Sashiko stitching, a Japanese running stitch, is used to strengthen cloth: this is a universal practice, employed by many cultures around the world, and it goes by many names depending where you are.

Today, however, I am showing two distinctly Japanese items: instep guards called kougake and a very heavily stitched. small pad of indigo dyed cotton.  Both of these old Japanese things are stitched using hemp thread.  Very often we think of sashiko stitching being done in white cotton thread against a blue ground: this is quite typical, but hemp thread was also used for mending and reinforcement.

Below is a heavily sashiko stitched pad: it seems the chevron shapes or the “arrow feather” pattern was stitched by counting threads.  At first I thought this was a zokin or dustcloth, then I realized it was probably created to be used as a gusset to reinforce a vest or jacket, as can be seen on an example here. In and of itself it is really beautiful.

Seen close up, in detail, and out of context like the photo above, you’d almost think this was Op Art from the 1960s.

I think that many readers of this blog who are Japanese textile enthusiasts love sashiko stitching and, if you have come to discover zokin, the heavily sashiko stitched pads made of recycled cottons, you probably have been smitten by them.

Each piece in the group that I am showing today is made from scraps of old, indigo dyed cotton and is stitched in hemp thread.  These beauties are all from my personal collection.The stitched pattern on the zokin pictured left, above is called “persimmon flower.”Zokin are used for housekeeping, for cleaning and for dusting: each Japanese child makes one in first grade to help tidy up their desk and classroom.  Very often each child will stitch their name onto the zokin.The hand plied, hemp thread used for stitching is quite raw, very thick and is barely pliant.   These zokin are rustic and are very scratchy.  Imagine stitching with this wiry, harsh thread?The results, though, are indeed beautiful.

I hope by placing the adult’s indigo dyed cotton tabi underneath the pair of child’s white tabi on the right, you will get a sense of just how tiny these tabi really are.

They’re cotton, and just like the adult’s pair, the children’s version are also worn hard and reinforced with sashiko stitching and patches.

I don’t think that I need to supply much commentary here.  The photos say it all.

Today I am showing some photos that are about mood, texture and materials.The rolled and tied sashiko stitched cotton fragment sits in a hand carved soba noodle dough mixing bowl along with a ball of indigo, katazome dyed  Edo komon hemp cloth which was taken from a kamishimo.The massive wooden bowl, which was carved and hollowed from the cross section of a single tree, shows a metal plate that mends its lip.  The bowl’s wood is deeply colored, rich in patina and beautifully heavy.In the photo above, note the surface of the bowl’s interior.An old piece of indigo dyed cotton kasuri or ikat cloth is used to tie the sashiko stitched bundle.

There is such a density of small, evenly spaced sashiko stitches on this kotatsu cover that this old Japanese textile appears to be obscured by a thin veil of mist.

This large (approximately 5 1/2′ x 5′ or 1.5 m x 1.7 m) cloth is sewn from layers of indigo dyed cotton and was used to cover a table-like armature that was placed over a brazier: in old Japan, a family would gather around the brazier and they would tuck themselves under this cover to keep warm.Looking at this stunning cloth we are reminded of Minimal Art from the 70s: imagine giving Agnes Martin a needle and thread.  I think this is pretty much what would have been produced.The surface of this kotatsu cover has an almost silver-like sheen from the field of small, white cotton stitches: it may not be so ironic that I decided to post images of this cloth on the very day that New York–and so much of the Eastern seaboard of the United States–was hit with a blizzard and buried in snow.  When I looked out my window today, the scene outside was not so different than the photos above, and below.On the first two photos, above, I love the subtle, dark mark dead-center on this cloth: the discoloration from prolonged exposure to the brazier still retains its heat.  Well, on the suggestive level, at least.