First Series | Ten Questions About Cloth
Part 1 | Why Was This Cloth Not Simply Thrown Away?
Today, when clothes wear out, many of us simply replace them. I do this too. But in older Japanese sources, cloth often had a much longer life. It was repaired, layered, remade, sold, passed on, and used again. Why? One simple reason was that cloth was not always easy to make, buy, or replace.
Note: Unless an established English edition exists, English titles given for Japanese historical sources are working translations used in this Journal.
Cloth Took Time to Make
瀬川清子『きもの』—Kiyoko Segawa, Kimono (working English translation)—describes communities where cloth was made from local plant fibers. One example is mada cloth, made from tree bark. The bark had to be collected, boiled, washed, split into fibers, made into thread, and finally woven. Before a piece of cloth even existed, a great deal of work had already gone into it.
Cotton did not change this overnight. 武部善人『綿と木綿の歴史』—Yoshito Takebe, A History of Cotton and Cotton Cloth (working English translation)—introduces an early written record from 799 in which cotton seeds were brought to Japan. But cotton cultivation became widespread much later, especially from around the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and access varied by region. Segawa records parts of Akita where mada cloth was still being made in the Meiji period. Women made and sold this cloth, then used some of the money to buy cotton fabric. Cotton was available, but it was not something everyone could simply obtain whenever they wanted it.
田中忠三郎氏『南部つづれ 菱刺し模様集』—Chuzaburo Tanaka, Nambu Tsuzure: Hishizashi Pattern Collection (working English translation)—also records an example in northern Japan where about 10 meters (33 feet) of bast-fiber cloth was divided to make several pieces of clothing. A limited amount of cloth could be used very carefully.
Old Cloth Still Had a Use
Cloth did not become useless just because it was old. 柳田國男『木綿以前の事』—Kunio Yanagita, Momen Izen no Koto (Before Cotton, working English translation)—mentions secondhand cotton clothing being brought from western Japan into colder northern regions. Tanaka’s materials also show old cotton placed behind bast-fiber cloth and stitched through it to add strength and warmth.
From here, this is canoha’s interpretation. To me, this is an important clue. A garment did not have to remain a garment. It could be taken apart, used as another layer, or given a completely different role. Cloth could move from one person to another, one region to another, and one use to the next.
福井貞子氏『染織の文化史―木綿と藍―』—Sadako Fukui, A Cultural History of Textiles: Cotton and Indigo (working English translation)—describes clothing being reused for bedding, padded garments, woven rags, and cleaning cloths. I would not simply call this “sustainability” in the modern sense. Life was different. Cloth took time and labor to make, some materials were difficult to obtain, and replacing worn fabric was not always easy. So perhaps the question is not only, “Why didn’t people throw cloth away?” Perhaps it is also, “Why throw away something that could still be used?”
Looking at Sashiko from the Cloth First
When cloth became thin, another layer could be added. When it tore, it could be repaired. When a garment could no longer be worn, the cloth could become something else. This changes how I look at sashiko. The stitches were not only something to look at. They could strengthen weak cloth, hold layers together, add warmth, and help a garment last longer.
Today, sashiko is often introduced through beautiful patterns. Those patterns are certainly part of sashiko. But before looking at the patterns, I want to look at the cloth itself and ask a simpler question: Why was that cloth worth stitching again? That is where this Journal begins.