Yagihashi Shin (YS): The major theme of our discussion today is "What is real washi?" It's something that papermakers should always be asking themselves, but if users and sellers would also consider it, then I believe there could be real progress. Unfortunately, right now, users and sellers are more concerned with price than authenticity. And so, at this year's Young Papermakers' Gathering in Kanazawa \[July 14–16, 2007\], the meeting organizer Saito Hiroshi of Futamata (in Shizuoka prefecture) has set the question "What is real washi?" as the theme he is most eager to explore. Among the factors that determine whether washi can be called "real" or not is whether or not locally grown kozo is used. Next, when the bark is cooked, is a natural ash used, or is soda ash or caustic soda used? And when the fiber is beaten, is it beaten by hand or by machine? Also, in regard to formation techniques, are the local traditions for the production of that paper being followed, or are modern techniques being used? For drying, is the paper dried on boards or on steel? The finished paper's dimensions are also a consideration: are the sheets of a traditional size, such as Mino-ban for example? If one looks at the entire process, ultimately real washi begins with Japanese fiber. Kobayashi Yasuo (KY): Actually, rather than simply saying Japanese, I think it's important to specify that the raw material should be that which can be harvested locally. For example, the kozo here in Niigata prefecture is quite different from that in Kochi prefecture. And much different from kozo grown in Kyushu which is quite long-fibered; locally we don't really have the skill to use Kyushu fiber. In other words, even if you only consider fiber from within 12 - hand papermaking What is Real Washi? A Conversation between Kobayashi Yasuo and Yagihashi Shin translated by Paul Denhoed and Yamashita Maki Professor Yagihashi Shin and papermaker Kobayashi Yasuo, in front of the entrance to Kobayashi's Echigo Kadoide Washi Studio in Niigata prefecture. 2006. All photos courtesy of Kobayashi Yasuo unless otherwise noted. Japan, the quality of the kozo changes with the natural features of each region, and so making use of the natural characteristics of locally obtainable raw material is one factor that makes a paper authentic. You have brought kozo root cuttings from many different regions here to the northern part of Japan with its deep snows, and raised it yourself. You've seen that after a few years the root cuttings conform to the local environment and they are quite different from that grown in their original habitat. There are not many people who have that kind of first-hand experience. So, personally growing one's raw material is at the heart of real washi—even if the tree stock is brought in from another location—however, this practice of local cultivation is disappearing. The papermakers who receive their raw material from a fiber supplier are making washi that is somehow not quite authentic. Bringing in Kochi root cuttings has not been easy. After a number of years, the kozo becomes unusable. In observing this process over the last ten years or so, I have come to understand that adaptation to a new environment is a difficult thing. By unusable, do you mean that it doesn't grow? Or that the quality changes? Well, first of all, the leaves fall from the tree very late. You cannot harvest the kozo until the leaves have dropped, and sometimes the snow is already falling but the leaves are still on the trees. So we eagerly wait for the leaves to drop. Why must the leaves fall before harvesting? When the snow falls before the leaves do, we end up having to harvest the kozo before it has completely matured. Another thing is that, after about ten years the stumps begin to deteriorate. Normally, new shoots spring up from the parent stump every year but, for example, ten healthy stumps become eight summer 2007 - 13 the next year, and six the next, and they gradually degenerate. I think what it means, in other words, is that they cannot properly adapt to the land. And so, while there are still a few leftover trees growing here and there, I personally have come to the conclusion that it cannot be cultivated here and I don't plant it anymore. So, we started planting Nasu kozo root cuttings from Ibaraki prefecture and they are growing well. The leaves drop at about the same time as our local kozo, and in comparison to the local kozo, the fiber is fine. It's not as fine as Nasu kozo grown in Ibaraki, but it is producing fiber that is sort of a mix of the two. In this way, Nasu kozo has become part of the environment here in Niigata. As another example, when my local kozo was planted in Israel, it became a totally different plant, unrecognizable to me. So, while there are some varieties which cannot adapt well and don't survive transplantation, generally speaking, kozo will adapt to different conditions in various regions with some noted changes such as fiber length and amount of luster. I'm not 100 percent sure of the science myself, but I've heard that one of the reasons that people in Taiwan and South Asia don't use their local kozo is that in those areas the bark contains a lot of lignin. So if you use that fiber for papermaking, the paper will eventually discolor and deteriorate. Conversely, Japan is the northern limit of Asia, and this makes it very suitable for growing kozo for papermaking. For example, it seems that the northern limit for cultivating tea in Japan is Murakami village in Niigata prefecture. Previously I speculated that it couldn't be good tea, because the tea plant has to bear such difficult conditions in that area. But if you think about it, as with kozo, it is specifically because the tea is growing at the utmost northern limit that it becomes a tea distinct to that area, and if the climate generates a very low amount of lignin or other impurities, this can be seen as a ys ky ys ky ys ky Kobayashi Yasuo's Echigo Kadoide Washi Studio under its first heavy snowfall of the season in Niigata prefecture. 2006. great advantage. Just because it's the northern limit doesn't mean that it's inadequate as a growing area. I have come to think that this is very important. Another thing that papermakers should consider are the modern techniques versus the traditional methods. When I started making paper, I didn't feel it was important to make small-scale paper, such as Oguni-ban or Fuwata-hanban. Instead, I felt that I should be making something four or eight times as big, something that would be inexpensive and easy to use. I also realized that in making large paper it is easier to get the fibers to interlink in order to make good-quality paper. So, when I inherited the papermaking tools from Kiga Chuji \[a papermaker in the area\], I focused on the larger, modern sizes, rather than on the smaller traditional sizes. Everybody felt that way. All of Japan felt that way. But gradually, that changed. It took ten years for me to appreciate that those smaller sizes are fundamental. At first, I thought it was valuable to set modern, improved papermaking as my goal, but after trying many different things I realized that those modern things were already being done in the machine-made paper world. It seems crazy, but we human beings have been chasing after what machines are already doing. Unless we have a good reason why we should make real washi, why not let machines make it? To answer this question, I was distinguishing authentic washi from machine- made paper by replacing the word "real" with "natural." But recently, I have realized that "necessary" could be another way of saying "natural" in the sense that unnatural things are essentially unnecessary. The human intellect—our ambition to overpower nature—is the complete opposite of "necessity." It's human ambition that produces unnatural things. So why is it necessary for us to produce things that are contrary to human ambition? The only conclusion that I come to is because we are children of nature. Perhaps future generations will be artificially produced by humans, and in doing so they may find value in artificially produced things. However, since we are still naturally born humans, appreciating things as part of the natural world is instinctive. It is impossible for things in nature and objects that are colored with natural dyes to have a bad color. As part of the natural world, it is not for humans to decide whether a color is good or bad, and thus it can't be a bad color. But chemical dyes are created by humans, so we can say if a color is good or bad. If we follow nature, we live simply, with what is necessary. Life becomes coarse and complicated when the human intellect intervenes. This is why it is important for us, even now, to make things that are necessary— things that come from nature and deeply convey this sense of necessity to us. To say it in another way, when thinking of real washi, we must also consider machine-made paper, because it surrounds us, and we can't help but think of washi in comparison to it. Human intellect created the artificial world, and machine-made paper is surely part of the artificial world. If the artificial world is sufficient on its own, then hand-production isn't necessary. But the history of machine-manufactured paper is now more than 100 years old, and still handmade papers are being made. This tells us that human beings cannot be satisfied with only machine-made papers, and that is certainly one of the reasons why washi survives. And even when we talk about washi as part of nature, we are aware that there are various kinds of modern methods of Japanese papermaking. The important thing is how much each method uses nature to its advantage. When you try to improve a method, it's important to consider how you can allow the natural characteristics of the raw material to remain. And here, two examples come to mind: On the one hand there is the extremely polished paper, Tosa Tengujo, and on the other hand, there is the modestly sized paper that your ancestors made. They're both following nature, even though there is a great difference between the two. The wide variety present in handmade washi is the result of history and natural environment, along with each papermaker's philosophy on life and on nature. Those variations are essential to washi, but basically washi is a product of nature. I want people to think seriously about how important it is to keep the natural characteristics of the raw material alive. That's where I sense the problem is rooted, and where the solution begins. Asking the question "What is real washi?" is just a trigger for discussion. Right now we're sitting here answering this question, but in the real world, the answer should be found in the paper itself, not in abstract discourse. So it's time for papermakers to think about and act on what real washi is. The next difficult challenge is that we have to make the user understand all of this as well. Users are embracing modern civilization and today's values and because of that they don't understand why we are struggling with this kind of issue. I would like the user to consider being more critical of modern civilization. By questioning the twenty-first century itself, I have no doubt that real washi will emerge. 14 - hand papermaking ys ky ys Kobayashi Yasuo seated in front of the irori (traditional sunken hearth). 2006. Photo by and courtesy of Mina Takahashi.