Encountering the Origins of Weaving Born from Trees

Please tell us about your business and how it started.

Our company, Koishika Orimono, began in the mid-Meiji period producing raw silk and Tango Chirimen, and as the eldest son of the fourth generation, I was always expected to inherit the family legacy. After graduating high school, I built a new workshop by the rice fields near Amino Station and started working there. Today, we primarily produce wisteria cloth obi by weaving wisteria threads into silk fabric, selling our creations at department store events and elsewhere.

Tell us about how you first encountered wisteria cloth, which was thought to be a phantom fabric, and what led you to decide to preserve its legacy.

In 1985, an NHK documentary "Women Who Weave Trees" became the catalyst—I was deeply moved by the concept of weaving from trees and rushed to Kamiseya. Joining a workshop that followed, I was able to learn the entire process. As I continued to pass down the art of wisteria weaving, I was repeatedly struck by the powerful convictions, passions, and wisdom of those striving for harmony with nature. The more I did it, the more fascinating it became, and I found myself utterly captivated.

Why did you establish Yushisha?

Wisteria cloth, described as "Fuji-goromo" in Manyoshu and Kojiki, came to be known as a "phantom fabric" from the Meiji to early Showa periods. From 1962, a nationwide emergency folklore survey took three years, eventually revealing that the "Suma bag" worn at the waist by fishermen on the Sodeshi coast was made from wisteria cloth, and that the tradition survived in small remote villages in the hills of the Tango Peninsula. In 1991, it was designated as an intangible cultural asset. As I reflected on the idea that tradition is kept alive not only by technical preservation but also by creating things, I realized that, for me, embodying the spirit of wisteria meant weaving that feeling into obi belts.

Because I poured so much time—and debt—into wisteria cloth, my family strongly opposed the idea. There were many difficulties, from not being able to weave properly to problems with sourcing materials, and juggling everything was tougher than I imagined. Still, whenever I had a break from Koishika Orimono, I devoted myself to making obi woven with wisteria thread, often working alone. I felt the passion and allure imbued in each obi could only be conveyed through direct conversation with customers, so I began selling directly under the name Yushisha. Developing and selling new products was challenging, but gradually, the proportion of wisteria cloth items increased, and things really took off in earnest about 20 years ago.

Can you tell us what's so captivating about wisteria cloth?

Primitive textiles do survive in several parts of Japan, but among them, wisteria is the plant with the greatest life force. Its fibers are tougher than hemp, yet soften with wear. Wisteria cloth is famous for its absorbency and resistance to friction and creasing. As recorded in works like Manyoshu and Kojiki, it's a fabric that has been cherished since ancient times.

In times when food and shelter were scarce, people extracted threads from the tenacious wisteria to weave fabric and wear, wishing for longevity and prosperity. "Suri-goromo"—the tradition of applying flowers and plants to cloth and dying primitive textiles through rubbing—is said to mark the dawn of dyeing culture.

Later, to further improve and protect themselves, people began adding patterns, improving their tools, mechanizing, and dividing labor, leading to the concept of fashion. In those times, creating clothing was synonymous with survival. I want to cherish and never forget these origins and histories of textiles. Through wisteria-based products, I hope to pass on the convictions and spirit of our predecessors to future generations.

Embracing Nature & Finding Beauty in Imperfection

Could you briefly explain your production process? Are there any particular steps you’re especially passionate about?

From spring to early summer, I collect wisteria vines. I use a wooden mallet to pound the vines, peel off the outer bark, and then simmer the inner bark in lye for about four hours. Afterward, I wash away impurities in a river, extract the wisteria fibers, dip them in hot water mixed with rice bran, and dry them in the shade. These fibers are twisted into thread and then woven. I’m committed to making wisteria thread using traditional methods. Twisting the fibers by hand to form a single strand—a process called "Fuji-umi"—is done entirely by hand.

For the lye simmering, I don’t use chemicals like caustic soda. Instead, I sift high-quality wood ash for the process. The highly alkaline ash breaks down impurities in the peeled wisteria fibers, turning them into thread. I use ash that’s left over from daily life—such as from the fireplace—for this process, making it sustainable and logical.

In the past, people would extract wisteria fibers before the snow fell, and when deep winter snows cut off transportation, they would spin wisteria thread and weave fabric. Wisteria cloth was crafted as part of daily life’s cycle.

Could you tell us about any unique characteristics of your work?

Thanks to the techniques I’ve gained while working with various textiles at Koishika Orimono, I’m able to weave wisteria thread freely and skillfully. The weaving depends on how the loom is set, so I design a wide range of arrangements with different structures. When it comes to obi production, everything is handled in-house, so we can flexibly accommodate customer requests.
Some of the silk threads I use for weaving are plant-dyed with local Tango plants, including young wisteria leaves, chestnut husks, weeping bush clover, and alder. While botanical dyeing is generally vulnerable to ultraviolet rays, I aim to achieve UV-resistant colors by increasing the concentration of the dye and achieving richer hues.

Wisteria thread varies widely—thick, thin, black, white, or irregular. Combining these skillfully and highlighting their flaws as beauty is essential. I believe that it’s this kind of sensibility that allows someone to weave truly wonderful fabric.

When creating, are there any sources of inspiration or references you turn to?

I take inspiration from the history and scenery of Tango, wisteria motifs and stories, phenomena, classical patterns that suit wisteria thread, and abstract designs, and sometimes I create patterns myself. When I used to visit wholesalers in Kyoto City weekly, I’d stop by old bookstores and book fairs at Hyakumanben and buy all kinds of books. The obi "Nami ni Fuji no Tsuki" was inspired by the raging waves of Tango’s Sea of Japan and a wisteria moon. I love the grandeur of Tango’s nature, the motif of the moon, and poetic Japanese expressions such as "Setsugetsuka" (“snow, moon, and flowers”). Despite how busy daily life gets, I long for a life where I can relax and appreciate the seasonal beauty of "Setsugetsuka."

Cultivating Plants from the Manyo Era: Learning from Timeless History

Could you tell us why you engage in wisteria and ancient plant reforestation activities and what impact this has on the community?

For 25 years, I have served as the vice president of the Wisteria Weaving Preservation Society. Since people stopped using mountain wood for fuel as they did in the past, neglected and overgrown mountains have made it hard for young wisteria to thrive. When Human National Treasure and Basho-fu artisan Toshiko Taira gave a lecture in Kyoto, she said: "It is my dream to plant itobasho (Japanese banana) where I can keep an eye on it, tend to it, harvest fine fibers, and make kimono as light as feathers from the thinnest threads." That story made me realize that with the environment deteriorating, it’s impossible to get quality fibers just from wild wisteria growing nearby.

Meeting tree doctor Konami Tsukamoto inspired me to begin cultivating wisteria and establish "Fuji no Sato Wisteria Park." We have planted some of Japan’s most famous wisterias, such as the great wisteria of Ashikaga Flower Park (Tochigi), Kuroki’s wisteria (Fukuoka), Ushijima’s wisteria (Saitama), and more. Guided by Manyo Flower researcher Neiho Kataoka, we also grow ancient plants featured in Japan's oldest anthology of poems alongside wisteria. Every May, we host the "Wisteria Festival," creating hands-on workshops and striving to make the area a vibrant hub for the community.

Please tell us about your future goals and vision.

Eventually, I would like to establish a plantation dedicated to wisteria for weaving. In addition to making sashes and traditional Japanese accessories, I hope to create products like brooches and lampshades for those less familiar with kimono, as well as gift items suitable for life’s milestones. Since wisteria symbolizes prosperity and longevity, these would make meaningful presents.

For generations, Japanese people have lived wrapped in wisteria, renowned for its incredible vitality. While we’ve both cherished and revered it, nature’s blessings have allowed us to coexist harmoniously. Although such an ethos has faded in modern times, I believe it remains etched in the DNA of Japanese people. Through craftsmanship, I wish to awaken an awareness to return to our roots and cherish these original sentiments.