Tradition, Reimagined：A conversation with Shigeyuki Nakajima

At eit swim, we use Awa Washi as the wrapping paper for our products.
Awagami Factory is the last remaining producer carrying on the 1,300-year-old tradition of Awa Washi in Tokushima, Japan. We’ve long been drawn to Asa-rakusui-shi, a distinctive washi made with visible hemp fibers and delicate patterns created by dropping water onto the surface. Its texture and character have become an important part of what represents our brand.

Our connection with Awagami Factory goes back five years, when we first visited Tokushima to explore making our own indigo dye to use on our swimwear. During that trip, we visited the studio of Leki Nagahara, an indigo artist and advocate for the tradition, who introduced us to Awagami Factory.

At the time, we were just beginning to dive deeper into Japanese craftsmanship and traditional culture. Learning about Awagami Factory’s story and the many ways they were reimagining washi left a lasting impression on us, and we decided to use their paper as the wrapping for our products.

For this interview, we finally had the opportunity to sit down with Shigeyuki Nakajima, president of Awagami Factory, several years after that first introduction.

What history, craftsmanship, and ideas are contained in the single sheet of washi that arrives alongside an eit swim swimsuit? We spoke with Nakajima about the history of Awa Washi, the realities of making paper from natural materials, and what it means to carry a traditional craft into the future.

— We understand that most of Tokushima’s Awa Washi producers disappeared after World War II. The Fujimori family was the only one to continue the tradition, eventually developing into what is now the company, Fuji Paper Cooperative, and the Awagami Factory brand. Could you tell us how that came about?

Until about a hundred years ago, washi was simply “paper.” The word “washi” didn’t really exist. People made paper because they needed it in their everyday lives.
As demand declined over time and cultural influences changed the way people thought about paper, the term “washi” came into use.
In the early Showa period, there were around 200 paper makers just in this small town. Across the Yoshino River region, where water is abundant, there were as many as 500. After the war, only one remained.
There were two possible ways to keep the tradition going: continue as a small family business, selling little by little, or establish the area as a production center. The Fujimori family chose the latter, and that led to the founding of the company.

Traditional crafts won’t disappear as long as Japan exists, but they don’t necessarily grow as society changes.
Interestingly, washi is one of the only papers in the world that can be incredibly thin while still being strong and highly durable over time. Because of those qualities, it’s particularly well suited to art. Japanese washi had actually been exported to France and other countries since the Taisho period.
But once it passed through trading companies, the paper would arrive at local art supply stores without anyone knowing who had actually made it.
That’s why we deliberately created our own brand, “Awagami Factory,” so that the name and identity of the maker would stay with the paper. It’s been more than 40 years since then, and today we work with customers in around 60 countries.

— Expanding Japanese traditional crafts overseas is also something we hope to do. How do you balance traditional handcraft with running a business?

Our philosophy, or the principle that guides us, is:
“With sincerity, we share tomorrow’s culture and the traditions of our homeland with the world.”

The most important part of that is “tomorrow’s culture.”
When people hear “traditional culture” or “traditional craft,” the first thing they often say is, “It must be difficult to preserve.” But if you focus on preserving something exactly as it is, it won’t necessarily continue into the future.
That’s why we keep looking ahead to new culture and finding ways to transform washi into something that can be used in the world we live in today.

I feel that balance is changing all the time.
For example, most of the machinery-made raw materials used for washi now have to come from overseas. But when I look at the mountains around us, I wonder what will happen if they continue to become neglected and overgrown.
One of our challenges is figuring out how we can return to using more locally sourced materials.

— Do you currently work with materials sourced locally?We’re producing a small amount of our own raw material now. But there are bigger questions: Are we unable to obtain these materials because there aren’t enough people working in forestry? Or are there simply fewer of these plants growing in the first place?
It’s the same issue facing many traditional industries. Indigo is a good example. There aren’t many farmers who can make a living growing indigo leaves alone. They have to grow the plants, make the dye, and dye with it themselves just to make the economics work.
The fundamental problem is that these industries no longer generate enough income for farmers or foresters to make a living from the work alone.
And with washi, growing the raw material is only the beginning. You have to harvest it, steam it, strip the bark, and then refine the fibers before you even have the material needed to make paper. It’s an incredibly labor-intensive process.

Every time, we boil the raw material down into paper fibers. It’s similar to cooking rice. The way you cook new rice is different from the way you cook old rice. You have to constantly pay attention to the material itself.
And even once you’ve prepared the fibers, the next step—making the paper—depends heavily on the quality of the water.
We use around 200 to 300 tons of water every day, but even when there’s no rain, our water supply doesn’t run out. We’re incredibly grateful for the environment we have here.

So no two batches are ever exactly the same. You can’t simply romanticize it and say that every difference is beautiful. To maintain quality, we manage data using the records we’ve accumulated through generations of papermaking. We also keep physical samples on hand and continually compare them as we work toward the finished product.
That process is where the experience and judgment of the craftspeople come in. Their skill lies in knowing how to bring all those variables together.


— What do you think is most fascinating about making washi? What makes the craft rewarding?
Washi has an incredibly wide range of uses as a material.
It can become a work of art, or it can be incorporated into all kinds of products. I find it fascinating to explore those possibilities together with the people who use our paper.
Washi is no longer an everyday necessity in the way it once was. But every era brings new needs and new possibilities, and I enjoy looking for what those possibilities might be.

I think that as AI becomes more prominent, craftsmanship like this may take on a different kind of value.
I imagine food will go through something similar.
In the past, people farmed because they needed to eat. Eventually, food production became abundant, and concepts like fine dining and gastronomy emerged.
In the future, we may reach a point where AI and technology make farmers unnecessary.
And when that happens, we may start asking a much bigger question: What does it mean to be alive? What gives our work and our lives meaning?
That possibility actually concerns me quite a bit.

But when that time comes, I think things like handcraft, physical work, and even sports like surfing—anything that involves using your body—may become valuable in a completely different way. In that sense, it feels like history is coming full circle.
And perhaps the value of paper will change along with it.