In most sports, competitors tote their equipment, boots, racquets, or whatever, in technology-riddled bags produced by sports company sponsors. In sumo, however, they have to make do with bamboo and paper boxes designed in the Edo period (1603-1867). Unless you’ve got Japanese TV or you’ve seen a bunch of dressing room photos, you might never have seen these bright red and green boxes, known as akeni, which hold the kesho mawashi (the long, elaborate “apron” worn during the dohyo-iri), mawashi, and anything else a sekitori needs during a basho, but they’re yet another example of the history and tradition surrounding sumo. And, instead of multinational companies using multitudes of employees to churn out bags by the gazillion, sumo relies on the craftsmanship of only two men, Takekazu Watanabe and his son, Yoshikazu.

All sumo wrestlers strive to obtain their first akeni and kesho mawashi as a rite of passage and symbol of their success, as only juryo and makunouchi wrestlers and gyoji are permitted to use them. Gyoji order their own akeni through their heya when they are promoted, but sekitori akeni are ordered by sponsors.

Akeni cost 100,000 yen per box from Mr. Watanabe (hereafter, “Mr. W”) but kesho mawashi makers sell akeni and kesho mawashi as a set, bumping up the price considerably. And what do you get for your yen? Akeni weigh about 15kg (33 pounds) empty and measure approximately 80 x 45 x 30 cm (31.5 x 18 x 12 inches), the perfect size to hold a kesho mawashi.

This type of bamboo and paper box arrived from China around the 15^th century. This oldest type of box is called a tsuzura, and they were originally used to store clothes, traditionally kimono, because there were no closets. Then a cabinet was developed with a wooden frame covered with the same woven bamboo as the boxes. This allowed the cabinet to breathe but the frame made it sturdy. Only two of these cabinets are still in existence. They were popular in Tokyo but during WWII they were mostly destroyed.

Mr. W’s father used to work as a craftsman for a company, but he was frustrated as an employee and started his own workshop in 1932. At that time, boxes, and most other craft items, were made through the division of labour. Each craftsman had a different role: one would make the frame; Mr. W’s father wove the bamboo, then passed the box along to the next craftsman who applied the washi paper, and so on until the boxes were finished. A central broker sold them to rich clients such as kimono companies or tea manufacturers. There was a strict hierarchy among the workshops; even if a craftsman could make beautiful boxes he couldn’t sell directly to consumers, but had to go through these centralized brokers because direct sales were prohibited in Kyoto. After WWII, life was difficult and craftsmen saw an opportunity to sell their services and/or workshops to make money. This explains why the number of craftsmen fell dramatically after the war.

Mr. W left school at 12 years of age, just after the war, without graduating from junior high school because his father thought that the children of craftsmen didn’t need education and junior high school wasn’t compulsory at that time. He delivered newspapers and milk while he picked up the craft of bamboo weaving from his father. This was the normal life of children of his generation who often went with their parents to buy and sell on the black market for money. Mr. W’s parents asked him to take over the workshop and he really had no choice because young people were expected to obey their parents. He claims that he’s never thought about what else he could have done with his life because he didn’t have the education to give him a choice.

In 1963, he married a woman named Fukuko, with whom he later had a son. When he saw his son’s face, he wanted life to be easier for him, but he knew that if the workshop continued as before, he and his family would never be financially comfortable because the production line method was restricting the development of craftsmen. This gave him the idea to learn each stage of the construction process, so he went against his father’s wishes, and he and his wife studied at night after work.

In 1970, he stopped the traditional division of work in an effort to make boxes himself, from bamboo to consumer. A kimono company employee was surprised by the quality of the work and Mr. Woffered him an enterprising 3 for 2 discount if his company would buy finished boxes directly from him. The broker complained, saying that Mr. W should stick to his own step in the process, and so, he was forced to stop. However, through word of mouth, the kimono makers in the Nishijin textile area of Kyoto became aware of his skill and began to order boxes from him. The broker system was dismantled and he became the first craftsman to acquire the full range of skills.

By 1989, Mr. W’s workshop was thriving, but his son wasn’t interested in taking over the business and left to work for a regular company. Mr. W intended to convert a space in his house to rent out so that he could retire. However, before he could arrange it, he had a heart attack and his son decided to come back and join the business - and so, the workshop was established at the family home.

Despite the previously thriving box industry in Kyoto, only two children took over workshops from their parents – Mr. W and another. The other craftsman had no children and moved to a small house with no bamboo storage so his workshop also closed, leaving Mr. W as the only tsuzura maker in Japan.

Tsuzura and akeni boxes have been made since the Edo period and, if you catch the right revolving exhibition, sometimes you can see old akeni and kesho mawashi in the sumo museum at the Kokugikan in Tokyo. If you find that a specific exhibit includes akeni, be sure to go before or after a basho because the museum isn’t open to the general public during the basho unless you are a ticket holder for the day’s bouts.

Akeni used to be made by two producers in Tokyo and Shikoku but these men worked alone and had no children to continue the business. When Mr. Omura in Tokyo retired, there was too much work for 70-year-old Mr. Mioshi, and a local kesho mawashi maker asked Mr. W if he would consider taking on the responsibility. Mr. W admits that he was reluctant, but as a craftsman, he was obliged to agree in order to preserve the tradition. In October 1989 he made a sample akeni and took it to the NSK in Tokyo as an example of his work, and he officially began to make akeni just before the 1989 Kyushu basho.

Mr. W is a perfectionist and he noticed that previous akeni were quite rough in texture compared to his work, which is extremely smooth. He changed the weaving technique to conform to his own style and to refine the quality of akeni. Even now, if he’s unhappy with his own work, or that of his wife or son, he’ll reject the piece and start again. He’s even been known to virtually confiscate earlier akeni that do not meet his standards and take them back to the workshop for remodelling.

Now, if I had the responsibility of akeni tradition resting on my shoulders, I’d be a mite nervous, but when I entered the W workshop, the atmosphere was very relaxed. Mr. W, his wife and his son each have a space on the floor where they carry out their various tasks. Running along the full length of one wall are lengths of green bamboo waiting to be peeled and sliced. And in the background? A portable TV showing day 11 of the Nagoya basho. The first smells to hit me were glue and lacquer and I wondered for a moment whether this could explain the relaxed state, but it was obvious that the family is just happy with what they do and supremely sure of their skills.

Before Mr. W took over akeni production, the boxes had been painted in quite dull colours of black and dark green. To celebrate the new era, he honoured the city of Kyoto by changing to bright green and vermilion, the colours of the Heian Shrine. This colour scheme is also more in keeping with the bright colours of kesho mawashi and is apparently popular with the sekitori.

Thirty processes are involved in making one akeni. If you convert this into hours, it takes about one full day to complete, although in reality they’re made in stages.

The most difficult work is splitting the bamboo. Mr. W uses the moso variety, which is ideal because it is flexible. Long lengths of 12cm diameter bamboo are split into 10 equal portions, peeled and then sliced. A different thickness is necessary, depending on the type of box. The smaller the box, the thinner the bamboo has to be – about 7mm for akeni and 1mm for letter boxes; these slices are so thin that you can see through them. If the bamboo can be bent into a circle, the thickness and the slice are even. It takes a minimum of 10 years to learn how to slice bamboo so thinly and today, only Mr. W and his son have this skill in Japan. A craft school in Kyushu where students work with bamboo has invited Mr. W to instruct them, but he’s too busy to go for even a week, although they ask him every year.

After the bamboo is sliced into strips using a hegibocho (peeling knife), it is smoothed with a curved kezuribocho (planing knife). He had used the hegibocho in the photo from when he was 12 until 10 years ago, so about 50 years. It’s worn in the area where it’s used the most and his hands are bent into the shape of the knife handle.

The bamboo strips are then woven into a basket, the production step that his father used to perform. This basket is then fixed to a tsuga- or toga- wood (a type of Japanese hemlock) frame for support. Mrs. W takes over here and fixes mosquito net to the edge of the woven bamboo for strength. The whole basket is then covered in washi, Japanese paper, also for strength. They use old paper from the Meiji era (1868-1912), which is thick and very high quality. The paper is actually old official documents – birth registrations, divorce papers, marriage certificates etc., bought through a broker. Apparently you can sometimes find papers referring to famous/prominent people and we spent a while looking through them hoping for scandal. (Unfortunately, these official papers are no longer available because they have to be shredded for confidentiality.) The paper is then fixed to the woven bamboo using glue made from boiled taro potato starch from New Guinea. The starch is mixed with sour persimmon extract, which gives a red tinge, to protect against rot and moths. The surface of the box is not yet smooth, and the paper is attached to akeni in two layers for added strength. The glue brush is made from rice stems bound with hemp, and is homemade. A bamboo comb is used to smooth the glue and washi into the grooves of the bamboo weave, which can still be seen clearly through the paper. The corners of the box are reinforced with metal so that even if tsukebito throw them around or sekitori use them as a handy seat, they’ll last for at least 10 years. The frame is then lacquered in black and the sides painted in Mr. W’s own green and vermilion colours. The sekitori’s shikona is painted from right to left, following the traditional Japanese writing style. The akeni is then finished in lengths of unpainted bamboo to create a decorative edge and when the lid is placed on the box, it is fastened with hemp, ready for presentation with a new kesho mawashi.

The akeni currently in Mr. W’s workshop waiting to be painted are for the gyoji Jonosuke Kimura. He still “stands barefoot on the dohyo”, i.e. he’s below juryo level, but he’s being promoted.

Mr. W is informed about promotions before the official announcement so that sponsors have time to order akeni (apparently they make a calculated guess…). However, sponsors and rikishi sometimes expect a promotion that doesn’t happen so they can’t use the akeni. I mentioned Shimoda as a recent example of non-promotion and Mr. W’s eyes twinkled as he failed to stifle a laugh. I guess those akeni are stashed away somewhere hoping for future service. Sometimes a wrestler is promoted, demoted and then promoted again, but can only use his akeni during brighter sekitori times, and sometimes sponsors order akeni and kesho mawashi for encouragement, a significant investment that must often be wasted.

Mr. W is extremely proud of his work for some of the most famous sekitori and has many photographs of finished akeni with the kesho mawashi of Akebono, Takanohana, and others. One akeni holds one kesho mawashi, which are presented in sets of three to yokozuna, so each order requires three akeni with the name of the sponsor painted on the side. Twenty companies asked him to make boxes for Takanohana at the same time so 60 akeni had to be made. When Takanohana became yokozuna, he had over 100 akeni. Unfortunately, even though his career lasted over eight years, the yokozuna couldn’t wear all of his kesho mawashi before he retired, which surely horrified the unlucky sponsors, considering the combined cost of kesho mawashi and akeni.

Mr. W’s skills are requested by several unusual clients. As he is the only tsuzura maker in Japan, he was asked to make kimono boxes to be sent to Hollywood for the movie “Sayuri” (known as “Memoirs of a Geisha”, internationally), which was set in pre-WWII. He also makes kimono boxes for maiko and geiko, and costume boxes for kabuki actors. His smaller letter boxes are used by gyoji to store gunbai.

Mr. W is unusual for his generation, especially in Japan - a maverick who virtually created his own industry and whose hard-earned skills are in global demand. His enthusiasm for his work is infectious, and to see him running around, showing off photos and pulling out dusty antique boxes, made me happy that this sumo tradition is safe with a family who value the old techniques, as well as their own techniques, and protect them so carefully. It’s hard to believe that Mr. W contemplated retiring a decade ago as he seems so content. His explanation is that craftsmen work until they die. It seems dramatic, but as long as Mr. W can slice bamboo, he’ll continue to produce these beautiful, but eminently functional, works of art.

A variety of boxes can be made to order, including woven letter trays/boxes, black-lacquered kimono-type boxes or the traditional green/red akeni, complete with shikona. The box sizes are fixed and a regular-sized akeni runs 100,000 yen. There are miniature ones, one-eighth of the regulation size, decorated the same. It’s ridiculously cute, although obviously in a strong wrestler-type way, and costs 60,000 yen. The letter boxes start from 14,000 (B5), 15, 000 (A4), and 16,000 yen (B4). If you want to take a further look at the range and the process, check out the webpage below. And if you happen to be in Kyoto and want to visit the workshop yourself, you can make an appointment by phone/fax (in Japanese). You are now invited to view the Akeni Photo Bonanza.

W SHOTEN
Gojo-kudaru Higashi-hairu
Higashi-Oji,
Higashiyama-ku, Kyoto 605-0871
Phone/Fax: +81-75-551-0044

http://www.wanogakkou.com/culture/040000/040200_tudura.html


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