How old art is restored & the bright fading faces of elderly Japan!

This post is about old things, things & people. Old art works and how they survive or how they are restored. And the wonders of the elderly or old people, a phenomenon where Japan is leading over all other countries (Germany’s is the second fastest aging nation).

Do you know how hard it is to restore a piece of art that’s over 500 years old? Very hard! Very! I have a close friend who deals in Japanese textiles and key textiles from across SE Asia.

It amazed me to learn that ancient textiles can be sent to individual repair specialists across the globe. Many in the US. Some in Brussels and London. And for certain textiles you will only find the best restorers in a single city, or generally. Rome or Florence. Tokyo or Kyoto.

And these scientific textile or art surgeons do amazing work. They match the dyes and the pigments and make repairs that are authentic and skillful. They can fill in a hole, so that only another expert might spot the scar or scars. And it takes a lot of time to fix something so that you can’t see it has been fixed or healed.

In Japan, with art works of all dimensions and form factors, restorers are always busy. Priceless handicrafts & antiques also get special treatment! In the interview below, with an apprentice American restorer learning his craft in Kyoto, you will understand how intricate and carefully constructed a Buddhist scroll from 1573 can be!

Now let’s talk a bit about Japan’s elderly population. In the last 10 years Japan’s population has shrunk from 133 million to about 121 million! Some people predict the year the Japanese will vanish, unlikely as that may be. But old age is such a beautiful sight!

Once in Kyoto, on a March day, I went to a Buddhist temple to discuss a seminar I was setting up there. The head monk, a good friend, was the new father of twin infants, a few days old. His wife showed them both to me that morning around 8:00. An hour later I interviewed an 87-year-old textile master in a tiny apartment in another old area of Kyoto.

This leads us to the end of this post, which features an interview by an old friend of mine. This interview, printed in the December edition of the now-defunct Kyoto Visitor’s Guide in 2002, reveals the ageing face of Japan in progress. Learn more!

Japanese art restoration: 1999 W. A. Hare interview

A Conversation with W. Andrew Hare from March 1999, when W. Hare was an apprentice at Kyoto’s prestigious Asian Paintings Conservation Studios, under the management of Old Capital’s multi-generation Usami Shokakudo Co., Ltd. (for more information see the end of the interview note, OK?)

YJPT: When did your interest in Japanese and Northeast Asian art begin?

WAH: I first became interested in the flow of culture between Northeast Asia and Japan when I was ten. Japanese things were quite popular in the States then. I grew up in Connecticut, near Yale, which has a long tradition of Asian studies that I was able to access, and my parents collected some Asian art and antiques. When I was 14, I visited Japan with my father, who was attending a medical conference. At this time, I knew that Japan was where I wanted to be.

I did my junior year here in Kyoto at Doshisha. After graduating from Oberlin College with a degree in East Asian Studies, I moved out to San Francisco and continued studying tea, Japanese language, etc. I was then offered a grant to continue Tea study full time for one year in Kyoto in Urasenke's Midorikai program. [Urasenke is the biggest, by far, tea ceremony school or empire in Japan; one of three tea families that branched out from Sen no Rikyu’s transformation of the tea ceremony around 1580.] I was very interested in the arts related to Tea. When I was 24, I started thinking seriously about a career in art conservation. Japanese screens and scrolls seemed the obvious choice. At the time, I was working in a gallery and part-time at two museums. Through a museum curator I knew, I was given an introduction to this studio and began my apprenticeship. That was nine years ago.

YJPT: What was your apprenticeship like?

WAH: For the first two weeks, I came to the studio in the morning and spent the day watching. At the end of every day, the boss would ask me in person or by phone, "Are you free tomorrow?" and I would say, "Yes." Then he would say, "Oh, then why don't you come tomorrow again and spend the day with us." We repeated this process for two weeks. Only then was I formally asked to join the studio. It was a beautifully indirect Kyoto-way of allowing each of us to decide our future relationship. If there had been a change of heart, all either of us would have had to do was to say that he was busy the next day.

During the first few years, I was finding out who the others were, how the studio functioned and how to fit in. It was difficult at times. In a traditional family-run business as old as this one, there is an idea of the correct way to do everything. So they taught me the correct way to sweep, the correct way to sit—among so many other things. I had to become part of the social hierarchy and working procedures of the studio so as to work smoothly with the older mounters. By assisting them and learning to anticipate their thoughts and actions, I began to learn the restoration and remounting process.

The relationships within this traditional studio, in many ways, reflect the nature of the work we do. The paintings we treat are delicate objects that are damaged and deteriorate easily and must, therefore, be periodically restored. The purpose of the studio is to keep art works alive by repeating the restoration process when necessary. In order to do this, the studio, its body of knowledge and skills must be maintained and passed on. The tradition materials and techniques, based upon generations of experience, are essential as we usually treat objects that are 300 to 800 years old. Of course, there is change and innovation, but this kind of work necessitates maintaining a certain system in order to safely restore objects and train future restorers.

YJPT: What role has tea played in your education and in understanding your work?

WAH: Tea has played an invaluable role in training my eye and shaping my understanding of what I now do. So much of my awareness of Japanese society, culture and art began with tea. As a living synthesis of functional arts—architecture, calligraphy, ceramics, lacquer, cuisine—tea can be an amazingly dynamic art.

The great beauty of Japanese art is two fold: it's both aesthetic and functional. Much of its appreciation, or connoisseurship, lies in its use: hanging a scroll, sipping from a bowl, placing flowers in a vase. This is a concept often referred to in tea as 'yo no bi', the beauty of use.

or me, as a conservator, fine art is a great idea that is well presented. At the physical level, this means choosing quality materials and manipulating them in a technically sound way. This is an essential interrelationship, for if the object is unstable and falls apart, its message is lost. In the restoration process, this takes on special meaning because we repair things that have been damaged or have naturally deteriorated over time. If an object is well made and carefully maintained then it need not be restored as often, which is always better.

Another important aspect is context. For Japanese paintings mounted as hanging scrolls, the mounting serves both a physical and an aesthetic role. Hanging scrolls were made to be viewed, often in a tokonoma [alcove in a traditional Japanese room], from a seated position in a tatami-style setting. This traditional context, which can still be experienced when visiting a temple or sitting in a tea room, has a dramatic influence on the way the painting is perceived. Unfortunately, nowadays, a lot of Japanese art is viewed entirely out of context—in glass cases, in huge, overly-lit museum rooms where you stand, not sit, and so on. This is another reason why tea is important. It preserves a living, historical context for the object, and allows for the necessary interaction that is essential for a deeper appreciation.

YJPT: How does this apply to ancient Japanese scrolls and paintings and your work as a restorer in general?

WAH: An old Japanese painting or calligraphy mounted as a scroll can function as an aesthetic object and convey historical information. But it's much more than a sheet of paper or silk on which the painting or calligraphy was first applied. It is a very complicated structure, made of fragile materials, that contains a great deal of information in itself. The artwork is surrounded by silk fabrics all of which are held together by layers of paper and paste. Hanging rods, fittings and cords are attached to facilitate handling and appreciation.

Over time, the wear and tear of use and natural deterioration affect the aesthetics and functionality of the work: the mounting stiffens and cracks, the adhesives give out, and the painting develops tears or darkens. Insects, mold and overexposure can do great harm. These are all inevitable deterioration processes that can only be slowed by careful handling and storage in a clean, pest-free, humidity and temperature-controlled environment.

At some point, however, roughly every one to two hundred years, a scroll will need to be restored before deterioration leads to irreparable damage. Our aim is to preserve the aesthetic appreciation of the object while making it safely functional again. For example, while treating the 14th century painting that I am currently working on, we have determined that it has been repaired at least four times over the past 650 years.

Our work, simply said, is to take things from the past and pass them on to the future.

Note: This interview, which took place in March 1999, was arranged through the kindness of Kyoto’s Usami Shokakudo Co., Ltd. The company’s numerous full-time employees work at the firm’s studio within the Conservation Center for Cultural Properties at the Kyoto National Museum and at the main studio across from Nishi Hongan-ji Temple. For more information about their restoration activities and services contact them [in English or Japanese] directly as follows: Tel: 371-1593.

Save time & have a better time anywhere in Japan with my travel design expertise (since 1990). 100% designed for who you are & what you want! Learn more! Ian Martin Ropke (unique on Google search) | Whatsapp: +1-415-230-0579.

The vanishing faces of Japan, the elderly Japanese

By R. E. Russo (first published in December of 2002 in the now defunct Kyoto Visitor’s Guide, print edition). Ms. Russo published one of the few books in existence on the Ainu people of northern Japan or Japan's original indigenous people. The book is in Italian, Ms Russo's mother tongue, and available here on on Amazon.

Near my thin, tiny house in the heart of an old farming area on the serene West side of Mount Yoshida, is a simple outdoor fruit and vegetable market. As I pass by several times a day, it did not take long for me to notice a small elegant figure basking in the sun on a bench made from vegetable boxes, her silver hair shining and her kimono shimmering silkily. Every time I pass by her, she never fails to respond to my greeting with a smile.

The small market stops cars from passing, so this corner is an intimate place where time seems to flow so slowly and the air is filled with the chatter and laughter of the women that come here to shop. This reminds me so much of Italy’s “mercato”: the colors of fruit and vegetables, the shouting of the sellers and buyers . . . everything is full of life, and the communication among people is warm and natural. This world is a rare delight, as it contrasts so much with the almost antiseptic atmosphere of the world’s convenience stores and shopping centers.

Before long, I had found out that she was 96 years old. Quickly, a deep respect mixed with plenty of curiosity started to grow in my heart and mind. I have always had a nostalgic weakness for that special scent of distant, still living Japan. And it did not take me long to ask the woman if would consent to an interview. She received my question with a smile and a nod.

I begin by asking her name. She answers: “It is Hatsuda Toshie”. Almost immediately she adds that one of the Chinese ideograms or kanji in her first name is virtually unknown. Even the computer at Kyoto City Hall is unable to generate this character that is nearly half of her name. Even her name belongs to a another world.

“When were you born?” “On June 2, Meiji 39” (1906). In reflecting, I found it somehow fitting that this woman should be born in an era that connects the old merchant-samurai society of the Edo era (1603-1868) to the European/American ways of science and culture that became Japan’s future in the Meiji period (1868-1912). Hatsuda-san has seen four and survived three very different emperors: Meiji, Taisho (1912-1926), Showa (1926-1989), and Heisei (1989-2019).

When I ask where she was born, her answer takes me to Yamanouchi on the west side of Kyoto, an area once full of fields leading west to the aristocratic riverside, fantasy world of Arashiyama. She had eight brothers and sisters. She was chojo, the eldest daughter. Her father bought things wholesale in the countryside, and cultivated tea plant on an empty temple field. As a girl she helped picking the tea and earned money for the family through the fine art of Japanese hand sewing for the finishing process for kanoko shibori tie-dyed kimono. She went to school in a temple: six years of elementary school, and then three more years of “upper school” (finishing school) for girls. In the upper school, she learned tea ceremony, flower arrangement and calligraphy. As a young woman in her village, she loved to dance in the annual Bon Odori, held throughout most of Japan in the middle of August, as part of the rituals and shopping for August Obon Festival, the Buddhist festival for ancestral spirits, when the spirits are believed to return to their ancestral homes at this time. In the last 100 years or so, the rite has become more of a popular summer celebration than a religious ceremony. During Bon Odori, men, women and children dress in summer kimono, or yukata, and dance in great circles, while the repetitive sound of gongs, drums, bamboo flutes, and the shamisen lute warm the air.. Hatsuda-san goes on to say that her love of the Bon dance was so great, that her mother even scolded her once for her excessive passion for the dance. “When I was about 18, I got married and moved into this area (the west side of Mount Yoshida). This house, the one I moved into when I got married, is older than I am. When I moved here there were rice fields and lots of vegetable fields. I had two girls and two boys. Those were happy days. . .”

Then something changed in the tone of her voice and she begins to talk about the war. “There was no food in the city and people were going to the countryside to trade whatever they had for any kind of food the farmers might have. It was very hard! My son left for the war too. But we, as a family, were fortunate: he came back. I don’t know how we survived those times . . .”

I can feel her pain, so I delicately try to shift the subject to something else. “What are your favorite foods?” “Sweets!” (she laughs in her cute way).” “What do you think about Japan today?” “I don’t understand many things and a lot seems quite strange to me. But somehow I feel that Japan before the war was the most happy that I have ever seen my country.” “If you could say something to young people, what would you say to them?” “ They wouldn’t listen to me.” (she laughs again).

While we have a cup of green tea and a wonderful traditional wagashi Japanese sweet (for adults not for kids, who have their own treats, her son, who sat quietly by us during the interview, puts a photo album on the table and invites me to look. I open it with care, and see black and white photos of a beautiful Japanese girl in kimono: Toshie when she is 18 years old! Her beauty in bloom, her hair up and styled, she wears a fine kimono and sits in a gentle pose. In the background floats a hand-done oriental landscape painting and it is easy to feel the formal atmosphere of a photographers studio in 1924, when people used to have their portrait taken. And then more images of her family and “other times.”. I close the album with a nostalgic sigh and thank Hatsuda-san for her special hospitality. On the way out the door, her son tells me that his mother has never in all her life ever worn Western clothing! I bow again and close the sliding door behind me while the scent of an old, nostalgic Japan floats within me.

In the coming evening

A small female figure

bends over the plants,

removes a leaf,

and caresses a flower in front of her home.

In those gestures many seasons have already passed,

from a firm to a trembling hand.

She repeats the same gesture

while the same season of flowers blooms again

in her eyes many springs and winters,

tears and smiles . . .

Then she looks around once more

and disappears behind the sliding door,

as it closes on the coming evening.