Lit by a low winter sun, Kazuyuki Tomi swirls pale, soft fibres around in a rough-hewn stone tub with his hand. Through a translator, he explains how these strands, taken from young mulberry branches in the surrounding hills, will be boiled with ashes for hours to create a gelatinous liquid he will later transform into traditional washi paper. “People have been making washi paper in Japan for 1,500 years,” the Ishikawa craftsman says. “I’ll continue doing my job as long as there are people needing my work.”
In the slender prefecture of Ishikawa, which hugs the striking coastline of Japan’s largest island, Honshu, traditional craftsmanship like this is both common and revered. The mostly rural region, fringed by the Sea of Japan on one side and rising mountains on the other, is home to some of the country’s most intricate heritage crafts, including Kaga-yuzen silk-dyeing, brightly coloured Kutani porcelain, finely made gold leaf and lustrous Wajima-nuri lacquerware. Eagle-eyed visitors will spot examples of these age-old crafts in real-world settings across the prefecture. At restaurant CRAFEAT in Kanawaza, the prefecture’s capital, multi-course dinners are served on traditional Waijima-nuri lacquerware and Kutani ware, with squid ink-infused steamed egg arriving in intricately painted Kutani-ware bowls and lightly cooked fresh vegetables hidden within gold-flecked, ornately lacquered presentation boxes.
In the slender prefecture of Ishikawa, which hugs the striking coastline of Japan’s largest island, Honshu, traditional craftsmanship like this is both common and revered. The mostly rural region, fringed by the Sea of Japan on one side and rising mountains on the other, is home to some of the country’s most intricate heritage crafts, including Kaga-yuzen silk-dyeing, brightly coloured Kutani porcelain, finely made gold leaf and lustrous Wajima-nuri lacquerware. Eagle-eyed visitors will spot examples of these age-old crafts in real-world settings across the prefecture. At restaurant CRAFEAT in Kanawaza, the prefecture’s capital, multi-course dinners are served on traditional Waijima-nuri lacquerware and Kutani ware, with squid ink-infused steamed egg arriving in intricately painted Kutani-ware bowls and lightly cooked fresh vegetables hidden within gold-flecked, ornately lacquered presentation boxes.
Kazuyuki Tomi, a third-generation artisan, uses locally sourced plants to make washi paper at his rural studio
Where once, dedicated artisans like Tomi were struggling against a wave of mass production that saw craftsmanship sacrificed for quantity and affordability, more recently, Ishikawa’s lacquerware makers and washi paper creators have experienced a renewed appreciation for their craft. Producing elegant, handmade products in studios attached to rural homes and in ateliers tucked away in nondescript towns, these artisans are putting the prefecture on the map – and, with a new extension to the Hokuriku Shinkansen line now in service, are becoming a draw not just for Japanese travellers, but foreign visitors exploring beyond Tokyo, too.
It involves a long drive down a winding road to get to Tomi’s studio. Located in a wildly beautiful valley that hugs the curves of a mountain stream, the rustic wooden building is a temple to his craft. Square frames of varying sizes hang on rough, bare-wood walls, and a vast clamp press sits, pride of place, in the room’s centre. Thin, fibrous strips of paper, coloured the palest blue, flutter above the door.
Where once, dedicated artisans like Tomi were struggling against a wave of mass production that saw craftsmanship sacrificed for quantity and affordability, more recently, Ishikawa’s lacquerware makers and washi paper creators have experienced a renewed appreciation for their craft. Producing elegant, handmade products in studios attached to rural homes and in ateliers tucked away in nondescript towns, these artisans are putting the prefecture on the map – and, with a new extension to the Hokuriku Shinkansen line now in service, are becoming a draw not just for Japanese travellers, but foreign visitors exploring beyond Tokyo, too.
It involves a long drive down a winding road to get to Tomi’s studio. Located in a wildly beautiful valley that hugs the curves of a mountain stream, the rustic wooden building is a temple to his craft. Square frames of varying sizes hang on rough, bare-wood walls, and a vast clamp press sits, pride of place, in the room’s centre. Thin, fibrous strips of paper, coloured the palest blue, flutter above the door.
Tomi washing plant fibres outside his studio in Ishikawa prefecture
Making washi paper is deceptively simple. Tomi, a third-generation craftsman, specialises in coloured papers, made using natural pigments like indigo and chestnut to produce varying shades. I’m attempting to produce something a little simpler: an A1 piece of paper. In a large tub beneath the single-pane windows, translucent mulberry gloop glimmers.
Tomi instructs me to sift an A1-sized frame containing a thin, flexible bamboo mat through the liquid. With slow, repetitive rocking motions, the fibres settle, forming a thin layer of wet washi. With Tomi’s help, I lift the frame and remove the bamboo mat, revealing a few millimetres of damp, newly formed paper.
Making washi paper is deceptively simple. Tomi, a third-generation craftsman, specialises in coloured papers, made using natural pigments like indigo and chestnut to produce varying shades. I’m attempting to produce something a little simpler: an A1 piece of paper. In a large tub beneath the single-pane windows, translucent mulberry gloop glimmers.
Tomi instructs me to sift an A1-sized frame containing a thin, flexible bamboo mat through the liquid. With slow, repetitive rocking motions, the fibres settle, forming a thin layer of wet washi. With Tomi’s help, I lift the frame and remove the bamboo mat, revealing a few millimetres of damp, newly formed paper.
Tomi specialises in coloured washi paper, made using natural dyes
Not all craft forms produced in Ishikawa are as easy to attempt. The hands of 79-year-old master Kutani-ware painter Buzan Fukushima are steady as he creates an intricate red pattern across a small bowl in his studio, an unremarkable room attached to a family house.
“I don’t even have to wear glasses,” Fukushima jokes, spreading a little vermilion paint onto a glass tile, before dipping a thin brush lightly into it and painting a line less than a millimetre wide onto the delicate porcelain. Kutani ware, a pottery style known for its vivid colours and bold designs, has been made in Ishikawa since the 1600s. Fukushima specialises in akae: a more minimalist style featuring intricate, all-red patterns that spiderweb across ivory porcelain plates, urns and vases. The small bowl will take up to a week to finish.
Not all craft forms produced in Ishikawa are as easy to attempt. The hands of 79-year-old master Kutani-ware painter Buzan Fukushima are steady as he creates an intricate red pattern across a small bowl in his studio, an unremarkable room attached to a family house.
“I don’t even have to wear glasses,” Fukushima jokes, spreading a little vermilion paint onto a glass tile, before dipping a thin brush lightly into it and painting a line less than a millimetre wide onto the delicate porcelain. Kutani ware, a pottery style known for its vivid colours and bold designs, has been made in Ishikawa since the 1600s. Fukushima specialises in akae: a more minimalist style featuring intricate, all-red patterns that spiderweb across ivory porcelain plates, urns and vases. The small bowl will take up to a week to finish.
Self-taught Kutani-ware maker Buzan Fukushima works from a studio attached to his family home
Fukushima is something of a Kutani-ware celebrity. Wrapped in a red tartan blanket to keep warm, he is reticent about sharing his story, but his daughter, Reiko, steps in to help.
During the 70s and 80s, a boom in the Japanese economy led to the mass production of ceramics, and traditional Kutani ware fell out of fashion. Fukushima came across the craft and decided he wanted to give it a try. When a local artisan refused him as an apprentice, he bought the required tools and taught himself. Fifty years later, he’s still at it. Reiko joined the family business 10 years ago.
It can be difficult for travellers to the region to visit artisans in person, but individual studios may offer invitations if contacted. Much of Ishikawa’s heritage craftsmanship is showcased generously in restaurants and ryokans across the prefecture, too. An extravagant kaiseki dinner – a multi-course banquet – at the traditional Noto Peninsula ryokan Notonosho features dish after dish of local seafood delicacies and painstakingly produced heritage recipes served in gold leaf-flecked lacquerware bowls. Likewise, on a sake-tasting experience at the ultra-minimalist, ultra-modern Noguchi Naohiko Sake Institute, the various expressions of rice wine are delicately poured into tumblers of all shapes and materials, including elegant Kutani-ware ones. Otherwise, you’ll find museums and institutes scattered across the prefecture dedicated to showcasing some of the most famous crafts. The Kutaniyaki Art Museum offers an overview of hundreds of years of Kutani ware, while the Wajima Lacquerware Museum showcases this unique heritage craft.
Fukushima is something of a Kutani-ware celebrity. Wrapped in a red tartan blanket to keep warm, he is reticent about sharing his story, but his daughter, Reiko, steps in to help.
During the 70s and 80s, a boom in the Japanese economy led to the mass production of ceramics, and traditional Kutani ware fell out of fashion. Fukushima came across the craft and decided he wanted to give it a try. When a local artisan refused him as an apprentice, he bought the required tools and taught himself. Fifty years later, he’s still at it. Reiko joined the family business 10 years ago.
It can be difficult for travellers to the region to visit artisans in person, but individual studios may offer invitations if contacted. Much of Ishikawa’s heritage craftsmanship is showcased generously in restaurants and ryokans across the prefecture, too. An extravagant kaiseki dinner – a multi-course banquet – at the traditional Noto Peninsula ryokan Notonosho features dish after dish of local seafood delicacies and painstakingly produced heritage recipes served in gold leaf-flecked lacquerware bowls. Likewise, on a sake-tasting experience at the ultra-minimalist, ultra-modern Noguchi Naohiko Sake Institute, the various expressions of rice wine are delicately poured into tumblers of all shapes and materials, including elegant Kutani-ware ones. Otherwise, you’ll find museums and institutes scattered across the prefecture dedicated to showcasing some of the most famous crafts. The Kutaniyaki Art Museum offers an overview of hundreds of years of Kutani ware, while the Wajima Lacquerware Museum showcases this unique heritage craft.
Hiko Toshiak applying coats of lacquer to bowls, left, and unused lacquer in various shades in colourful bowls at the studio
Lacquerware is primarily made on the Noto Peninsula, a slip of land that sticks out into the Sea of Japan in the north of Ishikawa. The region is nationally recognised as the centre of the craft. Rugged and sparsely populated, the peninsula is mostly made up of striking coastal landscapes, fishing villages and rice terraces, but the area in and around the small city of Wajima has been the source of lacquerware since the 1400s. Unlike other lacquer production centres in Japan, Wajima resisted the tide of synthetic resins that arrived in the 20th century – the local industry has stuck with traditional techniques and materials.
An easy way to describe the surface of lacquerware would be to use the word “lustrous”. But there’s a depth to the shined surface: look into it and you are drawn into hours of work, of hand-applied lacquer, of time and energy spent perfecting one object. The glossy surface is produced through a months-long process of adding many layers of lacquer – the sap of a tree – allowing it to harden, and then polishing it. Everything from humidity and temperature to dust can affect the final finish.
At the studio of Taya Shikkiten, a Wajima lacquerware business that’s been operating since 1818, I watch Hiko Toshiak apply layers of basecoat to a tray of bowls, spinning them on a spindle as though he were icing a cake. Most lacquer workshops divide labour by job, so many craftspeople specialise in just one specific stage of production. Nearby, 79-year-old Satomi Hira polishes the basecoat of completed bowls with a stone. She says she finds the repetitive nature of the work – carried out while listening to tinny music on a portable radio on her desk – meditative. Later, as many as 100 thin coats of lacquer will be applied.
The studio holds the history of the craft: an old-fashioned flame heater, with a detachable kettle, keeps the room warm, and there’s a pile of tartan wool blankets tucked behind Hira’s desk, too. The light switch on the wall has a patina of fudgy, lacquer-stained fingerprints across it. Upstairs, in a storage room, colourful bowls covered with clingfilm hold unused lacquers of various shades, from white and blue to red and black.
Lacquerware is primarily made on the Noto Peninsula, a slip of land that sticks out into the Sea of Japan in the north of Ishikawa. The region is nationally recognised as the centre of the craft. Rugged and sparsely populated, the peninsula is mostly made up of striking coastal landscapes, fishing villages and rice terraces, but the area in and around the small city of Wajima has been the source of lacquerware since the 1400s. Unlike other lacquer production centres in Japan, Wajima resisted the tide of synthetic resins that arrived in the 20th century – the local industry has stuck with traditional techniques and materials.
An easy way to describe the surface of lacquerware would be to use the word “lustrous”. But there’s a depth to the shined surface: look into it and you are drawn into hours of work, of hand-applied lacquer, of time and energy spent perfecting one object. The glossy surface is produced through a months-long process of adding many layers of lacquer – the sap of a tree – allowing it to harden, and then polishing it. Everything from humidity and temperature to dust can affect the final finish.
At the studio of Taya Shikkiten, a Wajima lacquerware business that’s been operating since 1818, I watch Hiko Toshiak apply layers of basecoat to a tray of bowls, spinning them on a spindle as though he were icing a cake. Most lacquer workshops divide labour by job, so many craftspeople specialise in just one specific stage of production. Nearby, 79-year-old Satomi Hira polishes the basecoat of completed bowls with a stone. She says she finds the repetitive nature of the work – carried out while listening to tinny music on a portable radio on her desk – meditative. Later, as many as 100 thin coats of lacquer will be applied.
The studio holds the history of the craft: an old-fashioned flame heater, with a detachable kettle, keeps the room warm, and there’s a pile of tartan wool blankets tucked behind Hira’s desk, too. The light switch on the wall has a patina of fudgy, lacquer-stained fingerprints across it. Upstairs, in a storage room, colourful bowls covered with clingfilm hold unused lacquers of various shades, from white and blue to red and black.
79-year-old polisher Satomi Hira, left, and Akane Qin etching a design
Entering a room next door, a young woman sits hunched at a desk, scratching at a highly polished black square. She’s etching a dragon, freeform, onto a block of lacquerware. Chinese national Akane Qin is 32 years old and recently moved to Japan to study the craft. Clearly, word of Ishikawa’s crafting renown has spread across the Sea of Japan.
Buzan Fukushima’s business premises avoided damage, and an exhibition featuring his work, the Kutani Artists Exhibition, is donating a portion of all sales to the Noto Peninsula Earthquake Relief Fund. Sadly, the studio, office building and gallery of Wajima Taya Shikkiten collapsed during the quake. None of the atelier workers were hurt, and the business is rebuilding, but the disaster highlights the precarity of Ishikawa’s heritage crafts and the fact that their existence is dependent on the transfer of skills from person to person, generation to generation.
Entering a room next door, a young woman sits hunched at a desk, scratching at a highly polished black square. She’s etching a dragon, freeform, onto a block of lacquerware. Chinese national Akane Qin is 32 years old and recently moved to Japan to study the craft. Clearly, word of Ishikawa’s crafting renown has spread across the Sea of Japan.
Editor’s note
Less than a month after our visit, Ishikawa was hit by a catastrophic earthquake on New Year’s Day. The 7.6-magnitude quake killed 221 people and left over 20,000 homeless, with evacuation centres providing accommodation. With characteristic efficiency, the prefecture has now mostly recovered. For artisans such as those featured in this article, the return of travellers supports the continuation of their craft.Buzan Fukushima’s business premises avoided damage, and an exhibition featuring his work, the Kutani Artists Exhibition, is donating a portion of all sales to the Noto Peninsula Earthquake Relief Fund. Sadly, the studio, office building and gallery of Wajima Taya Shikkiten collapsed during the quake. None of the atelier workers were hurt, and the business is rebuilding, but the disaster highlights the precarity of Ishikawa’s heritage crafts and the fact that their existence is dependent on the transfer of skills from person to person, generation to generation.
The Lowdown
British Airways runs regular flights from London Heathrow to Tokyo Haneda and Tokyo Narita. From there, the Hokuriku Shinkansen runs from Tokyo to Kanazawa. Standard single fares are available from £70, but a multi-day Japan Rail Pass enables travellers to board any Hokuriku Shinkansen services to access stations throughout the prefecture. Visit Japan Rail Pass for more information. Our writer was a guest of ishikawatravel.jp