Asahi Senko
Tenugui and Yukata Dyer
Imagine! Tokyo was once the capital of the tradition of Yukata and tenugui dyeing. One could walk through the streets of downtown Tokyo and see lengths of cotton drying in many backyards. But strict laws against water pollution and the decreased popularity in wearing Yukata have shut down many of the old factories, workplaces, until today they are rare. Some dyers have persisted and have turned to dyeing Tenugui hand towels instead; 90 centimeter long colorful hand dyed lengths of cotton used to wipe hands, wrap brows and assist craftsmen in their work. Even today, gardeners, carpenters, sushi chefs, plasters couldn’t work without a tenugui around their heads or necks or in their pockets. In a rare twist of adaptation, the decline in the yukata has been replaced by the tremendous popularity of tenugui, even among trendy young people who think they are a cool fashion statement or gift. Their endless designs and patterns are seductive.
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Asahi Senko in western Tokyo is one such holdout. In a less than huge space, some 15 workers man the dye pots and apply paste resist to some of the thousands of washi stencils on their storage shelves. Some work the thumping arms that swish the pasted rolls of cotton through vats of water after they have been dyed to wash out the paste and reveal the white it has protected from penetration by the dyes. Some prepare the rolls of cotton washing it in baths of hot water to clear out the sizing, some roll out the wrinkles to prepare the cloth for applying the design. Some climb the ladders to hang the 12 meter rolls on racks to dry in the sun.
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The sight of the lengths of dyed cloth flapping in the breezes thrills me when I arrive at the right time. Some thirty processes are involved in the intricate procedure of dyeing the yukata and tenugui. To enter the workplace is to enter a dark sloshy noisy obstacle course of vats and barrels and long tables where the dyed cloth is laid out. So hands on, so far from slick and mechanized! One worker handles pitchers that look like watering cans for the garden. With the nonchalance of an expert, he pours streams of clear yellowy liquid onto tables where the pasted cloth has been folded over repeatedly. Then he pedals the vacuum control at his feet, which sucks the dye through 12 layers of cloth. It all seems a bit chaotic and makeshift, but there is magic at work, and somehow those pours of dye come out a bright yellow, or subtle grey, or splotchy green. The chemistry here is one that has been handed down for generations.
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It seems to rest in the head of Abe san, the master of Asahi Dyeworks who has hundreds of colors and patterns and orders running through his head and he manages it all with singular charm and apparent ease. He is a brilliant colorist and can easily create masterful canvases of line and color on one length of cotton not even a meter long. The hands that produce tenugui understand the process and are able to translate tall orders into short tenugui that are miracles of mastering the art of applying design to cloth. Tenugui are considered a lowly form of dyeing for everyday use, but they are miracles of the work of craftsmen whose craft has been infused into their hands and their bodies and also their hearts.