60 Years of Artistry: The Truth Behind "Living" Lacquer

A palpable tension fills the workshop. As Nakajima mixes lacquer with a spatula, his hands move with an efficient grace born from decades of experience. He describes the very nature of lacquer as being "alive."

"Just how remarkable is lacquer? If you place any bacteria, like Salmonella or E. coli, on its surface, almost all of it will be eliminated. Within 24 hours. With other coatings, bacteria just multiply, but lacquer has a powerful antibacterial effect."

This is why, in the era before refrigerators, traditional New Year's feasts (osechi) served in tiered lacquer boxes (jubako) could stay fresh for as long as ten days.

However, coaxing out these amazing properties requires a delicate touch, as if one is trying to please a "living thing." The drying process, in particular, is incredibly tricky. Lacquer hardens through a chemical reaction that is highly dependent on humidity and temperature. In other words, its drying time can change dramatically with the seasons and the weather.

Try to force it to dry, and it will fail. But create the right environment and respect its nature, and it will cure beautifully. "Lacquer is like a child. You can't force it," he says. In these words from a man who has spent 60 years with the material, one can sense an approach that is not about controlling the medium, but about harmonizing with it.

10x the Cost! Why Use Japanese Lacquer, Known as "A Drop of Blood"

The beauty of lacquerware isn't just about the artisan's skill. An uncompromising dedication to the tools and materials is also a critical element that defines the final quality. For instance, the brushes Nakajima uses are custom-made from human hair, specifically women's hair.

"I haven't used anything else for as long as I can remember. They're called 'hon-dōshi,' meaning the bristles go all the way through to the end of the handle. When the tips wear down, you just trim the handle to expose fresh bristles. A single brush can last for about ten years."

A more pressing issue is the skyrocketing price of lacquer itself. Japanese lacquer is harvested in far smaller quantities than its Chinese counterpart, making its price exponentially higher. Nakajima references the age-old saying, "A drop of lacquer is a drop of blood," to underscore its preciousness and rarity.

Despite the cost, he remains committed to using Japanese lacquer because it yields a beauty that chemical paints can simply never replicate.

No Division of Labor: The Pride of an Edo Lacquerware Artisan Who Handles Everything from Start to Finish

The Edo lacquerware passed down by Urushigei Nakajima has a distinct feature that sets it apart from other famous production areas like Wajima: there's no division of labor. Instead, a single artisan handles every step of the process.

"With lacquerware, most Edo artisans are certified as first-class skilled workers by the state, which is like being a first-class architect. I believe there are about 25 of us. Why? Because Edo artisans handle the entire process from start to finish. We do everything from one to ten."

This unique style is rooted in the history of Edo itself. It all started when feudal lords, who had to reside in Edo due to the sankin-kotai system, needed artisans to craft trousseaus for their daughters' weddings. To handle rush orders and meet meticulous demands, a system where one artisan took full responsibility for the entire creation process became the norm.

"Our story begins when the shogunate moved to Edo and feudal lords settled in the area for their sankin-kotai duties. When a lord's daughter—a princess—was born, the creation of her wedding trousseau would begin. That's why some workshops with long histories, passed down through generations, still exist today."

But as times changed, so did lifestyles, and the demand for wedding trousseaus dwindled. Even the lacquered tsuke-dai (sushi serving plates) once common in sushi restaurants began to disappear. Instead of simply mourning these changes, Nakajima took matters into his own hands, hitting the pavement to drum up new business.

"'Back in the day, we were completely dependent on lacquerware wholesalers buying all our stock. Artisans weren't supposed to do sales, but while many of my peers just sat around boasting 'I'm the best' without lifting a finger, I decided to get out there myself.'"

He shattered the artisan's unspoken rule and started making sales calls in Tokyo's Kappabashi kitchenware district.

"'When I went there, they gave me all their business. For a few years after that, I was so busy I barely had time to sleep.'"

Fusing with Modern Design While Honoring Tradition

Today, Nakajima isn't just crafting traditional vessels; he's eagerly creating new lacquerware tailored to modern lifestyles. His drive to innovate is boundless—from collaborating with designers on a Tokyo Metropolitan Government project to holding live demonstrations at events in Tokyo Midtown, where he's unveiled lacquered accessories like necklaces and earrings.

"'When I'm doing demonstrations at department stores, people will ask, 'Who made these beautiful accessories?' I always shoot back, 'Who else but me!' (laughs).'"

The Future of Traditional Crafts

The world of traditional crafts faces mounting challenges, from soaring material costs to a shortage of successors. The number of artisans in his association has plummeted from 50 or 60 to just about 12. Mastering the craft takes years, and the old-school apprenticeship, where one was expected to 'steal the techniques' from the master, has changed. It's no easy task to cultivate young artisans who can endure such rigor. Still, Nakajima offers a philosophical smile. "As long as there are people who appreciate it, that's enough for me."

"'Lacquer is a living thing. That's why you can't always control it.'"

You create it with love, even when it's painstaking, and you continue to care for it and use it as time goes by. Urushi (lacquer) has a life force so potent it can kill bacteria within 24 hours, yet working with it demands the patient, attentive approach of raising a child. The philosophy of this artisan, who has spent a lifetime confronting the beautiful inflexibility of this natural material, prompts us to reconsider the true meaning of cherishing our possessions—something we often forget in our fast-paced, efficiency-driven world.