In Shuri, a town that once thrived as the seat of the Ryukyu Kingdom, a special textile was cherished as the attire of royalty and nobility. Known as 'Shuri-ori,' this dyed and woven fabric survived the devastating destruction of war and made a dramatic comeback, its beauty enduring to this day.

We visited the Miyahira "Shuri-ori" Workshop (Kyuwa Co., Ltd.) to trace the story of this remarkable craft. The workshop's foundation was laid by the late Hatsuko Miyahira, a Living National Treasure, then established by her son, Kazuo Miyahira, and is now carried on by the second-generation head, Shinsuke Miyahira.

A Unique Weaving Culture Nurtured by Ryukyuan Trade

To truly understand the history of Okinawan textiles, we must travel back to the 'Great Trading Era' of the 14th and 15th centuries (Japan's Kamakura to Muromachi periods). During this time, the main island of Okinawa was divided into three principalities—Hokuzan, Chuzan, and Nanzan—each led by powerful lords who engaged in vibrant trade with Southeast Asia, China, and mainland Japan.

It was through this trade that the 'kasuri' (ikat) technique, which had traveled from India to Southeast Asia, arrived in Okinawa. Sailors waiting months for favorable winds would learn local weaving techniques, bringing back both skills and tools to share with the Okinawan people.

Eventually, Chuzan unified the three principalities and established the Ryukyu Kingdom in Shuri Castle under the Sho dynasty. The royal court then began formal trade with China, importing rare Chinese figured textiles like hanaori, hanakura-ori, and dōton-ori. Techniques such as kasuri and nanban hanaori from southern countries were also introduced, forming the foundation of what would become Shuri-ori.

The royal court later established a strict clothing and status system. Chinese-derived techniques and vibrant, patterned kasuri were reserved exclusively for royalty and the warrior class, designated as 'property of the kingdom,' with commoners forbidden from wearing them.

The clothing system established by the royal court was officially named Shuri-ori in 1972, coinciding with Okinawa's reversion to Japanese administration.

Shuri-ori encompasses a variety of techniques, including hanakura-ori, dōton-ori, and te-jima. Today, these names and techniques are passed down along with the rich history of Shuri-ori, and their immense value and quality continue to be carefully protected.

Passing the Baton Through the Flames of War

The story of how Shuri-ori weaving was passed down to the modern day can't be told without mentioning the immense contributions of Hatsuko Miyahira, Kazuo's mother and a designated Living National Treasure. After the Meiji Restoration led to the dissolution of the Ryukyu Kingdom, Shuri Castle lost its political power. The warrior class, now jobless, scattered, and the weaving culture that had thrived under royal patronage faced a crisis of survival. From the Meiji to the Taisho eras, a few dedicated individuals managed to keep the techniques alive, and Hatsuko was part of the generation that received this final baton.

In the 1930s, when Yanagi Soetsu—the father of the Mingei (folk art) movement—and his colleagues visited Okinawa for cultural research, a young Hatsuko, fresh out of the Women's Craft School, served as their guide. Yanagi's group purchased a vast amount of Okinawan textiles, which were then stored at the Japan Folk Crafts Museum (Nihon Mingeikan) in Tokyo. On the recommendation of her school's principal, Hatsuko also traveled to Tokyo with them. She spent two years at the museum, meticulously organizing the collection and studying the textiles.

Hatsuko later returned to Okinawa to teach at her alma mater, the Women's Craft School. However, as the Pacific War intensified, she was forced to evacuate. She agreed to an arranged marriage based solely on a photograph and moved first to Yamaguchi Prefecture, where her husband was stationed, and then to Oita Prefecture, where she gave birth to their eldest son, Kazuo.

When the family returned to Okinawa after the war, they were met with a heartbreaking sight: their homeland had been reduced to scorched earth. Weaving tools were gone, and even the old kimonos that could have served as references had been incinerated. Hatsuko was hired by the Ryukyu government's agricultural experiment station and tasked with reviving and teaching the art of weaving. With no physical examples to learn from, she turned to her memories and the Okinawan textiles that Yanagi Soetsu and his team had purchased before the war, now safely housed in the Japan Folk Crafts Museum. She traveled back to Tokyo, meticulously analyzing and studying each piece to resurrect complex techniques like Hanakura-ori and Doton-ori for the modern age.

A New Path: Leaving a Desk Job at 37 to Take on Weaving

Kazuo didn't originally plan on a career in weaving. He was a typical "salaryman" in Tokyo. After returning to Okinawa in his early thirties, he helped his father at his judicial scrivener's office while studying for the bar exam. But the endless paperwork left him feeling unfulfilled, and a deep longing to create something with his hands began to grow. It was then that his mother, Hatsuko, strongly encouraged him to take up weaving. At 37, he decided to make the leap.

At the time, Kazuo's sister Ginna, who was already a highly accomplished weaver and would later become a professor at the Okinawa Prefectural University of Arts, was working alongside their mother. After a year of training at his mother's Miyahira Studio, Kazuo and his wife, Sanae—a pharmacist who ran her own pharmacy—decided to start their own weaving studio together.

Kazuo and Sanae learned by reverse-engineering. They would borrow small swatches of fabric from his mother's studio, line up matching threads next to them, and figure out how to work the loom through imitation. They deconstructed everything—from the tools to the structure of the weave—to understand how it all worked. The story goes that when they showed their mother a finished piece of Hanakura-ori, she was stunned. "Who taught you how to do this?" she asked. The couple had managed to replicate a highly complex technique, one that no one had ever shown them, purely through observation and trial and error.

A Revolution in Color: Daring to Be Different

While mastering the technical skills, Kazuo and Sanae also embarked on a major innovation in Shuri-ori design: a revolution in color.

Historically, Okinawan textiles were known for their vibrant, almost primary colors—bold reds, yellows, and indigos that held their own against the bright tropical sun. But for Kazuo and Sanae, who had spent nearly 15 years living in Tokyo, this traditional palette didn't quite resonate. They craved a more urban sophistication, colors that would blend seamlessly into modern life. So, they began to create pieces using soft, gentle hues, a departure from the traditional primaries.

At first, their new color scheme was sometimes dismissed as "not Okinawan enough." However, their work found an enthusiastic audience with wholesalers and customers in the major kimono markets outside of Okinawa, like Kyoto and Tokyo. In fact, these delicate, muted tones were seen as a welcome change. The soft, intermediate shades harmonized beautifully with the urban landscapes of Kyoto and Tokyo, and complimented modern skin tones far better than the powerful primary colors of the past.

Weaving the Future of Shuri-ori for the Next Generation

The path for Shuri-ori is not without its challenges today. Major economic and social shifts—like the Great Hanshin Earthquake, the burst of the bubble economy, the Lehman Shock, and the Great East Japan Earthquake—have taken a direct toll on the demand for kimonos, which are luxury goods.

But Kazuo and his family remain optimistic. They know this because they’ve seen how interaction with the outside world can nurture and elevate a culture—just as local cuisine evolved in response to tourists seeking "Okinawa soba" and "awamori."

Shuri-ori itself is a testament to this process. Through a dialogue with markets beyond Okinawa, the craft has evolved by increasing the fabric's strength and altering its color palettes to complement the way obi sashes are worn.

The workshop is currently training the next generation of artisans, but mastering advanced techniques like Hanakura-ori and making a living from it is far from an easy path. Still, Kazuo, alongside his wife and son, continues to explore how Shuri-ori can find its place in contemporary lifestyles.

The glory of the Ryukyu Kingdom, the rupture caused by war, a miraculous revival, and its legacy in the modern day. Every single thread of the textiles from the Miyahira "Shuri-ori" workshop is interwoven with the history of Okinawa and the will of its creators, who have pursued beauty without fearing change. Here, we saw artisans who prove that tradition is best preserved not by resisting change, but by reading the winds of the time and continuously innovating.