Aizome (藍染) Indigo Dyeing Part One

I live in Tokushima Prefecture in Japan. It’s not a well-known place. It’s on Shikoku, the smallest of the four main islands of Japan, and it really only gets well known during the annual four day awa odori festival in August.

It has other claims to fame that the locals are fiercely proud of like sudachi (a citrus fruit) sweet potatoes, whirlpools, and its own version of ramen (which is delicious by the way). But there is one claim to fame that is of particular interest to kimono fans; aizome (藍染) also known as indigo dying.

My home happens to be very close to the local indigo dyeing museum, Ai no Yakata (藍の館). I went there recently to watch a koto concert and I’ve been researching aizome ever since (and dreaming about owning an aizome kimono, but I don’t think my budget can take it!)

This post will be the first in a series of three posts about aizome. In the first post, I will outline the process of creating the dye. In the second part (here), I’ll talk about the actual museum, and in the third part (here) I’ll talk about my experiences in aizome dyeing and some of the benefits of aizome.

The Aizome Process

Begin Japanology has done an incredible video on aizome and I encourage everyone to check it out. It outlines the history of aizome and the process of creating it.

For those of you who don’t want to watch the video (seriously, watch it!) Here’s the process of making aizome.

Aizome uses the fermented leaves of the indigo plant for a dye. The whole point of the long fermentation process to make the compound in indigo plants that is responsible for the colour, indcan, water soluble. The final fermented dye is called sumuko and it can take a year to go from planting the seeds to dyeing the first batch of cloth in the finished product.

The seeds are first planted in March after the threat of frost has subsided. Two months later in May, the seedlings are transplanted into the fields. The mature plants are harvested just after the end of the rainy season in July. The leaves are separated from the stalks and the leaves are dried in the sun. About a month later, a second batch is harvested. This second batch, once it’s been sorted and dried, is stored separately from the first batch to be used in the fermentation process later on.

When it comes to the fermentation process, everything is big, and it takes a long time. I’ve outlined the process to make sukumo below. The information is from an essay written by Isamu Nii, an ai-shi (sukumo maker) that still uses the traditional methods. His essay was published in a book called “Awa No Kusazome; Namida Iro” (The Dye Plants of Awa; The Color of Tears) written by Seiko Akiyama and translated into English by Ann K. Nakamura.

 

Please note, every step in the process occurs in 5-6 day intervals even when it’s not explicitly stated. 

Ichi-ban mizu (一番水) 1st water application
Approximately 1000 kg of dried indigo leaves are arranged in a pile about one meter high and sprinkled with water.

Ni-ban mizu (二番水 2nd) water application
This occurs about five days after ichi-ban mizu. At this point, the leaves are starting to generate heat and the bacteria are starting to break down the leaves. About 500 kg of the second harvest of indigo leaves are added to the pile. Everything is mixed, sprinkled with water, and piled up to one meter again.

San-ban mizu (三番水) 3rd water application
This occurs 5-6 days later.   Everything is mixed and sprinkled with water.

Yon-ban mizu (四番水) 4th water application
Again, 5-6 days later.   Everything is mixed and sprinkled with water.

Go-ban mizu (五番水) 5th water application
A second batch of 750 kg of dried indigo leaves is added. Everything is mixed and sprinkled with water.

Roku-ban mizu (六番水) 6th water application
A third batch of 750 kg of dried indigo leaves are added. Everything is mixed and sprinkled with water. At this stage, the pile of fermenting indigo is about 3000 kg.

Nana-ban mizu (七番水) 7th water application
This occurs around November.   The temperature drops and the indigo is covered with straw mats called futon to keep it at a constant temperature.

Hachi-ban mizu (八番水) 8th water application
By this stage, the smell of ammonia can be overwhelming.

Kyuu-ban mizu (九番水) 9th water application
Clumps of indigo are broken up at this stage in a process called to-oshi. This ensures that oxygen and moisture are evenly distributed and the indigo is exposed evenly.

Jyuu-ban mizu (十番水) 10th water application
By this point, the indigo is uniformly composted and fermented. The high temperature makes walking over the indigo difficult and the smell of ammonia is overwhelming. Straw bags called kamasu are placed inside the fermenting pile to stop the temperature from going too high.

Jyuu-ichi-ban mizu (十一番水)  Jyuu-ni-ban mizu (十二番水)  Jyuu-san-ban mizu (十三番水)
11th, 12th, and 13th water applications

At this stage, approximately 80 days have passed. The indigo leaves stick to the floor and new straw mats have to be put down to protect the indigo from excess moisture.

Jyuu-yon-ban mizu (十四番水) Jyuu-go-ban mizu (十五番水) Jyuu-roku-ban mizu (十六番水) Jyuu-nana-ban-mizu (十七番水)
14th, 15th, 16th, and 17th water applications

This time is when the experience of the ai-shi really shows. Instinct will tell the sumuko maker when to make the next application of water. He makes his decision based on the amount of water used, the smell, and the temperature of the leaves. When the ammonia smell mellows out, it’s a sign that the indigo has officially become sumuko.

Jyuu-hachi-ban mizu (十八番水)  18th water application
This is the final application. Cold water from underground wells is used. Prayers are said to ensure that the sukumo will give a good colour and sake is sprinkled over it. It’s now the middle of winter and time for the craftsmen to think about planting the next crop in a few months.

completed sumuko

completed sumuko

Now that we have sumuko, we need to make it into the dye. Again, the “Begin Japanology” video does a great job of explaining the process, but here’s a rundown.

The dye’s basic ingredients are sukumo, lime, ash lye, and sake. Everything is mixed in the dye vat and left to settle. It must be kept warm, stirred every day, and examined for signs of fermentation.   Anywhere from three to ten days later, the dye will have started to ferment and will look noticeably different. Large bubbles form that don’t vanish and a metallic sheen covers the top of the dye. At this point, a second batch of lime is added. After a day, the third and final batch is added. The dyer now starts looking for the indigo flower (ai-no-hana 藍の花) to form on the top of the dye. This indicates that they dye is ready to be used.

The completed dye.

The completed dye.

 

TL;DR? Here’s a short video with the highlights of the process.

That’s all for this post. Check the second installment here.  The third installment is here.

 

Don’t sweat the small stuff!  But if you’re interested, check out my facebook, twitter, and instagram for the small, spur of the moment ideas, articles, and activities that I find and do related to kimono!

http://www.facebook.com/readysetkimono
http://www.twitter.com/Readysetkimono

http://www.instagram.com/readysetkimono

 

Oshima Tsumugi

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My newest baby!

This past weekend, I got my first oshima tsumugi kimono. My local kimono store was having a sale for 80% off their secondhand oshima kimono. That, combined with my “every time you bring a friend in here, they buy something” discount meant that I got a wonderful secondhand oshima kimono (that fits me!!) for 10,000 yen (about $100) when the original price was 58,000 yen (about $580).

In honour of this purchase, I decided to do some digging into the process of oshima tsumugi and how it’s made. There are several types of tsumugi that fall under the oshima category, but in this post, I will be focusing on doro-oshima (the mud-dyeing method) simply because that was the method used to create my newest kimono.

Doro-oshima was created on Amami Oshima, an island that is officially part of Kagoshima prefecture, but it’s actually about halfway between Kyuushu and Okinawa. The process is long and labour intensive. A single kimono can take up to a year to complete. Here’s the process that they use.

  1. Creating a graph of the pattern

The pattern is created and drawn onto graph paper to be used as a blueprint. The blueprint will determine the number and length of threads that are needed to complete the finished fabric.

  1. Starching

The silk threads are starched with a liquid made from boiled igisu seaweed, native to Amami Island. The starch has several reported benefits besides holding the threads together. These benefits include making the threads easy to handle, giving the threads a good gloss and texture (more on oshima’s unique texture later), acting as an insect repellent, and helping the threads retain their colour when they are dyed. After the starch is applied, the threads are strung out in the sun to dry.

  1. Binding

Binding involves preparing the threads for dyeing. Oshima uses a resist method of dyeing in which certain parts of the thread are bound with cotton thread so that these areas don’t absorb the dye. There are several ways to do this.

By hand: the threads are individually bound and tied with cotton thread where the craftsman doesn’t want the dye to go. As you can imagine, this is extremely time and labour intensive.

By a press: the threads are sandwiched between two plates to create the resist.

Resist loom: A loom is used to weave in cotton warp threads among the silk threads. The cotton threads prevent the silk from picking up the dye. This is the most common method used nowadays.

  1. Teichigi Dyeing

Techigi is also known as Yeddo Hawthorn. The wood is boiled for a length of time (some websites claim it’s for ten minutes, others for 14 hours, and some say it’s for two days. I tend to think it’s probably somewhere in the middle). The tannin in the wood is what creates the reddish-brown hue of the dye. The wood is harvested in the winter before it blooms so that the dyers can harvest the maximum amount of nutrients in the wood. After the wood has been boiled, it is used to feed the fires for the next batch.

Once the dye is ready, the bound threads are dipped in the cooled dye and worked by hand for about 15 minutes. Lime is added to help the colour set. After fifteen minutes, the threads are left in the sun to dry. Once they are dry, a new batch of dye is prepared and the process repeats. And repeats. And repeats. 20 times is the standard.

  1. Mud Dyeing

Once the threads have been dyed in the techigi 20 times, it’s time to dye them in mud. The mud on Amami Oshima is very rich in iron. The reaction of the iron and the tannin in the techigi turn the reddish-brown threads to a gray colour. The process was discovered in 1878 when a woman doing the laundry thought she had ruined her family’s clothes. She washed them in the muddy water of the rice patty and they changed from red-brown to gray. I really wonder what the conversation was like that night when her family saw their clothes.

For every twenty dips in the techigi dye, the threads are dyed in the mud once. The full process (techigi and mud) is repeated several times until the threads take on a dark black colour. This colour is extremely difficult to reproduce even with chemical dyes.

  1. Processing

Done, right? Not quite. Processing the thread includes a whole list of things to do. This includes unbinding the threads, aligning the threads according to the design, giving the threads another coat of starch, and adding any other colours. Adding colours is another labour intensive process. The dyes are rubbed into the threads at every point they appear on the pattern. Sometimes thousands of times over.

  1. Weaving

Finally, the weaving can begin. The weaver must align the patterns perfectly, one thread at a time. Every seven centimeters, the weaving must stop for inspection. During the course of weaving, the warp threads tend to slacken on the loom, and years of experience have shown the weavers that seven centimeters is the magic number to adjust all the threads again.

Unlike other woven fabrics (see meisen) where the pattern has a blurred look, oshima is precise with no blurred edges. In order to achieve this, the weavers use a needle to make minute adjustments to the threads and create a perfectly aligned pattern. Weaving a full kimono bolt takes minimum one month to complete, but it could take much longer depending on the complexity of the design.

  1. Inspection

Finally, every bolt of fabric must be inspected by a cooperative of experienced dyers and weavers. There is a list of 18 or 24 checkpoints (different sources give different numbers) that the bolt of fabric must pass including things like width, length, pattern accuracy, colour, and the weight or thickness of the fabric. If any of these checkpoints don’t pass, then the bolt of fabric is rejected as authentic oshima tsumugi.

It’s now been six months to a year since the first step in this long, long process began, but the oshima silk is finally ready to be turned into a beautiful kimono.

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I still find it hard to believe that so much intricate work goes into oshima. Every place where you see red is where the threads were bound with cotton threads.

When I first started learning about kimono, it was hard for me to appreciate the work that went into oshima tsumugi. I preferred big floral designs, but I have to admit, oshima is growing on me. The texture of the silk is one of the weirdest textures I’ve come across. When I first felt it, I thought “oh, synthetic.” I kid you not, it felt like a raincoat. It was very smooth with an almost plastic feel and it was shiny. Since then, I’ve been told many things about oshima (none of which I want to test on my own kimono!) including that they don’t wrinkle and that they are waterproof. Oshima is quickly becoming one of my favourite kinds of kimono. They’re so versatile and subtle.

One of the things that I don’t understand about oshima is that, with all the work that goes into creating one kimono, it’s still only considered a casual kimono. You’ll never see one at a tea ceremony or formal party. It seems such a shame to relegate such an intricate kimono to such a low rank. Especially when you start to dig into the history and discover that for a long time, regular people were not allowed to wear them. They were used to pay taxes only. Obviously somebody high class was wearing it. It was only after the Meiji era that regular people could wear oshima tsumugi again.

Another thing I questioned was why it fell under the tsumugi category. Traditionally, tsumugi uses the silk cocoons that are not fit for sale. The broken silk threads are reeled together to create the thread. The resulting fabric shows the lumps and bumps that come from using uneven thread. Oshima is nothing like that. The only answer I can find is that when oshima was first created, they used tsumugi, however, now they use traditional, smooth silk thread.

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This is traditional tsumugi. Notice the bumps and lumps in the threads?

I really hope I’ll be able to add some more oshima tsumugi to my collection some day.

Sources for this post:

https://sites.google.com/site/tsumugienglish/CreationProcess

http://www.marcopoloni.com/oshima-tsumugi-japanese-silk.htm

http://www.kimono.or.jp/dictionary/eng/ooshimatsumugi.html

http://kougeihin.jp/english/crafts/0122/d0122-4-1.html

Meisen Kimono

This week I got my first meisen kimono. I found it at a secondhand store for ridiculously cheap, and it’s in surprisingly good shape.

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There are a few holes where I suspect insects have eaten through, but they’ve been lovingly repaired and the lining looks like new. Overall, I was extremely happy to add this kimono to my collection.

I was even happier because the day before, I had come across this video from NHK.

The entire video is a great resource, but if you only want to see the part on meisen, skip to 22:00.

For a long time now, I have been trying to identify different types of weaving, dying, and kimono types just by sight alone. I often shop in secondhand stores that carry lots of different items and the clerks are not necessarily experts on kimono. Meisen is a word that I have seen several times during my research, however the descriptions were often vague or could be applied to many different types of kimono. The only distinctive thing I learned was that they were produced in the first half of the 20th century and production stopped around the 1950s so I was guaranteed to never find a new meisen kimono. After watching this video and doing a little more research on meisen, I finally feel confident in identifying them myself.  Hopefully you’ll be able to identify what makes these kimono so unique too.

Meisen is a rough silk fabric. The cocoons that are used have been spoiled by the larvae growing inside, so they can’t be used to create pure white silk (this is very similar to tsumugi, another fabric that uses silk cocoons that are not acceptable for making traditional kimono fabric). Because the silk that comes from these cocoons is not pure white, meisen uses bright colors to hide any discolouration on the silk itself.

Meisen is a woven fabric (as opposed to a dyed fabric). The threads are dyed before weaving using a method called kasuri. In this method, the threads are stretched out taut on a table. A stencil is used to dye the threads (both the warp and weft threads) and after this, the threads are woven together. The stencils never completely line up so a hallmark of meisen is that the designs have blurred edges. Kasuri is a branch of a dyeing technique called ikat. There are many ways to produce ikat dyeing, but this is easiest and most economical way.

The use of less than perfect silk and the kasuri dyeing made meisen very affordable and therefore very popular.

Meisen design is not influenced by the classic nature and seasonality based kimono designs. The designs on meisen are bold, modern, abstract, and not what you would expect from a kimono at all. The designs made meisen kimono extremely fashionable when they were new, but just like new fashions nowadays, they faded quickly. Meisen were worn for a few seasons, then a new one was bought to meet the new fashions of the time. And just like today, most people didn’t want to wear their parent’s old, vintage clothes if they didn’t have to, so a lot of meisen kimono sat in closets and drawers for a long time. It’s lucky for us that they’re starting to be rediscovered again today.

That’s all for meisen from me. Hopefully you can use some of this information to identify your own meisen kimono!