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

In case you haven't read Part I:
Traditional Japanese Crafts: Rare Handicrafts and Art from Japan | Part I

 

15. Kyo art preservation

Kyo Hyogu means Kyoto-style art mountings. It’s a traditional method used to preserve and display Japanese calligraphy and paintings. The craft comes from Kyoto, where it’s been passed down for centuries. These mountings aren’t just for decoration. They’re made to protect the artwork, too.

People in Kyoto have used Kyo Hyogu for things like hanging scrolls, folding screens, framed art, fusuma sliding doors, and single-panel screens. You’ll see hanging scrolls and frames in Japanese-style rooms. Fusuma and folding screens are used more for separating spaces or shielding from wind and cold. Every piece has a purpose, and every design choice adds meaning.

The Roots of Kyo Hyogu Go Deep

Kyo Hyogu started back in the Heian period. That was when Buddhism first came to Japan from China. Along with religion, scrolls also made their way in. These were called kyokan, and they held handwritten Buddhist sutras.

Early hanging scrolls showed painted images of Buddha. People used them for prayer. Over time, these mountings evolved into their own craft, shaped by Kyoto’s long history of religion, politics, and fine art.

Kyoto’s Climate Shaped the Craft

The weather in Kyoto is humid, with big swings in temperature and little wind. That might sound tough, but it actually helped. Those conditions turned out to be ideal for making and preserving Hyogu. The materials held up well, and the scrolls stayed in good shape over time.

When tokonoma alcoves became common in Japanese homes, people started displaying art more often. That sparked a new use for Hyogu. Instead of just protecting sacred texts, they now held paintings and calligraphy too.

Tea Culture Pushed the Craft Forward

From the Muromachi period through the Edo era, the tea ceremony became a major part of Japanese culture. It wasn’t just about drinking tea. It was about taste, style, and simplicity. That led to a higher demand for refined mountings. Kyo Hyogu had to keep up, and it did. The designs became more elegant and more detailed.

Artisans in Kyoto had access to quality paper, cloth, and tools. They also had elite clients, including the imperial family, temple leaders, and masters of tea schools. All of that raised the standard. Over time, Kyo Hyogu became known for its high level of craftsmanship.

More Than Just Decoration

Kyo Hyogu isn’t just pretty. It’s also practical. Hanging scrolls roll up easily, so they’re compact and easy to carry. Sliding doors and folding screens can divide a room or block drafts. They’re both useful and beautiful, which is rare.

This craft was officially named a traditional Japanese art in 1997. That means it’s protected, and it will continue to be taught and practiced. Today’s Kyo Hyogu artisans are still using the same skills passed down over hundreds of years. They work on everything from new scrolls to restoring old pieces. They bridge past and present through every careful step.

Kyo Hyogu Is Still Alive

You’ll still find Kyo Hyogu in Kyoto and beyond. It shows up in museums, tea rooms, traditional homes, and temples. It’s not just old art. It’s a living tradition. And it’s proof that functional design, when done right, can be timeless.

Whether you're looking at a scroll from centuries ago or a screen made last year, the same values hold. Simplicity. Purpose. Beauty. And that’s why Kyo Hyogu still matters.

How Kyo Hyogu Is Made from Start to Finish

Kyo Hyogu starts with one main thing: the honshi. That’s the actual artwork, whether it’s a painting, a calligraphy piece, or a Buddhist image. Everything else is built around it to protect it, highlight it, and make it last. The materials used are traditional: handmade Japanese paper, natural cloth, and paste. Every step takes patience. The process involves dampening, drying, and layering over and over again.

Choosing the Right Cloth for the Artwork

This part matters most. The fabric you pick will decide how the finished scroll looks and feels. There are four types of weaves used in Kyo Hyogu. You have hiraori, which is a flat weave. Then ayaori, a twill weave. Shusuori is satin, and karamiori is a leno weave.

For hanging scrolls, the fabric has to be light and soft. It can’t be too stiff or it’ll curl when rolled. Each fabric type brings a different texture, and you have to think about how the colors and patterns match the artwork. The goal is to highlight the honshi, not distract from it.

First Layering with Hadaurauchi

Once the cloth is picked, it’s time for the first lining, called hadaurauchi. A strong, thin Japanese paper called usuminogami is used here. It holds up well and helps the cloth stay in shape. The cloth is cut to fit the honshi, and water is used to shrink it ahead of time so it won’t change later.

Next, paste is spread evenly across the lining paper. This isn’t rushed. It starts in the center and moves outward. The lining paper is then pressed onto the cloth and smoothed out with a brush. This step needs real focus. Any mistake can damage the honshi.

Second Lining with Mashiurauchi

The second layer of paper is added using a beating brush. This step is called mashiurauchi. A different paper is used now, usually misugami. It’s flexible and easy to work with. The edges of the paper are torn by hand, not cut. A bamboo spatula and water help with this. Tearing it brings out the fibers, which makes it easier to layer without creating a visible seam or bump.

The second lining is only fixed at the fiber edges, so it blends in and keeps the surface smooth. It helps support the scroll without adding bulk.

Framing the Edges Around the Artwork

Next, the artisan lines the outer parts of the honshi. This gives the scroll more strength and adds to the final visual balance. Every part needs to fit perfectly.

Connecting the Full Layout

At this stage, everything gets joined. All the lined parts are assembled. Patterns and edges need to match exactly. This isn’t something you eyeball. It takes real skill to line up everything so the final scroll looks clean and balanced.

Final Layer with Udashi Paper

Now it’s time to add the total lining, covering the back of the entire piece. A paper called udashi is used here. It’s made with white clay, which gives it a smooth feel and a solid hold. This layer helps the whole scroll keep its shape.

Adding the Futai and Hyomoku

A futai is a long silk strip that hangs down from the top of the scroll. It’s sewn on using raw silk. Then a wooden rod, called a hyomoku, is placed at the top. It’s half-round and helps support the scroll when it hangs. These parts are decorative but also serve a function.

Putting on the Scroll Bar and Strings

Once the body of the scroll is complete, the artisan adds a rod at the bottom. This helps weigh it down so it hangs straight. Strings are attached too. These are used to tie the scroll when it’s rolled up.

Checking for Flaws and Balance

The last step is inspection. The scroll has to hang straight and look balanced from edge to edge. The artisan checks everything one last time. If the alignment is off or the fabric buckles, it has to be fixed.

That’s the full process of making a Kyo Hyogu. Every stage is done by hand. Every detail has a purpose. This isn’t just craft. It’s tradition. And it’s been kept alive by people who take the time to do it right.

 

16. Banshu fly-fishing flies

Banshu Kebari are hand-tied fishing flies made in Nishiwaki, a city in Hyogo Prefecture. These are not your average bait hooks. Each fly is crafted with bird feathers and silk thread, wrapped carefully around a tiny hook barely a centimeter long. Some of them are even decorated with gold leaf or coated in lacquer. The final result is a delicate and flashy artificial fly designed to lure fish.

These traditional Japanese flies are mostly used to catch sweetfish. But they come in many different styles. Fishermen choose them based on the season, weather, and time of day. Some flies are made for deeper water, some for fast-moving streams, and others for still water. There are versions built for different fish, too. Over time, craftsmen have come up with more than 500 types of these flies to fit all kinds of fishing conditions.

The roots of these fly fishing hooks go back a long way. A Kyoto travel guide printed in 1678, during the early Edo period, mentioned flies like these. The book was called Kyo Suzume Ato-oi, and it referred to a man named Iemon, an artisan who was making fishing flies at that time. A few years later, in 1685, another guidebook called Kyo Habutae also described a “fishing-fly head,” confirming that Iemon was producing and selling them.

By the late Edo period, Kyoto's fishing fly techniques had made their way to the Banshu area, which is now part of Hyogo. Back then, fly fishing for sweetfish was already common in Kyoto. Farmers in Banshu began making these flies as a side hustle. The tradition grew from there. By the middle of the Meiji period, their skills had leveled up. Fishermen using Banshu Kebari were catching more fish than ever. These flies even won prizes at fishery fairs and exhibitions, building a strong reputation for Banshu craftsmanship across Japan.

How Banshu Kebari Fishing Flies Are Made

Lacquering the Hook Body

The first step starts with painting the small 5 mm body of the hook. A thick mix of red lacquer, red lead pigment, and polishing powder is brushed on. After that, the hook gets set into a special comb to dry.

Applying the Gold Leaf Base

Once the lacquer is dry, the hook is taken out. A thin gold leaf is placed around the body using tweezers. The hook is slowly turned as a small feather or calligraphy brush is used to press the gold into place.

Adding the Lacquer Ball

Next, a small lacquer ball is formed. A hard mix of lacquer, red lead, and polishing powder is added to the tip of a tatami needle. That small blob is shaped into a 1 mm ball and placed at the end of the hook. Then it's put back into the comb to dry again.

Gold Leaf on the Lacquer Ball

Once the ball is dry, gold leaf is added. A 5 mm square of gold is placed on the lacquer ball with tweezers. Using a soft brush or bird feather, the gold is pressed on while the hook is rotated to shake off extra bits.

Winding the Silk Thread

After drying naturally for over 30 days, the hook is placed in a handheld holder. Coarse silk thread, around 33 mm in length, is tightly wound near the barb of the hook. Three turns are made on both the upper and lower sections, with each section about 1 mm long.

Securing Nylon Thread

A piece of synthetic nylon thread, also 33 mm long, is placed along the hook. The silk thread is wrapped three times up to the barb to lock it in place. The end of the nylon thread is then bent back, and another six wraps of silk are added to keep it firm.

Adding the Main Feather

The fly begins to take shape with feathers. A single barb from a chicken tail feather is placed on the hook’s end. This piece is wound around the hook seven times, from the inside lower part to the upper outside part, making sure the feather lines outward.

Creating the Tails

The tail is made using a primary feather from a sparrow wing. This gives the fly its base shape and balance.

Wrapping the Body

Fine feathers are added next. Several are wrapped one at a time. Depending on the design, the wrapping can be tight and close or loose with small gaps between each turn.

Placing the Body Feathers

Feathers from the lower back of a Nagoya Cochin chicken are used to build up the body. Six feather barbs are placed around the hook to give the fly a full shape.

Forming the Head Ball

Another lacquer ball is added, this time for the head of the fly. Using the tatami needle again, a stiff mix of lacquer and red lead is shaped into a small pointed ball at the top of the fly. The hook is inserted into the comb and left to dry one more time.

Final Gold Leaf Layer

The last step is adding the final gold leaf. This time, a rectangular gold sheet (10 mm by 5 mm) is placed on the head ball using tweezers. A feather is used to press it down as the thread is gently turned. Any extra gold is brushed off, and the Banshu Kebari is done.

 

17. Woodblock prints

Woodblock printing in Japan really took shape during the Edo period, from 1603 to 1868. What we now call Edo woodblock prints, or Edo Mokuhanga, began to spread during this time. These prints helped make ukiyoe, a popular style of Japanese art, more accessible. Edo is what Tokyo used to be called. The work behind each print wasn’t done by one person. Usually, it took an artist, a skilled wood carver, and a printer, all working together under a publisher.

Traditional paintings used pigments, but Edo woodblock prints used pigments along with the natural fibers of Japanese paper, known as washi. They relied on cherry wood for carving. Cherry has a tight grain that holds fine details and is tough enough to handle repeat printing. The paper used was a handmade washi called kizuki hosho, made from the bark of the paper mulberry tree. It had a soft but thick feel and held up well to prints with many layers of color. That made it perfect for this kind of printing.

The Evolution of Japanese Printmaking

Woodblock printing in Japan has deep roots. It actually began much earlier, in the Asuka period between 592 and 710. But the form that became known as Edo woodblock printing didn’t come together until late in the Heian period, which ran from 794 to 1192. Back then, the prints were simple and used only black ink. This style was called sumizuri-e. Most were made for religious use, often showing images of the Buddha.

Eventually, these religious prints turned into something more public. As printing spread, people started using it to make illustrations for funny books and cheap flyers. These were easy to get and gave everyday people something to read or laugh at. That’s how printmaking started to move into the culture of the general public during the Edo period.

The Switch to Color: How Nishiki-e Began

Around 1744, a new method started to appear. Artists began adding red or green accents to black-and-white prints. These were called benizuri-e. It was the first real move toward full-color prints. But the process had problems. Getting different color blocks to line up was hard. At that point, using more than two colors was tough to pull off.

Then, in 1764, a breakthrough happened. Two printers, Jinshiro Okubo and Sanemon Komatsuya, figured out how to print with more colors without messing up the alignment. That gave rise to a new style called nishiki-e, which means "brocade pictures." A year later, the artist Harunobu Suzuki pushed the style even further. He’s now seen as the main figure behind this colorful movement.

As more people got into it, multi-color woodblock printing became a big part of Edo’s urban culture. Artists started to treat prints not just as commercial work but as real art. Over time, nishiki-e took off and helped define the look and feel of the era.

Why Edo Prints Still Matter

Edo woodblock prints weren’t just art pieces. They were part of how people lived, what they read, and what they saw in everyday life. The teamwork between artist, carver, and printer made each piece unique. The techniques they developed during that time, especially in using rich color and detailed carving, still influence art today.

These prints didn’t just decorate walls. They told stories, captured fashion, and shaped how the world saw Japan. From simple black ink prints to vivid, full-color images, the growth of Edo woodblock printing marked a major change in Japanese visual culture. And that legacy still stands.

How Edo Woodblock Prints Are Made

The full process of making Edo woodblock prints is detailed and precise. Every step matters. From the first black-and-white sketch to the final print, each part of the process relies on skill, teamwork, and careful planning. Here's how it all comes together.

Starting with the Original Drawing

The very first step is the original drawing. It’s the base of the final woodblock print. At this stage, the image is drawn only in black and white. No colors are added yet. Today, artists sometimes start with hand-drawn sketches, photo references, or digital images made with computer graphics. But even with modern tools, the process still begins in black ink only.

Getting the Woodblocks Ready

Next, blocks of cherry wood are prepared. Each block is used for one specific part of the print. There’s an outline block, a black ink block, and one block for each color. If the design has five colors, that means five separate blocks are needed. The cherry wood is shaved smooth, then covered with a thin, even layer of rice glue. The black-and-white drawing is flipped face down onto the wood, then pressed tightly to avoid any wrinkles or bubbles. The glue has to dry flat. To make the lines of the drawing rise up clearly, artists sometimes rub camellia oil onto the surface. That helps guide the carving.

Carving the Outline Block

Once the drawing is dry and stuck to the block, the outline carving begins. This is the most detailed part. Carvers use over ten types of tools, each one made for different lines and cuts. They carve away the wood around the ink lines so only the outlines stay raised. This lets the pigment stay clean and sharp later. After the carving is done, small guide marks are cut into the block: one in the center near the carver and one in the corner. These marks help align the paper during printing. A test print is done next. If anything looks off, the block is corrected.

Printing the First Test Copies

The carved outline block is coated with black ink to make test copies. These prints are used to plan the colors. So if the final print will have five colors, five test copies are made. These help the artist choose where each color should go. This stage builds the structure for the rest of the work.

Choosing Colors and Carving Color Blocks

Once the artist decides which colors go where, new blocks are carved for each one. These color blocks are made just like the outline block. The same carved marks are used to line everything up. The number of blocks always matches the number of colors in the print.

Dampening the Paper

Before printing begins, the washi paper has to be dampened with water. Dry paper won’t hold color evenly. But getting the right amount of moisture takes experience. If the paper is too wet or too dry, the colors won’t come out right. This step may look simple, but it demands skill.

Final Printing Process

Now it’s time to print. Pigments are brushed onto the surface of the carved block. Then a sheet of washi is placed carefully on top. A hand-held pad is used to press the paper into the block. A test print is done first to check the colors. If they match what the artist wanted, printing moves forward. If they’re off, the pigment mix is adjusted.

Each color is printed one at a time using its own block. The paper is placed precisely each time using the carved guide marks to keep everything in line. Different printing techniques are used throughout this process. Some parts of the image are shaded. Others are made bold with solid color. Outlines may be sharpened or softened depending on the style.

When every color block has been printed and everything looks right, the print is finished. The final result is a detailed, multi-layered image built from careful carving, printing, and planning. This process hasn’t changed much in centuries, and it still requires real craft and collaboration.

 

18. Koshu hand-carved seals

Koshu Tebori Insho are hand-carved personal seals made in Kofu City and Fujiyoshida City, both in Yamanashi Prefecture. These seals are crafted by local artisans using tools and materials passed down over generations. Unlike seal production in other regions, this is a community effort in Yamanashi, bringing together carvers, dealers, and raw material suppliers. That’s part of what makes the Koshu seal industry stand out.

These handmade Japanese signature stamps are only made from three specific materials: Japanese boxwood, water buffalo horn, and crystal. The crystal type is especially rare. It’s crafted using cutting and polishing techniques that have been perfected in the Koshu area.

When artisans carve boxwood or horn seals, they start with a tool called a kiteito to roughly shape the area for the name. Then, they switch to a hansashito knife to cut the fine lines of the letters. Crystal seals are made differently. The artisan taps a round chisel with a small hammer to outline the characters, then finishes them using a flat chisel in the same way. After that, the seal’s face is smoothed with a whetstone. The finished lettering ends up reversed, like a mirror image, so it prints correctly.

Every part of this process relies on traditional hand tools. The carving knives are made by hand, too, and that craft is just as important as the seal itself. If you want a clean, beautiful stamp impression, the tools have to be perfect.

The Origins of Koshu Tebori Insho

The history behind these handmade Japanese seals goes back to the discovery of natural crystals in the Ontake mountain range. In 1837, a crystal workshop opened near Kofu, and that kickstarted the local crystal industry. As the techniques for carving and polishing crystals improved, more artisans and workshops started popping up. Around the same time, woodblock carving was also becoming more refined. That opened the door for more materials like boxwood and horn to be used for seals, too.

By 1854, we start seeing the first records of this growing industry. Old documents like the Koshu Consumers' Guide mention local woodblock artists in Kofu working in print and seal production. Other writings talk about how crystal with rare plant patterns and water buffalo horn was being ordered as seal material. That tells us there were already skilled workers using a variety of resources back then.

In 1873, things really took off. That year, the Grand Council of State made a proclamation that led to a big spike in public demand for personal stamps. Koshu’s seal makers met that demand through door-to-door selling and mail-order systems, which were pretty unique for the time. That made the Yamanashi seal market grow fast and wide.

The Ongoing Craft of Traditional Seal Making

Making Koshu Tebori Insho isn’t just about the final product. It’s about preserving every step of the process. From shaping the seal face to carving the mirrored letters, each part relies on old-school skill and exact tools. The carving knives are just as important as the hands that use them. And that craftsmanship, passed from one generation to the next, is what keeps these traditional Japanese signature stamps alive.

This isn’t factory work. Each seal is custom-carved. Each tool is hand-forged. And every finished piece reflects both personal identity and centuries of refined technique. That’s why Koshu hand-engraved seals are still respected today. They’re more than practical. They’re living history.

How Koshu Hand-Carved Seals Are Made

Polishing the Surface of the Seal

Hanko stamps have been used to sign and protect documents since the Edo period. Back then, even farmers and townsfolk had their own personal seals. People started registering them officially, and each one became a personal mark of identity. That’s why no two seals should ever be alike.

The first step in making a Koshu Tebori Insho is surface polishing. The face of the seal, whether it’s made from boxwood, water buffalo horn, or crystal, is flattened by hand on a whetstone. This prepares it for the engraving. Every material acts a little differently, so artisans adjust their approach for each one. This is where precision matters most, because the polished face becomes the canvas for the lettering.

Designing and Drawing the Lettering

Next comes the lettering. The artisan draws a mirrored version of the name or phrase onto the surface. This part is done completely by hand. That’s what makes the seal hard to copy. Each one is different, even when the name is the same.

The style of the letters depends on the font chosen. There are several traditional Japanese seal fonts. Shoten is a small seal script that began during China’s early unification under Emperor Qin Shi Huang. Its delicate form is often used for women’s bank and official seals. Inten, which evolved from shoten, is the most popular for registered seals. It was once used by officials in ancient China and still carries a strong, formal feel.

Insoutai is another seal-specific style, where the letters stretch out to touch the edge of the seal’s border. Reisho, or clerical script, is a simple version of shoten with straighter lines. Kointai, which came from reisho and was created in Japan, is rounder and more expressive. It’s often seen in shrine seals and is also called Yamato Intai.

Kaisho, the block style, is clean and easy to read. It’s the first script students usually learn when studying kanji. Gyousho sits between kaisho and cursive. It’s smooth but still has structure, making it popular for its soft flow. Sousho, the full cursive style, is the most fluid and expressive of all. Every font changes how the final seal looks, and each one carries its own meaning.

Carving the Letters in Boxwood or Horn

For boxwood and water buffalo horn seals, the carving starts with a kiteito blade. This is used to rough out the area around the letters. Then a second knife, called hansashito, is used to cut the fine details. Some artisans press into the material, while others pull the blade through to shape each line. Either way, it takes steady hands and years of practice. These techniques help bring out the clean look that Koshu seals are known for.

Carving the Letters in Crystal

Crystal takes more effort. First, the back of the seal is painted black so the artisan can see the lines clearly on the front. Then, using a round chisel and a small mallet, the letters are carved out with careful strikes. A flat blade is used next to refine each line. Finally, a deeper chisel is used to clear away any leftover fragments and sharpen the carved letters.

The process is different for every material, but the goal stays the same: to create a precise, custom seal that leaves a clean and unique mark. Each step in the process reflects the skill of the artisan and the history behind these traditional Japanese signature stamps.

 

19. Edo Hyogu (Art Mountings)

Edo Hyogu refers to the traditional Japanese craft of mounting art. These mountings are used to display and protect things like calligraphy, ink paintings, and other works on paper. The mounting process turns the artwork into scrolls, folding screens, sliding panels, or framed pieces that can be shown and stored safely. You’ve probably seen this in the form of hanging scrolls in tea rooms or museums. The goal is both preservation and presentation.

Why Art Mounting Matters

Without proper mounting, old artworks would fall apart. Thanks to these techniques, we can still look at centuries-old calligraphy and paintings in great condition. Mounting does more than just keep the work intact. It brings out the piece’s visual impact. The choice of fabric, paper, backing, and even the glue used can change how the artwork looks and how long it lasts.

Materials Used in Traditional Hyogu

Several materials go into a proper mounting. Craftsmen use fabric, various types of paper, wooden or bamboo ribbing, starch paste, and wooden frames. The fabric, known as kireji, is the most important. It surrounds the main artwork and sets the tone for the entire piece. The color, texture, and pattern of this fabric affect how the viewer experiences the work. In Edo Hyogu, the scrolls tend to be shorter and more subtle. Light colors and clean patterns are typical.

When an artist finishes a piece, they usually contact a craftsman to mount it. The craftsman decides the best combination of fabric and materials based on instinct and experience. It’s not just technical skill. It’s also about having a feel for the artwork’s balance and mood.

Modern Use in Contemporary Spaces

Japanese-style rooms with tatami mats are becoming rare. Homes now lean toward modern or Western designs. So, Hyogu craftsmen have started making new types of mountings that fit these updated spaces. The idea is still the same: show the art and keep it safe. But the look is now adapted to modern walls, shelves, and lighting.

Where It All Began

Art mounting came to Japan from China, along with Buddhism. Back then, the main need was to mount sacred texts and Buddhist paintings. This started in Kyoto, where temples were everywhere. The mounting artisans were called kyoji, meaning they specialized in Buddhist texts and paintings. Over time, their craft evolved and became more versatile.

The Influence of the Tea Ceremony

Mountings became closely tied to the Japanese tea ceremony. In this setting, a hanging scroll isn’t just decoration. It’s part of the experience. Scrolls are chosen based on the season, the guest, or the mood of the gathering. This deep connection helped Hyogu grow into a rich, artistic tradition with its own identity.

The Edo Period and the Spread of Hyogu

During the Edo period, starting in 1603, things changed. The sankin-kotai system forced feudal lords to live part-time in Edo, which is now Tokyo. As they built or expanded their homes in the city, they brought their artisans with them. This created a busy, urban culture where crafts like Hyogu could thrive.

Calligraphy and ink painting weren’t just for monks or nobility anymore. Everyday people started hanging these artworks in their homes. This demand gave rise to a new wave of styles that felt more relaxed and accessible. Edo Hyogu grew out of this scene. It was less formal, more understated, and fit the taste of the growing merchant class.

The Legacy of Edo Hyogu Today

Edo Hyogu is still practiced, though it’s changing. Fewer people live in homes that match the old style, but the appreciation for traditional art hasn’t faded. Craftsmen continue to create mountings that honor the past while fitting into today’s interiors. At its core, Edo Hyogu is about balance: between the art and its surroundings, between the old and the new.

How Hanging Scrolls Are Made

The process of making a hanging scroll is detailed and hands-on. Every step is done by an experienced craftsman who knows how to bring out the best in the artwork. The goal is to make sure the scroll not only looks good but also protects the piece for years to come.

Choosing the Right Materials

Everything starts with selecting the best materials. The craftsman looks at the artwork and decides what fabric and paper will highlight its look. The color, texture, and weight all matter. This choice sets the tone for the whole scroll.

First Layer: Hadaurauchi

The first mounting layer is called hadaurauchi. This layer goes behind the artwork. It reinforces the piece and gives it some support. At this stage, the craftsman attaches a cloth backing to protect the original paper or silk.

Second Layer: Mashiurauchi

Next comes mashiurauchi, the second layer. This part is key for stability. It helps even out the thickness and gives the scroll a solid structure. This layer adds both strength and a bit of bounce, so the scroll doesn’t bend or warp over time.

Final Layer: Ageurauchi

Then comes ageurauchi, the final mounting layer. A special brush called a nadebake is used to smooth and press the layers together. Then the craftsman uses a pounding brush called uchibake to tap the surface, making sure everything is firmly attached. After that, the scroll is brushed one more time to remove bubbles and creases.

Trimming and Assembly

After the layers are set, everything is trimmed. The paste is applied, and the scroll is assembled. The artwork is placed right in the center. The surrounding fabric and paper are carefully aligned around it, so the focus stays on the piece itself.

Final Touches and Completion

Once everything is dry and secure, the final accessories are added. These include the roller shaft at the bottom, cords or straps at the top, and sometimes small decorative elements. Once all parts are in place, the scroll is ready to hang.

The full scroll-making process takes time and skill. It blends technique with a sharp eye for detail. The end result is a finished hanging scroll that looks clean, feels balanced, and keeps the artwork safe.

 

20. Edo tortoise shell crafts

Edo Bekko is a traditional craft from Tokyo. It's been made since the early 1600s in areas like Bunkyo, Taito, and Sumida. These pieces are shaped from the shell of the hawksbill turtle, and they're known for their warm tone and glossy surface. People have used them to make hairpieces, brooches, necklaces, eyeglass frames, and other accessories.

This craft started when the Edo Shogunate was founded in 1603. By 1688, artisans in Edo (now Tokyo) learned how to fuse pieces of shell together, which allowed them to make more detailed designs. That technique gave the craft its signature style. The material is mostly protein, so it's sensitive to things like sweat and hair products. But if taken care of, Edo Bekko items can last a very long time.

Why Edo Bekko Stands Out

These tortoiseshell accessories stand out because of the natural beauty in their color and feel. The shell's surface shines in a way you can’t get from plastic or synthetic materials. Each piece is shaped using heat and water. This process not only makes the material easier to mold but also makes it easier to repair if it breaks.

Even though it’s made from turtle shell, the final result looks elegant, not rough. Every item is shaped by hand, using methods passed down through generations. This slow, careful process is what gives Edo Bekko its value.

The History Behind the Name and the Shells Used

The name "Bekko" actually comes from the snapping turtle. During part of the Edo period, the shogunate restricted luxury items. Hawksbill turtle shell was considered a foreign luxury and was banned. To work around that, craftsmen were allowed to use snapping turtle shells instead. That’s how the name Bekko came about. In Japanese, “Be” means snapping turtle, and “Kko” means shell.

Still, some older pieces made before the restriction used hawksbill shell and are labeled with the word "taimai," which is the Japanese name for hawksbill turtle. Those items include things like taimai nyoi, a traditional scepter-shaped item.

When the ban on hawksbill was eventually lifted, makers switched back to using the original shell. Then, in 1982, the Japanese government officially recognized Edo Bekko as a traditional craft.

Tougher Rules and Supply Problems

In 1992, international laws changed. The hawksbill turtle became protected under a global agreement called the Washington Convention. This banned the trade of its shell. Since then, new materials have been nearly impossible to get.

Some countries like Cuba still eat hawksbill turtles and have leftover shell. But because of trade embargoes, they can’t export it. So now, Edo Bekko makers use only old stock: shells and scraps that were gathered before the ban. That supply is limited, which means not many new pieces get made.

What Edo Bekko Items Are Made Today

Even with limited material, artisans still craft Edo Bekko products. You’ll mostly find them in traditional Japanese hair clips, combs, brooches, and jewelry. Some high-end eyeglass frames also use the shell. The pieces are still made by hand, just like they were hundreds of years ago.

Edo Bekko isn’t mass-produced. Every item is unique, shaped with care, and built to last. It's a rare mix of natural beauty, skilled technique, and cultural history.

If you're looking for a traditional Japanese accessory with real character, Edo Bekko is one of the few crafts that still shows that kind of craftsmanship today.

How Edo Bekko Is Made: Step-by-Step Craft Process

Design Comes First

Every Edo Bekko piece starts with the design. That means deciding what the final product will be and how it should look. The shell from each turtle is different. Some parts are clearer, others have more color, and each section has a different texture and thickness. So the design helps decide which parts of which shells to use. The goal is to match the material with the shape and style of the piece right from the start.

Picking the Right Shells

After the design is locked in, the actual shell selection begins. Tortoiseshells are layered to get the right thickness, so several pieces often need to be stacked together. To keep the look smooth and consistent, craftsmen pick shells with similar color and pattern. For larger or more complex items, they sometimes need a custom wooden mold, usually made from Japanese cypress. That helps shape the shell during heating.

Cutting and Rough Smoothing

Next comes cutting. The craftsman uses a fine-toothed fret saw to slice out a rough shape from a bigger piece of shell. It’s always cut larger than needed. Once the shape is cut, the surface gets smoothed in two steps. First, a rasp called a gangi is used to file away flaws. Then it’s smoothed even more with sandpaper and scouring rush. This rough filing step matters. A smooth surface helps the next step go right, especially when joining pieces. When more thickness is needed, they use the claw part of the shell, which is extra clear.

Joining Without Glue

Now the cleaned pieces are ready to be joined. No glue is used. Hawksbill shell has a natural protein called hide glue, so the pieces bond when heated. The shell parts are soaked in water, stacked, then pressed between willow boards. This sandwich is placed on a hot iron plate and squeezed with a vise. The moisture, heat, and pressure have to be just right. That takes serious skill. If the piece is going to be dyed, it gets soaked in dye instead of water before joining. Colored parts are joined the same way after dyeing.

Shaping and Carving

After joining, the piece is shaped. This is when it’s cut to its final size. The craftsman trims and carves it using knives and files. If it needs to be bent, like for a hair clip or frame, that happens now. If a mold was used, the shell is removed from it here. For items like glasses where balance matters, everything is measured and aligned to make both sides match.

Polishing and Finishing Touches

Last comes the polish. A buffing machine smooths the surface using wax, which brings out the shine. If the piece is colored, a final color coat goes on after polishing. This last step seals in the shine and completes the piece.

Every part of this process takes time, precision, and skill. From the design to the final buff, each Edo Bekko item is carefully shaped by hand using traditional methods that haven’t changed much in centuries.

 

21. Etchu Fukuoka Sedge Hats

Etchu Fukuoka sedge hats are a long-standing traditional craft from Toyama Prefecture in Japan. These hats are mainly made in the towns of Takaoka, Tonami, Oyabe, and Nanto. Locals call them Etchu Fukuoka no suge gasa. The name comes from the region where they’ve been made for generations.

What makes these hats special starts with the sedge grass itself. The sedges grown in Fukuoka are strong and resilient. That’s because they’ve adapted to the harsh winters of the Hokuriku region. These cold, snowy conditions help the grass grow tougher and more flexible. As a result, sedge from Toyama is seen as some of the best in Japan, and it gets shipped across the country.

Fukuoka is known for making only round-shaped sedge hats. That’s a key detail that sets them apart. The size of each hat is customized and can be adjusted in three-centimeter steps. The process begins with building a frame that matches the requested size. Then the sedge is carefully woven and stitched together.

Over time, many types of sedge hats have developed, each with a specific purpose or style. One of the most common types is the tsuno gasa, which has a pointed top and is used for farm work. Another is the fuji gasa, shaped like Mount Fuji. There's the ohno gasa, which looks like a half-sphere, and the dohbuka gasa, which has a wide edge to block sunlight and rain. During the Edo period, fast-moving messengers wore the sando gasa. The jirocho gasa is the largest type ever made. The tsumaori gasa was designed for women to wear while traveling. The ichime gasa is said to have been worn by princesses during the Heian period.

Newer styles have also come out. Some are shaped like helmets. Others are made just for women, like the otome gasa, which is stylish and elegant. There’s also the colorful macaron, which looks more modern and trendy. A unique version called the roppo comes in a six-sided shape.

Miniature versions of these hats are popular with tourists. Many people take them home as souvenirs. Every single one is still made using the same traditional methods that have been handed down for over a century. And now, dyed sedges are being used to make more creative products, opening up new design possibilities.

The story behind these hats goes back a long way. The Koyabe River used to flood over and over, especially before the year 400. That flooding created swampy areas along the riverbanks, where high-quality sedge started to grow naturally. Locals first used the grass to make straw raincoats. These coats were lightweight but strong, and people all over started to want them. Over time, the town began making hats from the same sedge as a side job.

By the late 1600s, sedge hat making turned into a full-scale business. That happened with support from Tsunanori Maeda, the local feudal lord of the Kaga Domain. He saw the value in the craft and helped it grow.

Production hit its highest point at the end of the Edo period. In 1864 alone, Toyama produced over two million sedge hats. Even into the 1960s, demand stayed strong. People used them for farming, traditional dances, and folk art. At that time, over a million hats were made each year.

Things have slowed down since then. Today, only about thirty thousand sedge hats are made annually. But Fukuoka still leads the country in sedge hat production. Over 90 percent of all sedge hats made in Japan today come from this region. The quality of the locally grown sedge and the skill of the makers keeps the tradition alive, even as times change.

Etchu Fukuoka sedge hats aren’t just practical. They carry the weight of over a thousand years of culture, adapted to every era, and shaped by the hands of skilled artisans who keep this heritage alive.

How Etchu Fukuoka Sedge Hats Are Made: Step-by-Step Craftsmanship

The production of Etchu Fukuoka sedge hats follows a detailed, hands-on process that’s been refined over generations. Every part of the work, from harvesting the sedge to finishing the final stitch, is done with care using time-tested methods. Here's a clear breakdown of how these traditional Japanese hats come to life.

Drying the Sedge Grass

The sedge grass used for these hats is grown for about a year before it's ready to harvest. This usually happens from late July through September. The timing is important, and the weather needs to be clear. Harvesting is only done on sunny days to make sure the sedge dries properly.

Once cut, the sedge is separated and laid out under the sun for a full day. After that, it's tied in bundles and spread open like a fan. This fan-shaped setup allows both sides of each blade to get sunlight. The drying process takes four to five days total. The bundles are flipped now and then to keep the drying even. As they dry, the fresh green sedges slowly turn a pale, creamy white.

Building the Bamboo Frame

This step happens all year long. The frame gives the hat its structure. Three types of bamboo are used. Japanese timber bamboo, which is more flexible, is used for the inner sections. Chinese temple bamboo and moso bamboo, which are tougher, are used on the outer edge to give the hat strength.

Each piece of bamboo is chosen based on where it fits best. Flexibility and durability are balanced to make sure the hat is both comfortable and long-lasting.

Sorting the Sedge Blades

Once the sedge is fully dried, it's sorted by width. This sorting is key. The wider blades, called oya suge, are used for the outer surface. These are the most visible part of the hat. The middle-sized blades, called shikake suge, are used for the inner weave. This part of the hat looks like a spider web and holds the main structure together. The thinnest blades, known as yoriko, are used to tie and secure the bamboo frames.

Each size plays a different role in how the hat functions and feels.

Weaving the Inner Web

The next step is creating the inner woven part of the hat. This uses the shikake suge. A special tool called a sashibira is used here. It’s made from a split bamboo shaped like a spatula. This tool is used to split each blade of sedge into two long, thin strips. These strips are then wrapped one by one around the inner frame in a spider web pattern.

This part gives the hat its light feel while still holding its shape.

Adding the Outer Layer

Now, the wider sedge blades come in. These oya suge strips are placed between the top ring and the outer ring of the frame. They cover the whole top of the hat and create the visible surface. Once they’re laid in place, they’re tied down securely with thread so they don’t move.

Polishing the Surface

Before sewing, the outer surface of the hat gets polished. A rubbing spatula is used to gently soften and smooth the sedge. This step improves both the look and the feel. It gives the surface a nice polish and makes it more flexible without damaging the weave.

Final Sewing

The last stage is the sewing. This is done by hand using a ten-centimeter needle and yellow thread. The stitching begins at the outer ring and spirals inward toward the center of the hat. This holds all the layers together. Once the spiral sewing is complete, the top of the hat is finished off by weaving in the ends of the sedge, closing the shape cleanly.

That’s how each Etchu Fukuoka sedge hat is made. Every part of the process is shaped by tradition, precision, and local skill. The care that goes into these steps is why these hats are still respected today as one of Japan’s most enduring handmade crafts.

 

22. Gifu Japanese Umbrellas

Japanese umbrellas aren't just for rain. People also use them for shade, for dance performances, and even in tea ceremonies. There's a bigger version called a nodategasa, often seen outdoors during traditional tea gatherings.

When closed, these umbrellas look slim and delicate. Their ribs, made from evenly spaced bamboo, show off skilled craftsmanship. The designs are a big part of the appeal, too. Some have light patterns you can only see when the sun shines through. Others are painted in soft or bold colors, depending on the style. These days, the visual look matters more than ever. Tourists love buying them as souvenirs, and younger folks are drawn to how photogenic they are.

Craftsmanship That Takes Time and Skill

Making a Japanese umbrella is no quick job. There are around 100 separate steps in the full process, and each one takes real skill. A group of craftsmen works on every umbrella, and it takes months to finish just one. Every detail is handmade. That’s why these umbrellas are known for being one of the most labor-intensive traditional crafts in Japan.

Gifu’s History of Umbrella Making

The Kano district in southern Gifu has long been one of the main places where Japanese umbrellas are made. The methods used today were passed down from generations of craftsmen dating back to the Edo period, between 1603 and 1868. Back then, the Kano area was a castle town, and many samurai took on umbrella making as a second job. Over time, more townspeople and farmers joined in. As more hands got involved, each person started handling just one part of the work. This made production smoother and faster.

By the time of the Meiji period, from 1868 to 1912, umbrella making had turned into a full industry. It kept growing through the Taisho and early Showa periods, peaking sometime before the mid-1900s.

Why Gifu Was the Ideal Place

Kano had everything umbrella makers needed nearby. It was close to the area where Mino washi paper was made, which is the paper used in these umbrellas. The district also sat near three key rivers: the Kiso, Nagara, and Ibi. These rivers provided strong, flexible bamboo perfect for umbrella ribs. The Nagara River led to Ise Bay, which made shipping easy. That’s how these umbrellas made their way to Edo, now known as Tokyo, and Osaka, gaining popularity across Japan.

A Decline in Production

When western-style umbrellas took over, demand for Japanese ones dropped. As time passed, many skilled umbrella makers retired, and few young people stepped in to learn the craft. Today, fewer than ten artisans still make Gifu umbrellas. Because of that, it’s now rare to find one. They’ve become a hard-to-get item, valued more for their tradition and beauty than for everyday use.

How Gifu Umbrellas Are Made

Every Gifu umbrella goes through a long, detailed process. Each step is done by hand, and every part needs care and skill. Here's how these traditional Japanese umbrellas come to life from start to finish.

Building the Bamboo Frame

It starts with bamboo. The bamboo is sliced into thin sticks and then shaped into two types of ribs: master ribs and inner ribs. These ribs form the skeleton of the umbrella.

Dyeing the Bamboo Ribs

Next, the bamboo ribs are boiled in hot water. This softens them. After that, they're dyed in the color that will match the final umbrella. The color isn’t just painted on. It's soaked deep into the bamboo.

Straightening the Main Ribs

Once dyed, the master ribs are straightened. This is done by holding each one over a fire. The heat helps get rid of any bends or warps, making sure the ribs are even and strong.

Carving the Wooden Core

Then comes the wooden part that holds everything together. Craftsmen carve a small core from the wood of the Japanese storax tree. This piece connects the ribs to the umbrella shaft, both at the top and the bottom.

Fitting the Ribs into the Core

The bamboo ribs are then fitted into the wooden core. This step lines everything up and makes sure the ribs can open and close smoothly.

Tying the Frame Together

Next, the master ribs and inner ribs are tied together with strong thread. Each rib is connected one by one. This step forms the frame that gives the umbrella its shape.

Applying the Washi Paper

Now the washi paper is added. This special Japanese paper is carefully glued to the bamboo frame. Craftsmen press it down by hand to make sure there are no gaps or wrinkles.

Final Touches

To protect the umbrella and give it a shine, oil is brushed onto the washi. The umbrella is left out in the sun to dry. Then, a coat of lacquer is painted on the ribs to seal and strengthen them. After that, the umbrella is finished.

Every Gifu umbrella is built with precision. It’s a long, hands-on process that blends tradition, technique, and patience. That’s why each one is not just handmade, but one of a kind.

 

23. Izumi Glass

Izumi glass is a handmade glasswork that comes from Izumi City, Japan. It’s made using a method called lampworking. That means glass rods are melted by hand using the flame from a kerosene lamp. The glass used here is soft and melts at low heat, which makes it easier to control. Because the temperature is so adjustable, artists can make a wide mix of colors.

To shape this kind of glass, you need skill. It takes a trained hand to roll the hot glass and mold it just right. This isn’t a job for beginners. The entire process depends on the artisan’s eye, timing, and feel. Every piece is shaped by instinct and experience.

Izumi Glass Animals and Decorative Pieces

Lately, people have gotten into animal-shaped Izumi glass. These little sculptures are popular because they’re cute and detailed. They show off just how precise and creative the lampworking process can be. But artists don’t just make animals. They also craft things like glass beads, pendants, ornaments, and accessories.

Each piece is slightly different. No two look exactly alike, even if they’re meant to match. That’s the nature of hand-blown glass. It gives the work its own feel. Even though it’s made of glass, the result has a warm, human touch. You can sense the care behind it. It’s not mass-produced or perfect in the factory sense, but that’s exactly the point.

The History of Izumi Glass

Glassware came to Japan from Europe between the late 1400s and early 1600s. The techniques for making it didn’t spread in Japan until much later, during the late Edo period. During the Meiji period, a glass artist named Kiyomatsu Kamiyama began creating colored beads in Izumi, Osaka. These beads were mostly used for Buddhist rosaries and hairpins. They were sold to Kyoto through trade routes like Yodogawa and Fushimi.

Later, during the Taisho period, things took off. Color glass rods started getting produced as raw material, and Izumi glass became part of Japan’s export market. What had once been mainly religious beads became decorative and fashionable items. That’s when the lampworking technique really began to grow and evolve in Japan.

One major development was the creation of artificial pearls, known as Izumi Pearls. These were made by coating the handmade glass beads, giving them a pearl-like finish. This process was unique to the area and added another layer to Izumi’s glass tradition.

Why People Still Love Izumi Glass

What keeps Izumi glass alive is its variety. The colors are deep and vibrant. The shapes are delicate and clean. Everything about it speaks to high-level craftsmanship. People are drawn to its charm, but also its individuality. When you hold a piece, you know someone shaped it with care, one glass rod at a time.

Izumi glass is still made in Izumi City. It’s not just a craft; it’s a piece of the city’s identity. The tradition continues because people value that connection. Even today, it stands out for its skill, its history, and its quiet beauty.

How Izumi Glass Beads Are Made

The process of making Izumi glass beads takes time, heat, and precise hand movements. Every step matters. Each part of the process builds on the last, and it all comes down to control and timing. Here's how skilled artisans shape these delicate beads by hand, using traditional lampworking techniques.

Forming the Glass Base

First, the artisan coats an iron rod with a mold release agent. This keeps the glass from sticking to the metal as it cools. Then, they take molten glass and roll it directly onto the rod. As the glass wraps around, the base of the bead starts to form. While it's still soft and hot, they stretch and shape it to get the right size and length. This first step creates the core of the glass bead.

Adding the Pattern and Shape

Once the base is ready, the artisan reheats it carefully. They’ve already prepared small decorative pieces of glass, which are ready to be added. These bits are pressed into the hot bead and melted in. While the bead spins above the flame, the added parts blend into the surface. The heat reshapes them, turning the designs into smooth, flowing patterns. This step is where the detailed look of each bead really takes form.

Smoothing the Surface

After the designs are melted into place, the whole bead gets heated again. This last round of heat smooths out any rough edges or uneven areas. It gives the glass its clean, glossy surface and brings out the colors.

Cooling the Bead Slowly

The final step is cooling. The glass bead goes into a bed of slow-cooling material. This part is important. If the glass cools too fast, it can crack or weaken. Slow cooling keeps the shape solid and the finish clean. Once it's fully cooled, the bead is done.

That’s how a single Izumi glass bead is made: layer by layer, detail by detail. Every one is shaped by hand, with the flame as the main tool.

 

24. Nagasaki tortoise shell crafts

Nagasaki tortoise shell work, known in Japan as Nagasaki Bekko, is a rare form of craftsmanship that comes out of Nagasaki and Isahaya, both in Nagasaki Prefecture. These pieces are made from the shell of the hawksbill sea turtle, a species that lives near the Equator. This turtle’s shell is what gives the craft its distinct look and value.

Back in the Edo period, between 1603 and 1868, Japan had strict rules on foreign trade. Only a few ports were open, and Nagasaki was one of them. That made it easier to bring in tortoise shells from overseas. Because of that, the craft naturally took root there. Local artisans, already skilled with fine handiwork, developed special techniques to handle the shell. They learned how to shape the material by controlling its thickness and color. The results were clean, smooth finishes that made the pieces stand out.

Most people know these items as accessories: hairpins, combs, and small decorative goods. But bigger pieces also exist. Some of the most detailed works include treasure ship sculptures, which show off the full skill of the maker. These are much harder to come by now, though. The global trade of hawksbill turtle shell has been banned under CITES, the agreement that protects endangered species. Because of that, no new shells can be imported, and these crafts have become even rarer than before.

This tradition didn’t actually begin in Nagasaki. It goes back further, to the Asuka period, between 538 and 710 CE. That’s when tortoise shell crafts first came to Japan from China. Some of the oldest examples can still be found in the Shosoin, a treasure house at Todai-ji Temple in Nara. But it wasn’t until the 1600s that Nagasaki started receiving its own shipments of shell. That’s when the local version of the craft began.

In those early years, tortoise shell goods were thought to bring long life. They became a status symbol. Hairpins and combs made from this material were prized by wealthy families, especially women. But they weren’t cheap. By the late 1600s, they had become so expensive that the government passed sumptuary laws to keep people from overspending on them. Regular folks were banned from buying these luxury items.

Things changed in the 1800s. Japan began opening up to foreign countries. Visitors came in from all over the world, and many passed through Nagasaki. Tourists and traders noticed the shell crafts and took an interest in them. Local artisans began to tweak their designs to appeal to these new buyers. That meant making pieces that were easy to take home or use overseas.

The shift worked. These tortoise shell items spread far beyond Japan. They became well-known outside the country and stayed a proud export of Nagasaki. Today, with new production limited and the turtles protected, Nagasaki Bekko stands as both a symbol of traditional Japanese skill and a reminder of a time when craft and culture shaped trade.

How Nagasaki Tortoise Shell Crafts Are Made: Step by Step

Starting with the Design

Every piece begins with a sketch. Since the material comes from natural turtle shell, there are limits to its size and thickness. The artist has to plan around that. The design must work with what the shell allows, not the other way around.

Picking the Right Shell

Next, they choose the shell. Depending on the design, the maker might use the turtle’s back shell (carapace), belly shell (plastron), or even the nails. Each part has different colors, thickness, and patterns. The choice depends on what the final piece needs.

Cutting the Shell

Once the shell is picked, it’s cut to match the sketch. A fine fret saw is used to keep the cut clean and sharp. The cutter has to follow the lines of the design while keeping the natural grain and color of the shell intact. Any mistake here means wasted material.

Cleaning the Surface

After cutting, the surface is scraped with small knives and rasps. This step clears away dirt and rough spots. It smooths out the shell so it’s ready for shaping. The shell has to be clean and even before anything else is done.

Dry Fitting the Parts

Before joining anything, the pieces are test-fit. This is done using red-hot iron tongs. It’s not the final seal, just a dry run to make sure everything lines up. If the parts are even slightly off, the final result will look wrong.

Flattening with Heat and Pressure

The next step is pressing. The shell gets heated and then pressed to even out the thickness. This flattens the piece without using any adhesives. That’s why the method is often called "the art of water and fire." It's all done with temperature and timing, not glue.

Iron Pressing to the Base

Once flat, the shell is attached to a wooden base. But instead of modern glue, traditional makers use egg whites and heat. A hot iron seals the shell to the wood. It’s a slow process that takes a steady hand to get right.

Carving the Details

With the shell fixed in place, the carving begins. This part calls for patience. The artisan has to cut only as deep as needed, no more. Go too far, and the piece is ruined. This is where the craft shows its real skill.

Polishing the Surface

After carving, the piece is polished by hand. The shell starts to shine, showing a soft amber glow. This deep color is one of the most prized features of Nagasaki Bekko. The polishing has to be gentle but thorough.

Putting it All Together

In the final stage, all the parts come together. Any metal pieces are added here, too. Once assembled, the piece is checked one last time to make sure everything fits, shines, and holds strong.

This entire process takes time and skill. Each step builds on the last, and nothing can be rushed. That’s why real Nagasaki tortoise shell crafts are so rare and valuable. They aren’t just pretty objects. They’re the result of tradition, training, and careful hands.

 

25. Nagoya Sekku Kazari

Nagoya Sekku Kazari refers to the traditional festival decorations made in Nagoya, Japan. These are made for events like the Boys' Festival and Girls' Festival, which celebrate the birth of a child and wish for that child's healthy future. Every part of these decorations comes from a long tradition of craftsmanship that blends art, culture, and deep-rooted meaning.

Festival Dolls, Flags, and Lanterns Made by Hand

There are three main types of items made in Nagoya Sekku Kazari: dolls, flags, and paper-covered lanterns. The dolls, like the hina dolls used during the Girls' Festival, are made using time-honored techniques. So are the koinobori, the large carp streamers that fly during the Boys' Festival. These streamers are designed to look like colorful fish swimming in the wind, and they symbolize strength and perseverance.

Nagoya’s craftsmanship became known for its high quality, on par with the best-known doll-making regions in Japan, like Kyoto and Tokyo. Unlike those places, though, Nagoya’s style doesn’t lean one way or the other. It mixes eastern and western influences from across Japan into a balanced, unique look.

Nagoya artisans also make big celebratory flags and bright carp streamers with shiny golden bellies, a design detail you don’t find elsewhere. Their lanterns are made with strong natural materials sourced from the nearby Chubu region. These include local Japanese cypress and pine from the Kiso forests, as well as handmade paper like Mino washi and Obara washi. Using these materials gives the lanterns a solid structure and a distinct local feel that ties into the region’s identity.

Centuries of Craft in a Castle Town

Nagoya was once a major castle town ruled by the Owari Tokugawa clan. That history helped local crafts flourish, starting in the early Edo period. The skills needed to make festival items like paper lanterns were built up over generations through regular lantern production for other uses. Over time, dolls and flags joined the lineup and became widely recognized. They were even recorded in a well-known local book called Owari Nenjugyoji Esho, which documents the yearly customs and events of the region.

By 1916, Nagoya’s festival decoration techniques had become some of the most advanced in the country. In fact, some said they had even surpassed Kyoto, which had long been considered the top area for this kind of work.

A Long-Standing Local Industry That’s Still Alive

Nagoya started using its core materials back in 1903. It helped that many types of skilled artisans lived in the area. That meant they could handle every step of production without going far. From raw wood and paper to the final decorative product, everything could be made locally in a tightly connected system.

As time went on, both the Boys' and Girls' Festivals became more widely celebrated across Japan. Because of that, the demand for Nagoya Sekku Kazari grew far beyond the region. What began as a local tradition is now something enjoyed by families all over the country.

Today, these traditional decorations are still being crafted in Aichi and Gifu. They continue to carry forward the rich history, careful technique, and regional pride that has shaped them for more than a century.

How Nagoya Sekku Kazari Are Made: Step-by-Step Production Process

Each part of the Nagoya Sekku Kazari involves detailed handwork. Whether it's a doll, a carp streamer, or a lantern, the process takes patience and skill. Here’s how each one comes together, from start to finish.

How Traditional Festival Dolls Are Made

The first step in making the dolls is building the base. A core made from straw is tightly wrapped in paper. Then, the body is formed, and the limbs are shaped and connected using thin wires.

Next comes the costume. The kimono is cut and sewn with care, using fabric that suits the design of the doll. After the outfit is made, the doll is dressed. This includes putting on the collar, the hakama, which are skirtlike trousers, and the rest of the costume layers.

Once the doll is dressed, the finishing touches are added. Hands are attached to give the doll a sense of motion. Finally, the head is set in place, and the doll is complete.

How Carp Streamers Are Made

Carp streamers start with a fabric base. A pattern is placed, and glue is applied to resist the dye in certain areas. Then, pigments are brushed onto the cloth to bring the design to life.

After the fabric is dyed, it's laid out under the sun to dry. Once dry, the glue resist is washed away with water, revealing the pattern underneath.

The fabric is then shaped and sewn into the form of the carp. Fins are added, and a ring is attached at the mouth to help the streamer catch the wind when it's hung outdoors.

How Paper-Covered Lanterns Are Made

Lanterns begin with a framework. Craftsmen use either bamboo or Japanese cypress wood from the Kiso area to shape the base structure.

Pure silk is glued on the inside of the frame in the area that will be lit from within. Then, patterns are painted using colored pigments or ink to give the lantern its design.

At the end, metal parts are added so the lantern can hold a light. Once all the pieces are in place, the lantern is finished and ready to be used in festival displays.

Every part of this process is done by hand. That’s what keeps the tradition of Nagoya Sekku Kazari alive and meaningful. It’s not just decoration. It’s history, passed down through the work of skilled craftspeople.

 

26. Sanshin

The sanshin is a traditional Okinawan string instrument that first took shape around Naha, the capital of Okinawa. It plays a key role in Okinawan music and culture. You'll hear it in Kumiodori, a classical form of theater that's part of UNESCO's list of Intangible Cultural Heritage. It's also used in Ryukyu opera and other traditional performing arts that are central to Okinawa's cultural identity. Today, you’ll hear it in everything from old folk songs to modern pop music. Its simple, raw sound pulls people in.

A sanshin has three main parts: the neck, the body, and tuning pegs that hold the strings. The neck design varies depending on the type. There are seven main styles of sanshin, each named after a well-known craftsman from the Ryukyu Kingdom era. Every instrument takes expert hands and a careful eye. The entire process, from picking out the wood to completing the final product, can take years, even decades.

The body of the sanshin is traditionally covered in snakeskin. Back in the day, owning one with real snakeskin was a sign of wealth and status. Some people would buy two made from the same piece of wood and display them as a pair called mitu sanshin, in their home for good fortune. Others kept theirs tucked away in a lacquer box, treating it more like a family heirloom than just an instrument. In Okinawa, the sanshin is much more than something to play. It holds deep meaning, woven into everyday life and local tradition.

Where the Sanshin Came From

The sanshin traces its roots to an older Chinese instrument called the sanxian. That was in the late 1300s, when it made its way to the Ryukyu Kingdom. By the 1400s, the ruling class began encouraging samurai to learn and play it. In the early 1600s, it officially became a court instrument. From then on, it was part of every formal event and ceremony.

As the demand grew, the government created a special position to oversee how the sanshin was made. This led to a new generation of highly skilled instrument makers who kept the quality high. While other court arts like Kumiodori thrived, the sanshin stood out as the main instrument at the center of it all.

From Royal Courts to Everyday Life

Everything changed in 1879 when Japan ended the old domain system and turned the Ryukyu Kingdom into Okinawa Prefecture. The samurai lost their titles and roles. But many of them spread out to different parts of the island, taking their music and instruments with them. This is how the sanshin reached the general public. It went from something only the upper class played to a common part of everyday life.

War and Survival

World War II hit Okinawa hard. In 1945, during the Battle of Okinawa, many sanshin were lost or destroyed. Still, by the mid-1950s, some of the rare ones that survived were officially recognized as cultural treasures. That helped bring attention back to the craft. From then on, people worked hard to keep the tradition alive. Even now, the sanshin still holds a strong place in Okinawa's cultural roots, tracing all the way back to the days of the Ryukyu Dynasty.

How a Sanshin Is Made from Start to Finish

Choosing the Type and Drawing the Pattern

Every sanshin starts with a clear design plan. There are several types, and each has slightly different measurements. Once the type is picked, the maker traces the size and shape onto the wood. They use a pattern and drawing to mark out every detail. This step sets the foundation for everything that follows.

Cutting the Wood and Shaping the Neck

The neck is carved from a solid piece of wood. The grain matters. It affects both the look and the strength of the final instrument. This part of the job is always done by hand. The top of the neck is the most detailed area, so the work needs to be careful and precise. Every curve and cut shapes how the sanshin will look and feel.

Lacquering and Smoothing the Surface

Once the carving is done, the wood is sealed with lacquer. This gives it a smooth, glossy finish and also keeps it from cracking over time. Lacquering isn’t a one-time job. It’s done in layers, anywhere from three to ten rounds, depending on the final look. After each coat, the surface is polished before the next one goes on.

Preparing the Snakeskin

The body of a traditional sanshin is covered in snakeskin. First, the skin is cut to match the body’s shape. Then it’s nailed to a wooden mold that matches the size of the instrument. To keep it from tearing or stretching too much, a strip of fabric tape is added to the back. The skin is tied to the mold so it can be pulled tight into shape.

Stretching the Snakeskin

The snakeskin is stretched twice. First on the back, then on the front. It gets tied to a strong frame. Wooden wedges are tapped into the sides to increase the tension. The more the wedges are pushed in, the tighter the skin gets. This is one of the most delicate steps. If the skin isn’t stretched just right, the sound will suffer.

Putting It All Together

Once the body and neck are ready, the pieces are joined. The pegs go into the neck. Then the neck is fit into the body at a very specific angle. Even the smallest change here can affect how the sanshin sounds. After that, the rest of the parts go on. The utaguchi, doumaki, and itokake are attached to hold the strings. The strings are then fitted and tuned. The bridge, or koma, is placed on the body to lift the strings. That’s when the sanshin is finally complete.

 

27. Tokyo Koto (Japanese Harp)

The koto came to Japan from China. Back then, it was used in court music. Around the 1500s, a version called the Tsukushi Goto was developed in Japan. That version laid the groundwork for what we now know as the Japanese koto. At first, the koto was mostly tied to Kyoto’s cultural scene. But during the Edo period, between 1603 and 1868, it started to spread in Edo, which is now Tokyo.

A musician named Kengyo Yamada, also known as Toyoichi, helped bring the koto into the spotlight. He wrote a lot of pieces just for the instrument, which made it more popular. As a result, koto-making picked up. People wanted more of them, and the sound began to evolve with that demand.

What Makes the Tokyo Koto Sound Unique

Tokyo Koto stands out because of its strong, crisp sound. That clean tone doesn’t happen by accident. It depends on how the koto is made. Things like the thickness of the body, the size of the instrument, and how the wood curves all change how it sounds. A larger koto plectrum is also used to bring out sharper notes.

Every koto can be customized. The person making the instrument can carve it in a way that fits the skill level and style of the player. That level of detail lets musicians get exactly the kind of sound they’re after. It’s not one-size-fits-all. This flexibility is a big part of why Tokyo Koto became widely accepted across different koto schools, like the Yamada and Ikuta schools.

Today, most Tokyo Koto instruments are crafted in parts of Tokyo like Bunkyo, Setagaya, and Shibuya.

How the Tokyo Koto Evolved

When the koto moved from Kyoto to Edo, it changed roles. Before that, it was used to support other instruments like the shamisen in formal court settings. But once it reached Edo, it stepped into the lead.

This change was driven by Kengyo Yamada’s approach to composing. He created songs where the koto became the centerpiece. People in Edo loved this new style, especially since it often included singing while playing. That change in how the instrument was used led to a new version called the Yamada Koto. This was the first version of what would become the Tokyo Koto.

As time went on, builders improved the instrument so it could hit higher notes. That made it more versatile and suited for different types of music. By the mid-1800s, the techniques, tools, and materials used to make the koto were nearly the same as what’s used today.

Craftsmanship and Materials of the Tokyo Koto

The Tokyo Koto is made using a mix of fine woods like paulownia, rosewood, and red sandalwood. The strings are made from silk. These materials give the instrument its bright sound and classic look.

Even now, the Tokyo Koto is played by everyone from students to professional performers. Its deep roots in Japanese music, combined with its bold sound and refined build, keep it relevant in both traditional and modern settings.

This instrument is more than just a piece of history. It’s still alive in Japan’s music scene and remains a strong part of Tokyo’s cultural identity.

How the Tokyo Koto Is Made

Shaping the Body

It starts with the wood, usually paulownia. First, the material gets dried out completely. Then it’s shaved down to show the grain and give it a soft, curved surface. The back of the body is carved too. An adze is used to shape it, followed by a rounding plane called a sotomaru kanna. After that, a zigzag pattern called ayasugi is cut into the surface using a chisel. That detail helps shape how the instrument sounds once it’s finished.

Searing the Surface

Next comes the koyaki process. This step gives the koto its deeper tone and darker color. The entire body is seared using a hot iron that’s been heated over charcoal. This searing also helps protect the wood and adds character to the finish.

Making and Attaching the Decorative Parts

After that, the decorative pieces get made. These include the kuchimae, which is a fitted detail placed near the front. The body of the instrument gets engraved to hold these parts. Then everything is glued into place. These pieces aren’t just for show. They also add structure and help support the strings.

Attaching the Shinza

The final step is called shinzauchi. This is where the shinza, the part of the instrument that holds the string holes, gets installed. It’s fitted onto a part of the surface called the shiburokuban. A wooden mallet is used to secure it in place. This step is key because it sets up the string tension and makes sure the koto can be properly tuned.

Each of these steps takes precision, time, and a solid understanding of how the sound works with the build. The result is a Tokyo Koto that’s not only good-looking but also built to play rich, clear music.

 

28. Tokyo Shamisen

The Tokyo Shamisen is built start to finish by one craftsperson. That’s what sets it apart. In Kansai, different people handle different parts of the process. But in Tokyo, the same artisan does everything. They work closely with the musician, right from the start, to get the sound just right.

It’s not just about putting wood and leather together. The maker looks at the player’s skill, the type of music they play, and even how they play. All of that matters when choosing the wood and the skin. The size of the pores in the leather and how thick it is can change the sound. So everything is chosen to match what the player needs. It’s all custom. Each Tokyo Shamisen is made to suit one musician’s style and tone.

Handmade Craftsmanship That Lasts

A Tokyo Shamisen can last for decades if it’s taken care of. Repairs and upkeep are done by trained hands. These instruments don’t come from machines. They come from human skill. That’s why they last.

But fewer people are making them now. The traditional materials are harder to get. And mass production is replacing handwork. Even so, some parts of Tokyo still keep the tradition alive. Places like Chuo, Taito, and Toshima wards are where most Tokyo Shamisens are still made.

Lately, more people have started fixing up old shamisens and selling them to beginners. It gives new players a chance to own a real instrument without paying full price. And it keeps old shamisens in use instead of letting them sit around.

Where the Shamisen Came From

The shamisen didn’t start in Japan. It came from a Chinese three-stringed instrument called the sanxian. That first showed up in Okinawa, which was the Ryukyu Kingdom back then, around the late 1300s. In Okinawa, it became the sanshin. That version used snakeskin.

By the end of the Muromachi period, around the 1500s, it made its way to mainland Japan. People in Osaka started making it using dog or cat skin instead, because snakeskin was hard to get there. That’s also when they started using a plectrum to play it.

By the 1600s, it reached Edo, which is now Tokyo. The shamisen evolved into something new there. Tokyo didn’t just copy the old style. It made its own. The area became a center for shamisen making. Some of the top makers came from Tokyo, like Harumitsu Kanda. These builders shaped the sound and form of the shamisen that we know today.

The Shamisen in Japanese Music

Over time, the shamisen became a core part of Japanese music. It wasn’t just for the elite. It spread to the public. People used it in Kabuki theater, puppet plays, and all kinds of performances. It showed up in long song forms like nagauta, gidayu, and tokiwa-tsushi, as well as in shorter styles like kiyomotobushi and shinnaibushi.

As those kinds of music got popular, so did the need for good shamisens. That drove more people to build them, especially in Tokyo. And even now, the Tokyo Shamisen is still used in performances across Japan. Pros play it. So do students. The sound carries on.

The Tokyo Shamisen is more than a musical instrument. It’s a living tradition, shaped by hand, tuned to the player, and tied to Japan’s history.

How the Tokyo Shamisen Is Made

Shaping the Wood

Everything starts with the wood. The artisan cuts separate pieces for the head, the neck, and the body. Each section comes from a carefully selected block, chosen for strength and tone. The wood type matters, since it affects how the instrument sounds and holds up over time.

Building the Neck and Head

The neck is made from three parts. These are cut, shaped, and joined together using traditional woodworking methods. The artisan carves grooves and tenons by hand, using a chisel. At the head, they carve out a channel called the sawarimizo. This small groove creates a buzzing effect that’s unique to the shamisen’s sound.

Forming the Body

The body starts as four separate wood pieces. Each one gets a carved zigzag pattern on the inside. This design is called ayasugi, and it helps reduce weight while keeping the structure strong. Once that’s done, the pieces are glued together using animal-based glue. This kind of glue holds well and lets the body vibrate properly for good sound.

Stretching the Leather

Once the wooden frame is dry and solid, the skin is added. The leather is soaked, softened, and then stretched over the body. The artisan uses wooden clamps, called kisen, to hold it in place. Ropes are pulled from every side to stretch the skin tight. This step has to be exact. If it’s too loose or uneven, the sound will suffer.

Final Assembly and Setup

Last, all the parts come together. The neck gets attached to the body. Strings are put on. The bridge and dokake, which keeps the instrument from slipping, are added. Every part is checked. The tension, the balance, the sound. Only after everything feels right is the shamisen ready to play.

Every step is done by hand. Every move affects how the final shamisen sounds, looks, and lasts. It’s a full craft, shaped from raw wood into a working, expressive instrument.