In rural, old Japan fibers used for clothing and utilitarian items were found in nature: some were cultivated like ramie and hemp, and some were foraged for in the wild, like linden (shina), wisteria (fuji) and kudzu (kuzu).  Today I’m showing a basket woven from wild grape (budo) vine bark along with some yarns which were obtained from the mountain wisteria.
The basket, which is woven from the inner bark of a wild grape vine, was said to be used to forage for mushrooms, but it most likely was also used for gathering other kinds of material in the forest, such as nuts or vegetables.  Likely it dates to the mid-twentieth century.  A carrying cord was once attached to the lug handles, and the basket was either carried at the wearer’s side, or strapped to his or her back.
Fuji, or wisteria, is one of the rarest and most precious of the fibers used in old Japan.  Shown below is raw wisteria fiber which was cultivated and processed  in late 20th century in Tango, Kyoto Prefecture, where some fuji preservation work is ongoing.
I am showing several close-ups of the fuji yarn in order for you to imagine its texture and color.
Old garments woven from fuji are very hard to find.  They are extremely prized if you do find them, and, moreover, they command top price should you be lucky enough to find (or afford) a garment woven of wisteria.
These photos may seem to indicate that wisteria feels dry, like raffia or straw, but in actual fact, the fibers feel quite silky and pliant.

It seems with folk art–or with certain old textiles–it’s not just its age that burnishes the piece with a rich luster, it’s also the wear to the piece by its former owners or its maker that lends it character.  It’s this warmth from human contact that endows a piece its soulfulness.Today I am showing a piece that exemplifies this idea.  It’s a Pakistani ralli, it measures 27″ x 26″/ 68.5 cm x 66 cm, it most likely dates to mid-last-century, and it’s probably a sitting mat.  It is stitched together from old, cotton cloth which has been layered and secured with many tight rows of running stitches.  The face of the cloth, seen in the fifth photo below, shows applique and some fancy embroidery work.For me, the beauty of this piece is in its abrasion and fading,  both qualities working in concert and leaving behind some kind of  strange and beautiful delicacy.Years and years of soft and steady wear have created a kind of translucency to these layers that is inimitable.

Notice how the fancy embroidery stitches remain very much intact as the cloth around them has sloughed off over time.  It’s almost like we are seeing soft, geometric fossils.

The color palette we see here today was never meant to be seen: how could the maker know that in fifty years time the cloth would reveal its layers in a tight spectrum of pale hues?  What we see today is not what she saw when she stitched and composed this ralli.

I can’t imagine that this piece looked better when it was new.  I am sure that the many hands that touched this piece and the flow of decades that have nourished it have elevated this piece from a simple sitting mat to a textile eloquent in subtlety and resonant with new beauty.

Today I’m posting a suite of images that was shot by the wonderful photographer, Lyn Hughes. No words, just images.

Pictured hanging on the wall in the photo below  is a wonderful and large boro futon cover; on the floor is an arrangement of zokin or  sashiko stitched dust cloths made from recycled cottons which are laid out to make a kind of rug.

Because zokin are usually made from several layers of cloth, and because they are usually heavily stitched, they are durable—and they beg to be revitalized and put to use in another incarnation.   When I came across these photos, above and below, I remembered a large bed cover I hand stitched entirely from old zokin.

And here is that very bed cover, shown below.

When I first started Sri about ten years ago, I began by hand making home accessories from antique cloth: everything was hand stitched.  I soon realized, though, that I was more interested in the actual cloth than in making things from it, so I phased my business from being an artisan workshop into being a proper gallery of antique textiles.  I’m much happier now that I’ve made this transition.

Still, this bed cover remains one of the favorite things I made: a wonderful client bought it and is living with it, which is great to know.  It’s incredibly durable, and I am sure it keeps my client very warm up there in New England.

Of course this bed cover was made during the days when zokin were more available than they are now so I had many to choose from to stitch this piece.  As you can imagine, textiles of beauty and age are harder and harder to come by as the time goes on.

I always look forward to posting images of excellent quality boro garments, which I’ve done a few times in the past and which I’m doing again today.

This is a marvelous, very heavily patched and mended boro work kimono, sometimes referred to as a nagagi.

What makes this a superlative coat is its age, the quality of the indigo dyed cottons (the yarns are hand spun and all the cloth is hand woven),  its broad, thick stitching, and the inclusion of some very interesting resist dyed cottons and some fantastic, old plaids.

The wear and the fading also contribute to the unconventional beauty of this coat; its soulfulness is the messenger of its appeal.  Most of the cloth used to stitch this coat dates to the mid-to-late nineteenth century: have a look at the photo, below, showing a patch on the coat’s sleeve: notice the katazome, or stencil resist dyed cloth which shows gradient stripes: the Japanese refer to this kind of optical striping as “waterfall.”  Again, below, look at the nice, big patch of beautifully faded katazome dyed cotton.  Of course the indigo dye used for all the cloth on this coat is botanical.

The coat’s back is almost three-dimensional from the profusion and layering of patches.  The stitching on some of the pieces is done in thick, white sashiko thread, creating a kind of tracery–a very interesting and delicate contrast to the body of the coat.

Tokyo’s Amuse Museum is now showing the boro collection of the esteemed ethnologist Mr. Chuzaburo Tanaka, whose extensive collection of boro garments–amassed over forty years–was acquired in one of Japan’s most remote and rural regions, Aomori Prefecture.

Please see the link to this phenomenal exhibition here. Those of you familiar with the book “Boro: Rags and Tatters from the Far North of Japan” will recognize this exhibition as the same collection shown in the book.