through your work, how have you defined the “quality” of washi papermaking as an art—not just the perfection of materials, but as an overall expression encompassing tradition, process, and purpose?

The “quality” of washi papermaking that I have defined  through my work does not refer solely to the perfection of materials. Rather, it is about manifesting the natural colors, strength, and softness inherent in materials like kōzo, mitsumata, and gampi as directly as possible on a flat sheet, while minimizing human intervention. It encompasses the attitude and processes involved, as well as the purpose—”for what is this paper being made?”—forming an overall expression.

Human actions are not better the more there are; on the contrary, the fewer, the more honestly the voice of nature appears in the paper. I have always cherished this sensibility as the core of quality.

Papermaking has continued in Yamakawa-cho, Yoshinogawa City, for over a thousand years, and the our family has passed it down through generations. Originally, rice farming and agriculture were the centre of life, with papermaking done as off-season work from autumn to winter. Aligning with the cycles of nature, without forcing things or doing anything unnecessary leaving it to nature. This attitude, cultivated in that way of life, forms the foundation of washi papermaking.

In Japan until the late 1970s, washi was primarily produced as a “material” for cultural heritage restoration or handicrafts, and the paper itself was rarely discussed as art. However, in 1969, the techniques of Awa hand-made washi were designated as an intangible cultural property by the prefecture, followed by designation as a traditional craft in 1976, which greatly shifted the awareness of makers.

Furthermore, the participation to a workshop at the Honolulu Museum of Art in 1980 –  *Tapa, Washi and Western Handmade* – and the interaction with  American papermakers and paper artists whave represented a major turning point for me.. Papermaking techniques became a means of artistic expression in itself ” leading to new forms like dyeing washi raw materials and drawing with them, which also spread to Japan’s papermaking world.

Since then, for over 50 years, we have welcomed artists from Japan and abroad, and collaboration for artwork creation has been added to our papermaking work.

Even amid such changes in the times and expansion of expression, the axis of quality within me has not shifted: respecting nature, trusting the processes, and quietly making paper that meets its purpose. I believe this steady accumulation is the essential “quality” in the art of washi papermaking.

in an era where intangible heritage is threatened by rapid technological change, looking back on your family’s centuries-long lineage, what strategies have you employed to reliably pass down specialized knowledge from generation to generation?

In the modern world of rapid technological innovation, intangible cultural heritage is in an unprecedentedly vulnerable position. However, reflecting on my family’s long history of making a living from washi papermaking, there was no consciously deliberate strategy specifically aimed at “inheritance.” Rather, the practices chosen to survive within the social and economic conditions of each era became, as a result, the mechanism for transmitting techniques.

When only washi existed, paper was a daily necessity before being a cultural asset and a key commodity supporting the regional economy. Throughout the Edo period, washi papermaking was deeply rooted in daily life. At its peak in the Meiji era, there were about 500 papermaking farming households along the Yoshino River basin and 200 along the Kawata River basin. It was used everywhere in daily life—ledgers, legal documents, religious paper, ukiyo-e prints, shoji screens, fusuma doors, umbrellas—and demand was stable. Papermaking techniques were not a “culture to protect” but “work for the family to live.”

As a result, ’knowledge transfer’ took an extremely practical form: from parent to child, master to apprentice, learned through the body in daily work. There were almost no systematic manuals or theories; “watch and learn” or “learn through failure” was the norm. Techniques were not taught but naturally acquired in life. As long as papermaking continued as a family business, inheritance happened without conscious effort.

However, after the Meiji Restoration, changes in lifestyle, the spread of machine-made paper, and shifts in social structure meant washi was no longer the “only paper.” With Japan’s rapid Westernization after the Greater East Asia War, substitutes appeared, demand in daily life plummeted, and many operators closed or switched businesses. The implicit premise that “if continued as work, techniques will remain” began to collapse.

In this context, the remaining member of the Fujimory family and local papermakers collaborated to establish the Awa Hand-made Washi Commercial and Industrial Cooperative in 1947. In 1952, the Fujimori family incorporated and founded the Fuji Seishi Enterprise Cooperative. This was a practical choice to support washi papermaking not as individual family businesses but as a regional industry. At this point, washi began shifting from “industry” to “a technique that will disappear unless chosen.”

From this turning point, especially in my generation, the approach to inheritance gradually became more conscious. First, attempting to preserve techniques not just as operations but in words and records. Second, not confining it within family or the production area but engaging with researchers, educational institutions, and external bearers to reexamine the meaning of the techniques. Third, taking on the role of conveying washi to society as both a “sellable product” and a “culture worth discussing.” A symbol of this is the Awa Washi Traditional Industry Hall (general incorporated foundation) established in 1989, visited by many artists from Japan and abroad.

From the 1980s to 1990s, relationships overseas also greatly changed washi’s existence. In America, Kenneth Tyler had a studio in New York producing large-scale works in collaboration with artists. Large paper was needed, and our company supplied it. Involvement with Tyler Graphics, handling works by artists like Richard Serra and David Hockney, demonstrated that washi could function in international artistic expression and became a key factor shaping the current position of our Factory.

Looking back, in the era when only washi existed, it wasn’t that cultural awareness was lacking; there was simply no need to be conscious of it as culture. Life and techniques completely overlapped. In contrast, today is an era where techniques and life are separated. That is why efforts to verbalize the value of techniques, share them, and make the next generation “choose” them have become essential.

The greatest strategy for inheriting intangible heritage is not a special methodology. It is to continually question, in the words of each era, why this technique is still needed today. We have connected washi papermaking as an intangible heritage to the future by passing on that question generation by generation.

aspects of craft skills cannot be conveyed in words, but from your experience, what is the most difficult to pass on?  beyond techniques alone, what is needed to ensure craft skills endure reliably?

Among craft skills, the most difficult to pass on is undoubtedly the “intuition” or “knack” that cannot be fully conveyed in words. How to sense the state of the water, how to feel the loosening of fibres in the hand or noticing that today’s paper is somehow different—that slight sense of discrepancy—cannot be replaced with numbers or procedures.

There are certainly individual differences in this sensibility. As the saying goes, “sharp-eyed” or “quick-witted” people—innate qualities cannot be denied. However, that alone does not make one a craftsman; rather, the process of nurturing that sensibility is what matters. In most cases, there are no shortcuts. Fail, physically accept why it didn’t work, and try again. Only through this repetition does true intuition or knack develop.

To ensure craft skills endure beyond techniques alone, an environment that allows this repetition is essential. Not demanding immediate results, securing time and space for failure. And on the teaching side, adopting an attitude of waiting until the person notices for themselves, rather than preemptively giving answers. Intuition and knack are not instilled but settle within the person through experience.

Inheriting craft skills means passing on the attitude itself: not fearing failure, sensing, thinking, and continually improving. With that attitude, even skills that cannot be put into words will reliably be handed down to the next generation. In a sense, it is built on patience.

from your long experience guiding disciples, what principles guide the training of new craftsmen, balancing strict discipline with nurturing individual intuition to foster true mastery?

To foster true mastery, what matters most before techniques is “how one conducts oneself as a person.” I believe that before becoming a craftsman, one must first be a fully functioning member of society. Etiquette, greeting elders, keeping promises, living honestly without duplicity—these basic human common senses must be ingrained; without them, no matter how dexterous the hands, one cannot truly become a craftsman.

Strict discipline does not mean merely managing work harshly; it means organizing daily behavior and attitude toward work. Handling tools with care, never neglecting consideration for those around, continuing to do the obvious things obviously. This accumulation builds the vessel for receiving techniques.

Only then can one proceed to nurturing craft skills. Those skills do not grow if left entirely to freedom; they are honed within an organized life and discipline. Building time for failure and trial-and-error on the foundation of social awareness. Not disrupting this order is the fundamental principle for nurturing craft skills. When the heart is prepared, techniques and knowledge flow in like water into sand.

how has your approach to training evolved, what lessons inherited from your ancestors continue to influence the nurturing of the next generation of papermakers?

When I was trained, the papermaking world was dominated by the apprenticeship system. Work was learned by watching, techniques by “stealing” them—watching my master’s (father’s) back and letting it seep into the body over time. It was strict, but I now recognize that certain sensibilities and resolve could only be gained that way.

However, as times changed, the environment and awareness surrounding successors shifted greatly. Lifestyles and values diversified, making it unrealistic to continue the old apprenticeship system unchanged. People stop coming before techniques. Facing this reality, my own thinking about guidance has gradually changed.

Now, rather than just silently demonstrating, I supplement with words: explaining why it is done this way and what I want them to sense. I still demand the basics and discipline strictly, but I consciously leave room for thought and judgment. Only what one notices and grasps as one’s own sensation remains as true skill.

At the same time, papermaking itself is greatly changing. Formerly, the work centered on “making good paper as material,” but I strongly feel we are entering an era demanding production that looks ahead to the final product. Unless people can imagine uses, how it will be used, and whose hands it will reach while making paper, the production area cannot survive. With this in mind, I am conscious of nurturing craftsmen who can think beyond material creation to design, finishing, and the completed form as a product.

deeply rooted in tokushima’s finest landscapes, how does anchoring crafts like washi in a specific local community contribute to regional revitalization?  what risks accompany local connections that are often overlooked?

Washi rooted in Tokushima’s landscapes, water, and raw materials is not merely a craft but something that conveys the value and stories of the land. Evaluations vary on how directly the operations of the Awa Washi Traditional Industry Hall (general incorporated foundation) I run or washi-making contribute to regional revitalization, but it is certain that through papermaking experiences and exhibitions, inbound visitors have increased, creating topics that draw people to the area. This leads to gentle economic effects like extended stays and spillover to surrounding industries.

On the other hand, globalization through washi sales itself offers great benefits, but over-reliance on external demand risks weakening foundations like local role division, technique inheritance, and raw material production. Opening outward while keeping local connections strong—that balance is what leads to sustainable regional revitalization through washi.

beyond economic value, in maintaining cultural aspects, what role do you think the relationships among craft, community, and environment play in the industry?

In maintaining not only economic but cultural value, the relationships among craft techniques, community, and environment are the very foundation of the washi industry. Craft techniques give form to aesthetic awareness, the environment is the prerequisite—without water, raw materials, or local climate, it cannot exist. And the community is the medium for handing techniques and environment to the next generation. If any one is missing, it cannot stand as industry or culture.

Until now, Awa washi has supported economic value mainly through sales as art materials. This has played an important role in protecting the production area. On the other hand, with the establishment of the Awa Washi Traditional Industry Hall, adding cultural activities like lectures, exhibitions, and experiences has clarified the role of expanding washi from “material to use” to “culture understood including background and philosophy.”

These activities create opportunities for local people to re-recognize the value of their work and environment, and for visitors from outside, an entrance to knowing the land and people through washi. In that craft is supported by the environment and has a place to be retold within the community, the Washi Hall can be evaluated as fulfilling a reasonable role in maintaining cultural aspects.

from the perspective of an 8th-generation operator, in what unique ways have family-run businesses like yours established a position to maintain unwavering quality and protect cultural heritage—ways that large, impersonal companies might overlook?

As the 8th generation looking back, I feel the family business form itself has been a great force in protecting quality and culture. In companies our size, work and life, management and human relationships are not separated, and unwavering attitudes have been nurtured within that overlap.

In the family, there was natural role division. My father always oversaw the whole, acting as an external “weight” by taking final responsibility rather than meddling in details. That figure was a silent teaching that quality and trust, once lost, cannot be regained. My mother never neglected care for local people and each employee, fulfilling the role of organizing the workplace atmosphere and people’s feelings. That accumulation supported long-lasting trust relationships.

My wife also naturally learned, while handling her own work, how to face and support employees by watching my mother’s example. It was not intentionally taught but inherited through daily behavior.

In such family business settings, quality is not managed by numbers or standards alone. It is protected by people’s eyes, people’s senses, and responsibility toward people. The “human relationships” that large, impersonal companies tend to overlook are the foundation that has supported washi as cultural heritage and its quality—this is the unique position our family business has established.

reflecting on your family’s journey, what has been the power of family—in tradition, values, challenges, and so on?  how has it strengthened your company’s remarkable resilience and dedication over the years?

Reflecting on our family’s journey, our strength lay not in special talents or flashy successes but in honestly accumulating daily work. Tradition is not only forms to protect but also the accumulation of experiences enduring and overcoming situations. The values shared in that process were very ordinary and grounded: “don’t force things,” “don’t lie,” “take responsibility for people,” “choose good friends.”

In family business settings, quality is not managed by numbers or standards alone. It is confirmed by people’s eyes, sensed for discrepancies with people’s intuition, and ultimately protected by responsibility toward people. Because who makes it and whose hands it reaches are always visible, skipping effort was rarely an option. This attitude is based on “human relationships” that large, impersonal companies tend to miss.

Of course, it was not all smooth sailing. Raw material shortages, changing demand, struggles with methods unfit for the times—many challenges. Yet the family worrying in the same place, discussing, and sharing roles resulted in strengthening our company’s resilience and dedication. The background to continually protecting washi as cultural heritage and its quality lies in the sustained power of the family as the smallest community—I can now say that clearly.

in an era where more people first encounter traditional crafts like washi digitally, how is it possible to convey with more accuracy  the tactile feel, history, and emotional significance of washi?

Digitization itself holds great potential. Through video, photos, and words, we can deliver washi’s beauty, history, and underlying stories far and wide. On the other hand, the greatest drawback is that the core value of washi—elements directly appealing to the five senses like touch, weight, sound, and smell—cannot be conveyed.

How to bridge that gap is a major challenge for those involved in washi today. What we focus on is positioning digital as an “entrance” and always leading ultimately to real experience. Having people actually try papermaking, feel the coldness of water or the softness of fibers in the hand. Through using the finished washi—writing, wrapping, decorating—let them sense its presence in life. Such experiences cannot be replaced by screens.

What matters is not ending with a one-time experience. Through repeated touching, using, and touching again, washi shifts from “knowledge” to “sensation” and then to “memory.” Widening the entry with digital and preparing repeated real-touch opportunities beyond that—this accumulation is the most reliable way to deeply convey washi’s tactile feel, history, and emotional significance.

among people unfamiliar with the origins of crafts, what storytelling or experiential methods have proven most effective in fostering deep respect for products made by artisans’ hands?

From long experience, the most effective way to foster deep respect for artisans’ handwork among those unfamiliar with craft origins is “first convincing them through the body.” Before conveying knowledge or history in words, have them move their hands, spend time, and taste the feeling of things not going as planned. Only with that experience does the value of the finished product rise as a real sensation.

We have welcomed and supported artists from Japan and abroad for over 30 years. Stimulating works continue to emerge from the intersection of our accumulated washi techniques and knowledge with artists’ creativity. Lectures and exchanges during stays also hold great meaning in connecting local residents and artists through words and works.

Additionally, experiential initiatives like postcard or lampshade making, indigo dyeing, full papermaking experiences, lectures, and workshops are extremely effective in deepening understanding of crafts. By performing even part of the process with their own hands, imagination naturally grows—reflecting on the time, effort, techniques, and ancestors’ teachings behind the finished product. Not “hearing” the story but “accepting it with the body”—that is the most reliable way to foster respect for artisans’ work.