I will be traveling to the Domaine de Boisbuchet tonight and I will be installing the show with Mathias Schwartz-Clauss, Boisbuchet’s artistic director, and, along with me, co-curator of the exhibition.  Students from Parson Paris will also be on-site participating in a workshop that will assist in the design of this summer exhibition.

Also lending to the exhibition are friends and colleagues: Kei Kawasaki and Naohito Shikama of Kyoto, Japan, and Amy Katoh, of Tokyo.

Hopefully I will be posting some shots of the installation in progress on my Instagram feed, so please do check in from time to time.

PLEASE NOTE:  Because I’ll be away for two weeks, any work purchased from the webshop will not ship until Monday, 10 June.  A new New@Sri will resume on Wednesday, 12 June at 11 AM New York time.

More soon…..

Sashiko stitching covers this entire garment.  Above we see a field of squares.  These represent a grain measure, a wooden box called a masu.

Seen below at the top of the photo is a border stitched in the kaki no hana or persimmon flower pattern.

The quality of the elaborate stitching on this work coat is superb.  The stitching is done in a pale blue cotton thread, which could have been dyed blue before it was stitched onto the coat.  Or, perhaps, the entire coat was over-dyed in indigo and the once-white sashiko stitched turned blue from this second immersion in a dye bath.

The front of the noragi, seen below, shows patches, as does the back of the coat.  The patches applied to the shoulder areas are for reinforcement against wear.

What can also be seen on the front of the coat is that the elaborate masu-designed stitching of the back of the coat is replaced by a simpler pattern of horizontal lines

Still, the kaki no hana or persimmon flower pattern is still present at the shoulder area.  Since this decorative design is also densely stitched, it serves to reinforce this area.

 The jacket measures 31 1/2″ x  38″ or 80 cm x 96.5 cm and it probably was made in the first quarter or first half of the twentieth century.

I’ll be rolling out these new items on the webshop, with a good line-up to be shown this coming Wednesday, May 1 at 11 AM NY time.

Shown here is a wonderfully patched, large boro futon cover I just found on my trip.  The combination of the geometric katazome cloth overlaid by the random–and many–patches is gorgeous.  I was really happy when I found this one.

The indigo dyed cotton background shows a repeat pattern of hexagons or kikko, the traditional tortoiseshell pattern.   This design conveys a wish for long life.

The hand loomed cotton is gauzy, very soft and drapey.  The color is a beautifully faded indigo, softened from decades of wear.

The size is nice.  It’s 60″ x 48″ or 152.5 cm x 122 cm and it probably dates to the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.

This post is about another kind of beauty, a more observational sort.

Cliche or not, the truth is that Japan comes alive when the cherry trees bloom, and some kind of revitalizing energy is transmitted into the Japan psyche when the cherry trees flower.

Stunningly beautiful scenes become even more so when Kyoto is in full bloom.

Camelias, like the ones pictured above, are in full force right now, and there are many varieties to see.  This type (sorry, I don’t know the species name) is strangely perfect, or, rather, beautifully perfect.

And the early cherry blossoms are just peaking now: the later blooming ones are almost fully opened.  The stark bloom, pictured above, does not accurately portray the countless cherry trees, each of which is a cloud of millions of  lushly delicate blossoms, the color of which is a pink so pale that it is almost not a hue.

And in front of Gallery Kei is a peach tree, each bloom heavy and dense with petals, and the colors both pale and rich.

With luck I’ll be posting more local color while I’m here in Japan.  Oh, and already I’ve found some wonderful new textiles which I’ll offer on the webshop when I’m back in New York.

The base of this kimono is a fairly lightweight, grey-colored cotton.  Most likely, and this is just speculation, this piece was bought second-hand and repaired at home by a poor city dweller or someone in a small town or village.

The color palette of the patches and the kimono’s base color are beautiful, as is the stitching.   And by looking closely you’ll see that there is some hemp stitching used to affix the patches to the ground–always a plus in old, Japanese folk textiles.

Above you’ll see a remnant of a tenugui, or a traditional, Japanese hand towel.  This fragment, on the left of the above photo, shows a sliver of the traditional hemp leaf motif or asa no ha. 

Again, above, you’ll see the dusty, muted colors which make this old kimono so alluring.

And on these two photos, above and below, you can see how much stitched repair was utilized when mending this old coat.

I’d estimate that this boro kimono, in the state that it’s in, dates to the first half of the twentieth century.  The kimono itself could likely be older.

It’s a classic work coat, which I find to be extremely attractive, and it’s woven from hemp and cotton.  You’ll probably be able to see some cotton slubs which indicate this mix of fibers.

The surface texture is just beautiful.  And looking carefully at the back of this coat, shown below, it’s fairly evident that this was used for work as some of the surface cotton slubs are worn away in the center of the back. Perhaps the former owner of the coat carried burden?  Highly likely.

The cotton collar is not hand woven and is dyed black, probably a synthetic dye.  This tells us that this coat probably dates to the mid-twentieth century.  Also, this coat is missing sleeves, which doesn’t mean that it’s a sleeveless garment.  It simply means that the sleeves are not on the coat right now.  Sleeves and collars were often removed and re-attached during the lifetime of a garment, which often spanned generations.

Beautiful texture, isn’t it?

In old Japan, many han juban were made by piecing together scraps of cloth and no doubt you’ve seen examples on this blog.  In this case, both indigo dyed cotton and silk fragments were pieced together using a very strident and noticeable stitching, much of it done using hemp thread.

On the above photo you can see how direct the stitching on this han juban is.

And above you will see a detail of the collar area: the bottom part of the collar is indigo dyed cotton and the top is of nice, 19th century katazome silk.

And the inside is very interesting, as well, with more examples of piece construction.

The back, too, has interesting details.

I think this piece probably dates to the Meiji era (1868-1912) and it measures  30″,76 cm from shoulder to hem x 48″, 122 cm from sleeve tip to sleeve tip.

A few years ago I came across another set of these, so when I found this group, I was thrilled.  I think you can probably see why.  They’re really beautiful, and they have a rich and soulful presence.

The photo, above, is a pattern for a shin guard, or kyahan, which were an essential part of daily costume in old Japan–for farmers and elite people alike.

You can see that some of the patterns are for the soles of the tabi, while others are for the sides, or the “boot” part of these split-toe shoe-socks.

They’re all beautiful–at least to me.  Some patterns are made on lightweight washi while others are on thick, card stock.

They probably date to the late nineteenth century or so.