A Call from My Uncle Led Me Back to the Familiar World of Japanese Umbrellas

Please tell us how you came to walk the path of a Japanese umbrella craftsman, Kawai.

My maternal family ran a Japanese umbrella wholesaler, and my mother worked there in accounting, so I'd often spend weekends and summer vacations there until I was about a primary school student.

At that time, my grandmother also worked as an umbrella craftsman. I always admired her. From the office where my mother worked, I could see her workspace, and during the summer, I would watch her work on the umbrellas almost every day.

Occasionally, I'd see her demonstrating umbrella-making at department store events. Watching her calmly work in front of a large audience, I thought she was really cool.

However, in junior high, I got busy with club activities and stopped going to the store. I graduated high school, went on to university, and then started working in a field unrelated to Japanese umbrellas in Tokyo.

Initially, I worked at an advertising agency creating flyers for home centers and drugstores. But this job would often keep me working until 2 or 3 AM before the printing deadline, so I thought, "I can't keep doing this."

So, I returned to Gifu. Since I had a bookkeeping qualification, I got a job in accounting at a tax accountant's office. A few years later, when I was about 27 or 28, my uncle, who ran a Japanese umbrella company, mentioned he needed help due to lack of manpower, so I joined his company. That's how I got back into the world of Japanese umbrellas.

Having been familiar with them since childhood, I had the mindset of wanting to help out if I could.

How did you proceed on the path to becoming a Japanese umbrella craftsman?

After joining my uncle's company, I started by checking the umbrellas for any damages, gradually learning more and more tasks. Since the company had a division of labor system with craftsmen handling each step, and many of them were elderly, I figured I'd better familiarize myself with the whole process so we wouldn't be in trouble when there was no one left to do the work.

Learning to make Japanese umbrellas wasn't something I was taught hand-in-hand. Instead, they showed me how to do a task once, and I had to remember it through practice. It was quite demanding to allocate practice time after work.

Since there weren't any umbrellas specifically for practice, the ones that turned out well were sold as products, while the imperfect ones were sold as seconds. I think it took about six months to a year before I saw the umbrellas I made being sold at the store.

That process went a bit quicker for me because, as a child, I spent every weekend at the umbrella shop playing with the craftsmen and watching various tasks. I sort of remembered the hand movements, and that experience became the foundation for my work.

Why has the culture of making Japanese umbrellas ("wagasa") flourished in Gifu Prefecture, which boasts the highest production value of Wagasa in Japan?

One reason is that during the Edo period, the feudal lords encouraged their samurai to engage in the side business of making wagasa. Another reason is that the materials necessary for crafting wagasa, such as the famous Gifu-based Mino Washi paper, bamboo, and oil, were all available in the Nagara River basin.

These materials were delivered by the river and unloaded in this port town, which facilitated their development. Therefore, Gifu is also known for other crafts using bamboo and washi paper, such as fans and lanterns.

How many wagasa craftsmen were there during its peak period?

There were so many craftsmen that it felt like you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting one. Wagasa was a major local industry around here, so there were many specialty stores dealing in tools for making wagasa, especially centered in the Kanoa area to the south of Gifu City.

During the Showa era, about one million wagasa were made each month. There were many craftsmen, and everyone around here was somehow involved in making wagasa, competing with each other in their craft. That’s why when you look at museums today, you might come across wagasa that make you wonder, "How did they make that?"

The "Janome-gasa" umbrella is said to have between 44 and 48 ribs, but there were even ones with 100 ribs, showcasing many intricately crafted pieces. Moreover, while today's wagasa typically have a single color on the outside when closed, back then, they often featured paintings on the outside, sometimes of cranes, or had gradations when closed.

In the past, the production was divided into specialized tasks, where workers focused solely on their specific job, like painting, allowing their skills in each process to improve steadily. It was all about the challenge of how much individuality they could express.

Currently, I hear there are about 30 craftsmen. As far as I know, there are about five workshops and two that make parts for wagasa.

I am now in my eighth year of making wagasa. Although the number of workshops hasn't changed much, several people have quit. However, new people have also started, so the number of craftsmen hasn't changed significantly in recent years.

Each One Crafted with Skill & Passion

I heard that it takes about two months to make a single Wagasa (Japanese umbrella). Could you tell us about the process until completion?

First, we purchase parts called "kurikomi," which control the opening and closing of the umbrella, and the umbrella ribs from a parts supplier. Then, we shape the ribs so that they form a nice curve when the umbrella is closed, a process called "tamekake." After that, we connect the "kurikomi" and ribs with thread.

This results in a skeleton-like structure that resembles a Wagasa which can open and close. We then proceed to apply Japanese paper in several stages. For both rain umbrellas and sun umbrellas, the same Japanese paper is used if they are finished with a single sheet. However, for sun umbrellas, a technique called "niju-bari" is used, where two layers of thinner Japanese paper, compared to that used for rain umbrellas, are applied.

Next, we perform "tatamikomi," which involves folding the Japanese paper for a beautiful closure of the umbrella. For rain umbrellas, we then impregnate the paper with oil to repel rain and leave it to sun-dry. Sun umbrellas, on the other hand, are used as they are, without the oiling process.

After that, we paint only the outer ribs, and finally, we perform "itokagari," a process that involves reinforcing and decorating the inner ribs with thread. Once the parts are attached, the umbrella is complete.

Even just listening to you, it's clear that the process involves a vast number of steps. Is there a particularly challenging part of the process?

The quality of a Wagasa is determined about 80% by the preparation of the skeleton before applying the Japanese paper, so the foundation work is really crucial.

For me, the most nerve-wracking task is the painting. As it's the final stage of the process, any mistakes could mean that all the work goes to waste or the product becomes a second-rate item. Since there's no way to fix a mistake at this stage, it requires a high level of concentration.

Can you tell us about your commitment to making Wagasa?

Wagasa are often said to "open like a flower, close like bamboo." Gifu Wagasa are considered slender and beautiful when closed, so I focus on the closed form. Although people often pay more attention to the vibrant appearance when opened, the umbrella spends more time closed, and if its form is beautiful when closed, I feel it is well-made.

Additionally, creating numerous Wagasa daily can sometimes make me see each one as just one among many. However, for our customers, each Wagasa is their one and only. No matter how busy I get, I want to remember that and ensure I create each one with care.

What kind of customers buy Wagasa?

The majority purchase them for daily use, but there are also customers who buy them as gifts or for photography purposes. People often ask whether foreign tourists buy them, but most of our customers are domestic.

One time, a customer told me, "I look forward to rainy days because I get to use my Wagasa," which made me really happy.

What do you think is the charm of Wagasa?

For rain umbrellas, the sound of raindrops hitting the washi paper is unique and different from Western umbrellas; it’s quite interesting. It sounds like raindrops hitting a taut tent.

Also, when looking from the outside, rain umbrellas tend to appear darker. It's similar to how newspaper colors darken when oil seeps into it. However, from the inside, they look very bright as light passes through. With parasols, the fibers and colors vividly appear when held up to sunlight; it’s very beautiful. This is a special privilege for those who use Wagasa.

Many people assume Wagasa are heavy and difficult to maintain, but most find that they aren’t that heavy when they try them. Further, maintenance is not that difficult once you use them, so I would love for people to experience them firsthand.

The appeal of Wagasa lies in its delicate craftsmanship while being practical. What care is needed to ensure longevity?

Parasols don't require any special care. For rain umbrellas, just make sure to dry them after use. Careful users can go up to 10 years without needing repairs.

In fact, storing them unused for long periods is the quickest way to ruin them. Oil can cause them to stick together, so regular use helps them last longer.

Creating an Environment Where Artisans Can Work with Peace of Mind Is Crucial

As an artisan of Wagasa, what challenges do you perceive?

In the past, as a major production area for Wagasa, the more we made, the more we sold, and it was a viable business. There were many artisans, so even with lower prices, we could cover costs through quantity.

But with fewer artisans, we can't produce in large quantities, yet the unit prices remain low, making it difficult to sustain the business.

When I quit my job at the tax accountant office to pursue Wagasa-making, my boss told me, "Remember, you’re a sole proprietor before being an artisan."

To make the business viable, it’s crucial to earn enough and establish a cycle where artisans receive adequate compensation. If you can’t make a living, you can't produce quality Wagasa. I want to restore the original form where Wagasa are made to sustain living.

Passing on the techniques to the younger generation is also important. What are your thoughts on this?

I'd like to see Wagasa firmly reestablished as a local industry in Gifu City, so rather than the traditional inheritance method, I think creating an environment for the younger generation to participate in the work is essential.

Without comparable salaries to other jobs, it won’t be a viable career choice. We can't ask those interested in Wagasa to tolerate low wages as a form of exploitation. It needs to be a sustainable job.

Alongside this, ensuring places, tools, and materials to pass on Wagasa-making techniques is necessary to create a viable environment for the next generation.

What kind of umbrellas do you want to make in the future?

Since starting Kasabiyori, I’ve aimed to create "Wagasa that transcends age, gender, and attire," and I wish to continue enhancing this lineup.

Also, having a child this year has made me want to increase opportunities for children to experience Wagasa. While making Wagasa for celebrative events like traditional festivals, Shichi-Go-San, and coming of age ceremonies, I also want to create umbrellas that children can actually use. It would be wonderful to create Wagasa that children can use from their youth to adulthood.