Japan - Kurotani Washi, Ayabe, Kyoto Prefecture
WASHI: A Paper Trail to the Gods
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For centuries, the art of washi, a kind of decorative paper traditionally handmade in Japan, has been deeply intertwined with Shintoism. It has been imbued with a sense of purity, so much so that it is said that 'white paper leads to the Gods'. Kotodama, or ‘the spirit of language’, speaks of the power that words hold to shape the world around us. It is believed that this connection allows ki, the Japanese word for tree, to easily harbour ki, the Japanese word for energy – two words with the same reading of two different kanji (Chinese characters used in written Japanese) – and, as such, for Shinto deities to dwell peacefully within its wood.
Perhaps this is also why people are said to receive energy from a pure white sheet of paper, or from the scent of a new book. 'White paper purifies unclean things’, a sentiment often shared by washi craftspeople, is an idea that has continued to permeate Japanese culture to this day.
Stumbling blearily from the warm cocoon of the car, I take a deep breath and drink in the biting chill that surrounds Kurotani Washi, a paper mill tucked into the mountain valleys of Kyoto’s northern peninsula. It is one of the few places left in Japan where production methods closely resemble the ways washi was handcrafted during the Meiji era (1868–1912), and I’ve come for a glimpse into the complex inner world of traditional papermaking.
Wintry scenes from a misty morning mulberry harvest in Kyoto Prefecture, Japan.
Mechanised wooden mallets used to grind mulberry in stone mills for paper making
Splash, scoop, splosh. The water slaps out a gentle rhythm in the silence of the workroom. 'I think my earliest memory of this was in early primary school', Yamashiro-san, expert craftsperson from Kurotani Washi, says. Splosh, scoop, splash. 'I remember the sounds of my grandmother, who was also a washi maker, making it in our home.'
The light shifts ever so slightly. A thin glossy sheen coats the sukisu, the bamboo mat that is part of the paper mould; it is the first, barely perceptible layer of what will soon transform into washi. »
Deep in the throes of a freezing December’s day, milky waters slosh back and forth, side to side, up and down, beneath a cypress sukigeta (Japanese-style paper mould) and a craftswoman’s deft command. I stare intently, unblinking. It’s my first time watching someone create washi, which in the next few moments will supposedly rise like magic from this swirling bath of pulp and slime.
Local craftswoman scrapes away the fibrous mulberry bark
Local craftswoman scraping mulberry tree bark to later soak and steam
An opening excerpt of a print feature article with STORIED Magazine. All photography and copy by Grace Laolao.