Introduction:
Source: Mucha Kucha
Urushi as a craft has thrived in Japan for over 10,000 years, yet it wasn’t until Takuya Tsutsumi, a fourth-generation artist whose family has been lacquering for centuries, that it got an innovative and sustainable twist. Lacquer has usually been reserved for expensive antiques, but under the guidance of Tsutsumi, it has been used for surfboards, skateboards, straws, and even bike frames. “People in Japan think you should treat lacquerware with care, as if it were an expensive art piece inside of a glass display case,” Tsutsumi said in an interview. “I really want to change that. I want people to become more familiar with lacquer and make it part of their everyday lives.”
In addition to lacquering unconventional products, he also launched a “Rethink Urushi” marketing initiative to encourage consumers to consider the environmental benefits of lacquer, as it preserves products for use in later generations. Tsutsumi also does kintsugi to extend the lifespan of products, contributing to his studio’s sustainability. In 2019, he launched a “Forest of Craft” initiative with Sachiko Matsuyama, where local artisans live amongst the trees that will later be used in their lacquering projects. This seeks to make a sustainable alternative to traditional lacquering, which consumes trees.
Questions for Tsutsumi-sensei:
- Have you faced pushback or backlash as a result of your twist on this traditional practice?
- What future lacquered objects are you hoping to make?
- Why do you prioritize use in your artistic creations?
- How do class and affordability impact what pieces you make into lacquerware?
- What makes something an art as opposed to an everyday object?
- Why is it important for artists to be sustainable in their craft?
Reflection on Meeting Tsutsumi-sensei:
Zia:
Many of us during our time with Tsutsumi-sensei were struck by how he viewed urushi as an art that bridged the world between humans and nature. He remarked at one point on the importance of having urushi bowls accessible to more people, especially in cities, as it is so easy in the modern day to become disconnected from nature. This related to the concept of gyo, that we learned about in our visit to the gardens as a form of unity between nature and humans. Tsutsumi-sensei also pointed out that, like humans, urushi has a large component of water yet is considered a solid, which is perhaps why we feel such an affinity and connection from it. This feeling of smoothness, this warm comfort that is derived simply from touching and being connected to the urushi, can help ground in nature even when far away, suggesting some physical manifestation of innochi that is able to retain its presence in the craft no matter where it goes. If this is the case, it makes sense why Tsutsumi-sensei works so hard to put urushi into the hands of children, touting the benefits of connectedness and the valuable lessons that can be learned from the urushi, such as respect for nature and objects, the art of repairing broken objects, investing in sustainability, and even simply a value of that very humanlike connection that is felt with pieces of urushi. Many of us found ourselves so moved that we bought home urushi kits, so that we too could experience the connection with nature.
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Reflections:
In a world of fast fashion, one-use utensils, and other forms prioritizing speed and cheapness before all else, Tsutsumi-sensei’s urushi business was a refreshing change of pace. The factory is built in his family’s old home, boasting only a small production line, working with materials that come sparsely throughout the year. Though he occupies a midway point along the supply chain, he talks intimately about the work that goes into harvesting urushi in the summer and the struggles of the collectors only having seasonal work. There’s a sense of slowness and care in every aspect of urushi production.
We in the group were simultaneously moved and saddened by the challenges of Tsutsumi-sensei’s work. On one hand, it made us reflect on the global climate crisis, and how every society seems to have moved, irrevocably, away from a closeness with nature and into the modern industrialized world of maximizing efficiency. On the other hand, it was inspiring to see Tsutsumi-sensei’s efforts to bring this tradition back and hear about other news of recovery, such as China replanting urushi trees and reviving its own local traditional crafts.
In many ways, modern society coming to re-realize that there is good reason these traditions have survived for thousands of years, and that in a planet rapidly heading towards its destruction, there is incredible value in sustainable ways. In the United States, for example, branches of the government responsible for the environment, like the National Marine Fisheries Service, work heavily with Indigenous tribes to incorporate Traditional Ecological Knowledge into modern practices. Across the world, there is more and more real, meaningful acknowledgment of the importance of traditional ways and their sustainability. In that way, then, perhaps we can see the revival of urushi with heart and optimism. There is not only room for the old ways, there is a need for them. In Tsutsumi-sensei’s urushi, we can see both the old and the new–a microcosm of the harmony that we might just need to save our world.