DETOUR: from Tablets to Boro

In a previous post (Fossil Garments, part 2), I mentioned boro, and said I would tell more about it later. In case you missed that post, here's the gist of it:

 In early 20th century Japan people living in the north couldn't grow cotton, so they grew hemp. Each family was able to grow, ret, spin, and weave enough cloth for 2 or 3 items per year. Maybe a jacket, a pair of pants and a blanket. Per family. So if something was torn, it was mended, patched, patched again, and again, until there was more repair than original. Clothing was handed down. And darned again. And the white stitches on the indigo dyes blue fabric became living history. After World War 2, when cotton cloth became available, people were ashamed of the old clothing, calling it 'boro' - rags. Much of it was thrown out. But a folklorist named Chūzaburō Tanaka began collecting these garments, recognizing their beauty and value as an irreplaceable art form (there is a big collection of boro at the Amuse Museum in Asakusa, Tokyo).

The  patterns of worn layers on boro can look like fossil remains.

And the stitches are magnificent. So, for today, let's just look at these wonderful pieces at the Amuse Museum:

A sewing bundle. Fabric was so scarce that every tiny scrap was saved. I bought one of these bundles at a temple flea market in Tokyo. One piece - no more than 8 x 10 inches - was made up of even smaller segments, stitched together.

Shoes, with the traditional split toes. Think about these the next time you throw away a pair of socks. 

If you see this garment, and don't understand the history of it, you might be forgiven for not appreciating it. But knowing the incredible amount of work needed to produce and maintain it, the desperate creativity it required, how can you not look at it with reverence? One last point: The people who made this had to pay to have it dyed with indigo. They gave up some of their precious cloth to pay for the color. Beauty was needed as much as warmth. 

Fossil Garments 2008 (part 2)

Fossil Garment #3 (29"h x 27"w)

Fossil Garment #3 is all about repair, mending, fixing. Sewn on (and into) a slab of handmade felt, this one really does seem like a fossil. Dorothy Caldwell is the one who made me aware of the history written into clothing by repairs. Long ago, before clothing became so cheap, people mended and darned their clothes, and there are stories in those stitches.

http://www.dorothycaldwell.com/    check out her art: it's wonderful

But we need to take a detour here, in the story of my Fossil Garments. Because if we're talking about repairing clothing, we have to talk about BORO. In Japan, in the early 20th century, the people living in northern Japan had no real transportation to the southern parts of the country. They couldn't get cotton, couldn't grow it, so they grew flax. Each family was able to grow, ret, spin, and weave enough linen cloth for 2 or 3 items per year. Maybe a jacket, a pair of pants and a blanket. Per family. So if something was torn, you certainly didn't throw it out. It was mended, patched, patched again, and again, until there was more repair than original. Clothing was handed down. And darned again. And the white stitches on the indigo dyes blue fabric became living history. 

After World War 2, when cotton cloth became available, people were ashamed of the old clothing, calling it 'boro' - rags. Much of it was thrown out. But a folklorist named Chūzaburō Tanaka. began collecting these garments, recognizing their beauty and value as an art form that was irreplaceable (you can now see boro at the Amuse Museum in Asakusa, Tokyo). I first became aware of boro at a show in NYC called Art of the Ordinary. I remember sitting on the floor, staring up at a jacket in awe. This marvel was a complete rebuke to my throw-away American culture. It was one of those smack-you-up-the side-of-your-head moments when you realize THERE ARE OTHER OPTIONS.

Soon after, I sewed Worn, But Not Out (47"h x 52"w)

Here's her statement:

The well-worn fabrics in this quilt personify the strength and beauty of an old woman.  Constructed almost entirely from recycled materials: hand crocheted pieces from garage sales and scraps from a drapery company. The drapery fabric was repeatedly washed, which created shrunken puckers and badly frayed edges. I cut the knotted threads from these edges, formed them into ‘tassels’ and sewed them on as decorations. The background fabric was pieced together by machine. Everything else was hand sewn. All fabric in this piece is the original color: nothing was dyed or stained. The center section, and under the arms, was overlaid w/ sheer fabric to achieve the desired depth of color. 

OK, tomorrow, back to Fossil Garments, and more on boro another time.