When Indigo Meets the World: The Trade‑off Between the Genuine and the Convenient

I had the opportunity to assist a group of international guests who asked to experience indigo dyeing at the workshop located in Japan Open-Air Folk House Museum in Kanawaki City, and I had the pleasure of helping them—from making the reservation to interpreting on the day.

https://www.nihonminkaen.jp/index_english.html

Japanese Folk Houses

We strolled along the folk houses on the way to the indigo dying workshop, and they were all simple, yet beautiful — a quiet, understated beauty.

Since I myself recently moved into a Japanese-style house, and even helped with the re-thatching of a thatched roof not long ago, I found myself gazing at every detail with growing fascination.

A farm house built in late 17th Century.

These buildings blend naturally with the surrounding landscape, and I felt that the scenery of the village was far more beautiful than that of today’s newly developed residential areas.

Still, it’s understandable that Japanese houses have gradually changed—toward structures made of reinforced concrete or prefabricated materials—because traditional houses have many challenges: they are vulnerable to earthquakes and fires, bitterly cold in winter, require enormous collective effort for maintenance such as rethatching the roofs, and take a great deal of time and labor to build.

For these reasons, the transformation of Japanese housing was perhaps inevitable.

In the trade-off, we gained convenience and economic efficiency.

In the trade-off, we lost beauty and comfort.

Traditional houses were built entirely from natural materials and would return to the earth. They had a kind of quiet efficiency — free of waste — as dwellings for living beings.

Indigo Dyeing

Sixteen participants took part in the indigo dyeing experience we had come for.

First, the instructor explained how to create patterns using techniques such as "shibori" (tie-dyeing) and "ita-jime" (fold-and-clamp dyeing).

Using clothespins, marbles, thin sticks, rubber bands, and other simple tools, everyone created their own designs. Both children and adults were completely absorbed in the process, working with great concentration.

Next came the long-awaited moment—immersing the fabric in the indigo vat.

They gently pushed the fabric down with sticks so it wouldn’t float to the surface while it soaked.

Although the liquid looked blue, the fabric actually came out green at first. As the instructor explained, “It turns blue as it oxidizes when exposed to air.”

Sure enough, once we stepped outside and unfolded the fabric in the open air, it transformed before our eyes — deepening into a beautiful shade of blue.

After rinsing the fabric in tap water and removing the marbles and rubber bands, a chorus of “Ohhhh!” and “Wooow!” filled the room — voices of amazement, delight, and pure joy.

Even though everyone had received the same instructions and used the same materials, each piece revealed its maker’s individuality and sense of creativity.

The staff also explained the process behind indigo dyeing:

• harvesting the leaves of the tade-ai (Japanese indigo) plant

• fermenting them to produce sukumo

• and then fermenting the sukumo in water, carefully controlling the temperature, to create the dye liquid.

  
  

However, we were told that the indigo vat used for this hands-on experience also contains some chemical dye in order to keep the coloring consistent. (The pieces made for exhibition or sale are dyed with true natural indigo.)

When the participants heard this, some of them seemed a little disappointed, however, considering that the facility accepts large groups and that visitors tend to come in waves on weekends and holidays, it may simply be unavoidable for a place that caters to tourists.

The reason I understood so well is that a few years ago, I had the chance to do genuine indigo dyeing myself.

I had designed an original indigo‑dyed bag for the product called "Kamakura Cutlery Set" — something I personally wanted to reduce single plastic cutlery waste — and to make it with authentic indigo‑dyed canvas, I visited a craft studio in Miura City (which, sadly, has closed down😢).

They kindly let me do the dyeing there, using true natural indigo.

When I took the canvas out from the indigo vat, it looked green.

The fabric turns indigo blue by getting exposed to air.

The pouch for the product was made of the canvas I dyed as above. https://www.the-blue.info/kamakura-bori-cutlery-set

Because the condition of the indigo dye relies on the activity of microorganisms, the studio kept the indigo in four large vats. When the temperature dropped, heaters were used to warm the vats and carefully control the fermentation environment.

Since the dye is essentially a living system, dyeing large or heavy pieces of fabric can quickly reduce the number of active bacteria, causing the dye to lose its strength.

For that reason, when aiming for a deeper color by dipping the fabric several times, it had to be immersed in a different vat each time. The number of customers they could accept in a single day was also quite limited.

Later on, I had the opportunity to accompany a friend who had studied indigo dyeing at that same studio when she prepared her own indigo vat.

She kindly showed me and some other friends each step of the process — how the indigo “comes to life.”

After the vat was ready, she checked the pH level every day and carefully monitored its condition.

Whenever it seemed weak or the color didn’t develop well, she would feed it with things like wheat bran or fusuma (a type of rice bran) to nourish the microorganisms.

Watching her, I learned that indigo truly is a living being — it thrives with care, but will die if not properly cared for or overworked.

So I can fully understand why a tourist-oriented facility, which can’t exactly tell visitors, “The indigo is tired today and won’t produce much color,” has no choice but to use some chemical dye to ensure consistent results no matter how many guests come in a day.

I often find myself realizing that everything in life involves a trade‑off.

When you insist on doing things “the authentic way,”

it takes time,

it takes effort,

and inevitably,

it takes money.

When we prioritize human convenience and economy —

“easy,”

“for large groups,”

“anytime,”

“anywhere”

—the genuine and the authentic quietly slip away in trade‑off.

It’s not that one way must be right and the other wrong. Having different options, and choosing what suits each time and situation, is what truly matters, I think.

The genuine article is usually modest, quiet, and unassuming.

Ant yet, its presence is unmistakable.