conversations
Ichiroya has graciously allowed me to use
images from their site to illustrate my ramblings. This is not
a financial arrangement I have made - I simply believe them to
be wonderful people with whom I enjoy doing business, and wish
to support their endeavors. Ichiroya is a web based treasure
trove of Japanese textiles, antiques, and information. If you
haven't visited them in the past, just click on the icon to the
left! Or, click on any of the images below to be taken directly
to their page for more images and information.
In Japan, traditional garments were
disassembled to launder.
At first glance, this may seem like a
very peculiar practice, however, let's look at it in its
historical context: The school I attended as a child was
attached to a convent, and as it happened, in first grade I sat
next to a glass door that lead to a sunny courtyard. One day I
noticed an elderly nun sitting in the sun with her sewing. She
was taking apart a huge black habit - it seemed to be a
mountain of midnight yardage. I wandered out and sat next to
her watching for quite some time before asking her why she
would take apart her clothing. She explained that her style of
dress dated back to Medieval Times. In those days all the women
dressed just as she does today. They didn't have sewing
machines, and once or twice a year had to carry all their
laundry down to the river to wash. A wet “dress”
would be far too heavy for any of them handle, and so they had
to take everything apart, wash it, lay it out on the grass to
dry, and then sew it all back together again by hand.
Sometimes, if a part became worn, they would need to re-arrange
some of the pieces, and in this way they would be delighted
with a “brand-new” garment as a reward for their
efforts.
Kimono have a similar history. Once
disassembled, the parts were put back together, much like a
jigsaw puzzle, into the original bolt form. Did you happen to
see Memoirs of a Geisha? If so, you'll remember the segment,
just after the war ended, in which people were working along
the river. They were washing kimono fabric. By clamping one end
of the bolt with harite, secured
with a stake in the center of the river, the fabric was allowed
to float in the water, with the gently agitation of the shallow
flow loosening accumulated soil and dust.
Fabrics staked in center of river.
During the laundering process, the fabric
is inspected, spots removed, holes repaired, and perhaps the
entire bolt over-dyed. Everyday items, such as nemaki (sleep
kimono) and juban (underclothing) would be washed at home and
dried by straightening the weave on boards placed in the sun.
When it came time to re-assemble the
garment, a worn cuff would be turned to the inside shoulder
seam, the body itself could be cut at the waist and the ragged
hem flipped up (this sewing line would later be concealed by
the obi), and the stained kake-eri (false collar) replaced if necessary.
Today there are still a few specialists
to whom you may take precious garments. A quick Google search
brought up the following web site for an establishment in Kansai, which lists the cleaning fee for a tomesode at
around $150 and a furisode at $120; kimono with linings $100,
and those without linings $80.
What happens to all the threads that have
been removed over time from all the kimono that have been taken
apart?
Actually, something quite beautiful is
made-
Picture a rural farm setting, long, long
ago. A baby girl is born to a young mother and cherished as the
thing most precious to her heart. As the baby is nurtured from
infancy to adolescence, her mother will worry over her future
lot in life.
As the child blossoms, her mother will
save each of those threads pulled from the kimono that have
graced and protected her. With a small treasured stone, shell,
bead, or written prayer as the core, the mother will start to
wind the threads, creating lively, colorful patterns as she
works her magic. With each wrap of the fiber, with each change
in the pattern, she will pray for her treasure-child's health
and happiness.
Until one day a stranger comes to take
her away as a bride, perhaps never to be seen again. How can a
mother bear such a burden? How can she possibly communicate all
that she, with her entire being, wishes for her dear daughter?
This humble ball of thread expresses it
all. Perhaps this is all the bride-to-be has to take as her
keep-sake of home.
In the loneliness of a foreign household,
in the arms of a stranger, under the watch of a demanding
mother-in-law, in the pain of child-birth, she will have her
nurture-infused temari to keep the memories of her sun filled
childhood, sheltered in the arms of her loving mother, alive in
her heart.
Until, one day, with a smiling miracle at
her breast, she takes up thread and begins to wind.
Girl’s kimono with a temari motif.
