flowers, landscapes, or other elements from nature.

The word shippo means "seven treasures" in Buddhism. People believed the shine and detail in this enamel looked like real gemstones. That’s how it got its name.

Owari Cloisonné relies on detailed handwork. The most common method today is yusen-shippo, which is wired cloisonné. Artists place thin metal wires on a metal base to shape the design. Then they fill the spaces with enamel, fire the piece, and polish it until it shines.

Another technique is musen-shippo, or wireless cloisonné. Here, the wires are either taken off before firing, or not used at all. This gives the piece soft, blended colors instead of sharp outlines.

In moriage-shippo, or raised cloisonné, some parts of the surface are built up higher than others before firing. This creates a three-dimensional look.

There’s also shotai-shippo, known in French as plique-à-jour. This one looks like stained glass. Artists apply enamel between silver wires on a copper base. After firing and polishing, they remove the copper with acid, leaving just the enamel and silver. It’s fragile but beautiful.

Artists often mix techniques or try new ones, which adds to the variety and richness of the style. The glossy, glass-like finish and strong colors are what make these pieces stand out.

Where Cloisonné Came From

Cloisonné didn’t start in Japan. It goes all the way back to ancient Egypt. It traveled through Europe and China before reaching Japan. The oldest known cloisonné found in Japan was from the 7th century. It came from a burial site and was used for things like temple fittings.

In the early 1800s, cloisonné plates were brought over from the Netherlands. A man named Tsunekichi Kaji, who worked for the ruling Owari clan in Aichi, studied the plates closely. He figured out how they were made and began crafting his own versions.

This process took hold in farming villages, mostly done by the second or third sons of local families. As more people learned the skill, the craft spread fast. These works became known as Owari Shippo, named after the region.

The Rise of the Owari Cloisonné Industry

Unlike in some places, individual artists in Owari didn’t sign their work. So cloisonné became more of a community craft than a personal art form. Still, the quality was so high that Owari Cloisonné gained international attention.

In 1867, it was shown at the Universal Exposition in Paris and won an award. That moment helped put it on the global map.

Later, during World War II, the Japanese government labeled cloisonné as a luxury good. That meant making and selling it was banned under new wartime rules. Production stopped, and the craft nearly disappeared.

But in 1943, Shinji Yoshino became the governor of Aichi. He saw value in the craft and helped bring it back as a local industry. Thanks to that, Owari Cloisonné survived.

Why Owari Cloisonné Still Matters

Owari Cloisonné isn’t just old enamel. It’s a deep part of Japanese craft history. The techniques are detailed, the colors are bold, and each piece reflects hours of focused work. Even today, people value it not just for how it looks, but for what it represents: the patience, skill, and tradition that went into making it.

How Owari Cloisonné Is Made

Creating Owari Cloisonné takes time, skill, and patience. Each part of the process is handled by a different specialist. The work is done by hand, step by step, from shaping the base to adding the final polish.

Shaping the Copper Base

It starts with the base. Most Owari Cloisonné pieces use copper as the foundation. Artisans either shape the copper by hand using hammers or form it by machine. They might use a metal rod and lathe or press it into shape. This stage lays the groundwork for everything that follows.

Sketching the Design

Next comes the design. Some artists draw directly on the bare metal with sumi ink. Others coat the copper with white enamel first, then sketch the design on top. Today, many use a carved plastic mold to print the design. This new method speeds things up without losing detail.

Placing the Silver Wires

Once the design is in place, silver wires are glued along the lines. The glue is made from the powdered root of the urn orchid. This natural adhesive keeps the wires in place while the piece is worked on. The wires act like walls, holding the enamel in place.

Filling in the Enamel

Now comes the color. Enamel made from ground glass, silica stone, lead oxide, or saltpeter is mixed with small amounts of metals like cobalt, copper, or silver. These metals give the enamel different shades. Some workshops use secret blends to get special tones. Artisans apply each color by hand between the wires. Machines can't do this part well, even today.

Firing the Piece

After applying the enamel, the piece is fired in an electric kiln at about 700 to 800 degrees Celsius. That’s roughly 1300 to 1470 degrees Fahrenheit. In the past, they used charcoal furnaces instead.

Firing melts the enamel powder. Once cooled, the enamel shrinks slightly, making the surface lower than the metal wires. So, artisans repeat the process. They apply more enamel and fire it again, sometimes several times, to build up the layers until the enamel is level with the wires.

Polishing the Surface

After the final firing, the surface is rough and uneven. So, it needs to be polished. Artisans use water and whetstones to smooth it out. Then, they polish it again using charcoal or tin oxide to bring out the shine. This also makes the silver wire outlines pop. These outlines define the design. Some use industrial diamond tools now for a finer polish.

Adding the Finishing Touches

The last step is fitting the rims. The top and bottom of the piece are still raw copper at this point. To finish it, silver or silver-plated rims are attached. For example, a vase will get a silver ring around the top and bottom edges. This gives the piece a clean, polished look and protects the copper underneath.

Each stage in this process takes a steady hand and years of practice. That's why true Owari Cloisonné stands out. It's not just decorative. It's the result of exact steps, smart hands, and a long tradition.

 

14. Fukuyama Koto (Japanese Harp)

The Fukuyama koto is a traditional Japanese harp made in Fukuyama, a city in Hiroshima Prefecture. Most koto in Japan come from this area. The calm, coastal scenery in Fukuyama even inspired one of the most famous koto pieces ever written: Haru no Umi, which means “Spring Sea.”

What makes the Fukuyama koto stand out is its deep sound, beautiful design, and fine craftsmanship. It’s made from top-quality paulownia wood. Skilled artisans shape and finish the wood by hand, and the final result is known across Japan as one of the best koto you can buy. Inside the main body of the instrument, they carve repeating patterns that help improve the acoustics. One common pattern is the hemp leaf. You’ll usually find that one on high-end koto.

The sides of a Fukuyama koto are decorated using a traditional technique called maki-e. This involves painting detailed images onto the wood with lacquer, then adding a layer of gold powder before the lacquer dries. This gives the instrument an elegant and refined finish that adds to its overall charm and value.

A Long History of Sound and Craft

The history of the Fukuyama koto goes all the way back to the early Edo period, which began in 1603. It started when Katsunari Mizuno, a cousin of Tokugawa Ieyasu, built Fukuyama Castle in what was then called Bingo Province. That area became a thriving castle town, supported by the Mizuno, Matsudaira, and Abe families. During that time, traditional music flourished.

Near the end of the Edo period, a koto master named Koto Kuzuhara brought Kyoto’s playing style to Fukuyama. That helped raise the craft’s reputation, and more people started to appreciate the sound and quality of the Fukuyama-made instruments. It wasn’t just a musical tool anymore. It became a treasured piece of traditional culture.

When the Meiji period began in 1868, full-scale production took off. Craftsmen worked to refine the techniques and improve the design. Fukuyama grew into the heart of koto manufacturing in Japan. Around 1970, the area was producing about thirty thousand koto every year. Today, that number has dropped to roughly three thousand, but the quality remains just as high.

Keeping the Koto Tradition Alive

The makers in Fukuyama haven’t stopped evolving. They’ve adapted to changing times by producing lighter, more portable instruments without losing the richness of the sound. At the same time, they’re making sure the koto stays part of Japanese culture. Every year, they hold national koto competitions for students in elementary and junior high school. These events encourage young players to keep the tradition going.

There’s also a special day dedicated to the koto. On June 6, known as Music of Japan Day, a ceremony is held in Tomonoura, a port area in Fukuyama. It honors koto that have been used for many years in performances or practice. It’s a way to respect the instrument and everything it represents.

The Fukuyama koto is more than just a harp. It’s a living piece of Japan’s musical and artistic heritage, shaped by centuries of skill, culture, and pride.

How a Fukuyama Koto Is Made: Step-by-Step Process

Choosing the Wood

The process begins with selecting fresh-cut paulownia logs. These come from both Japan and North America. Ideal logs measure around 400 to 600 millimeters across at the top. A slight curve in the wood is preferred. Experienced makers check for things like the direction of the grain, annual rings, and burls. All of these affect how strong and stable the final koto will be.

After choosing the right logs, craftsmen mark the best spots to cut using ink lines. The logs are roughly trimmed on both sides, then split into main pieces: the body and the backboard. Special saws are used to get the right cuts.

Natural and Artificial Drying

Once the wood is cut, it’s left outside to dry for one to three years. It stays out through the changing seasons, including rain, which helps it lose moisture slowly and evenly. This long drying period makes the wood more stable and less likely to warp later. It also helps remove lye from the material. After natural drying, the wood goes through artificial drying to finish the job and fully prepare it for shaping.

Shaping the Body

Next comes the most hands-on part of the process. The body of the koto is shaped in several stages: gouging, carving, adding the backboard, scorching, and polishing.

First, the craftsman planes the surface and starts cutting areas that will hold fittings. Then they carve the inside of the main body. Higher-grade koto get detailed carved patterns inside, such as reed screens or zigzag designs. This step takes focus and steady hands. After that, the backboard, which works as a resonator, is cut, shaped, and attached.

Once the full wood form is assembled, the surface is scorched using a red-hot iron. This brings out a warm, rich tone and the unique look associated with Fukuyama koto. Finally, the burned areas are cleaned up, and the wood is polished until it shines.

Decorating the Instrument

This stage takes the most time. The koto has many small sections that each need careful finishing. Decorative elements include the strips on either side of the fixed bridges, the saddle area, the oak leaf design on the surface end, and the dragon’s tongue near the side end. Other detailed parts include a round window, front and back legs, and the bridges themselves.

Traditional design methods are used to give each koto its signature look. These include inlay, maki-e, and wood marquetry. For the dragon’s tongue, raised lacquer, flat lacquer, or burnished maki-e methods may be used. The oak leaf design is a distinct feature of the Fukuyama style and adds to the visual identity of the instrument.

Final Touches and Quality Check

Metal fittings are added last. After that, the front legs are adjusted to make sure the instrument sits level. Every koto goes through a close final check. It’s tuned and carefully inspected to make sure it meets the highest standards before it’s officially recognized as a traditional Fukuyama koto.

From choosing the wood to the final polish, every step in the process is designed to bring out the full beauty and sound of this historic Japanese harp.

 

Next up:
Traditional Japanese Crafts: Rare Handicrafts and Art from Japan | Part II