Blue & White Japan. Amy Sylvester Katoh

to stay. But it wasn't just an aesthetic attraction. Most appealing was the fact that blue and white was the basic color combination of ordinary life. Not of fancy, sophisticated Japan, but of down-to-earth Japan. It was the tenugui hand towel. It was the last thing worn at night, the crisp, comforting yukata robe slipped on after the bath. Blue and white recurred at every level of daily human activity. Craftsmen pulled on indigo workclothes to perform their labor. Men and women in the fields wore baggy indigo trousers and short wrapped jackets. Workmen tied cotton hand towels dyed in simple blue stenciled designs around their heads or tucked them into their belts. Although a haughty, aristocratic blue and white was visible in the most precious porcelain platters and bowls, the blue and white that caught my twenty-year-old eye was the homely blue and white of everyday Japan. The no-big-deal teapots hanging from nails in the rafters of neighborhood crockery shops. The plates and cups of every shape and size that overflowed a table to serve even a simple breakfast. Blue and white dishes were so commonplace, no one thought twice about the luxury of using them unsparingly, though I used to despair when it was my turn to wash. Handmade crafts were one of the few things old, frugal Japan had in profusion. Human effort and unmatched craftsmanship compensated for a lack of resources and natural bounty. With dextrous hands, craftsmen produced dishes and cloth for daily living that they colored blue and white. From about the sixth century in Japan, indigo was domesticated and used to dye cloth. Cobalt underglaze-decorated porcelain was already well developed by 1700. Artisans used blue against the absence of blue (white) to create basic patterns, distillations of larger motifs in nature that were masterpieces of design. When I came to Japan thirty years ago, it was another time, another country. Today's high-tech, fast-paced society ignores old traditions. The knowledge of how to create some of the intricate patterns found in antique textiles is being lost. The soft colors on porcelain bowls of long ago are rarely found on new pieces sold in department stores. The blues are harsher now, the whites too white. Many of the craftsmen I used to visit are gone, and their sons do not want to learn the old techniques. And yet-the economic doldrums of the 1990s may provide a way for Japan to find itself again. As the country comes to terms with the limitations of growth, it is beginning to reconsider and rediscover what is real, what is precious, and what is quintessentially Japanese. To me, blue and white is Japan. Though these colors occur elsewhere, the Japanese response to blue and white is original and inspired. It pervades crafts and arts and daily life in a way that is found in no other country. As such, blue and white Japan is worth searching out and celebrating. Most of all, it is worth trying to capture its magic in our houses and living spaces today.

      Living with blue and white means the focus is on simplicity. Here, peace prevails in the entrance-way of the Sanshiro Ikeda house, moved from Toyama Prefecture twenty-five years ago and faithfully restored in Matsumoto. The lines of the alternating slats of dark wood on the sliding door are repeated in the bamboo pattern of the hemp-fiber noren curtain created by the late Keisuke Serizawa, stencil designer, dyer, and Living National Treasure. On the massive chest are an old quilt and a furoshiki, wrapping cloth.

      Rags and riches fill the entrance of the Kupciunas house. Calligraphy on a scroll of washi, Japanese handmade paper, by Naoaki Sakamoto of Paper Nao. The ragweave slippers are from Wajima. A Thai horse looks on.

      Entrances not only welcome visitors, they also reflect the taste of those who live within. They are considered the face of the home. What better place to introduce a blue and white sensibility? Blue and white has its own energy and it conveys a message of simplicity and order. Start with basic materials-an Imari umbrella stand, a favorite porcelain hibachi brazier, some antique textiles-then use them in fresh ways to add texture and character to otherwise anonymous spaces. Try wrapping a basket of flowers and branches in an old futon cover of patched indigo. Add a touch of whimsy to an entranceway floor with an arrangement of ragweave sandals and heavy workman's footwear. Consider using noren, the split curtains traditionally hung in shop doorways, to delineate space and serve as creative door dressing. Then, in the Japanese way, change them with the seasons: sheer fabrics for summer, thick cotton indigo in cold weather. The entrance is a place to make a statement about what you love and what gives you energy. Share that energy with all who enter by making it an expression of your individuality. Blue and white is the message. The entrance is the place to communicate it.

      Wooden puppet's feet, workman's footwear, and old ragweave sandals join forces.

      A floor-to-ceiling indigo bamboo grove with openings cut for arrangements of hydrangeas in front of a sculpted concrete staircase and a child's kimono.

      Harumi Nibe, in a tie-dyed indigo hat by Ryoko Kodama, greets guests with her Labrador, Tokiwa Gozen. Next to her, a blue and white hemp curtain fragment draped over a freshly cut bamboo lintel serves as a new take on traditional noren. Transplanted to Tokyo from Shikoku, Nibe-san is a flower and food artist who brings the rich flavor of country sensibilities to whatever she does. Her style is imbued with the Japanese appreciation for rustic and natural things.

      Gossamer noren cover a storage cupboard in the display room of Kosoen, an indigo dyer's workshop in Ome, Tokyo. Above the cupboard, a rice-straw bale of fermented indigo sits next to rolls and skeins of undyed cotton thread. On the floor, an old back basket filled with lilies. In the next room are the indigo vats.

      A converted temple in Sakakitamura, Nagano, is home, workplace, and showroom for Kibo and Keiko Nomoto, potter/indigo dyer and textile artist respectively. Provisions for going out include an indigo traveling coat, paper umbrella, and covered clogs. Keiko Nomoto's own indigo patchwork collage brightens the wall.

      Artful doors. Handsome definers of space that invite us to enter a house or a room, noren can also turn a doorway into a frame for a fluid work of textile art.

      Noren are usually dyed with indigo and made of cotton, and sometimes of hemp. They are suspended from a bamboo pole across the front of traditional Japanese shops, where they serve to announce both the name and crest/symbol of an establishment and that it is open for business. When the shop is closed, the noren is removed.

      In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, streets were lined with shops whose vibrant noren were a compelling testament to the dyer's art. While modern stores do not usually hang noren above their entrances, enough noren- graced doorways still exist to offer practical art opportunities to indigo dyers and designers who seek a canvas on which to exhibit their talents.

      Noren in banana fiber and indigo, spun, woven, and dyed by Toshiko Taira of Okinawa, who has led the movement to preserve the ancient craft of banana-fiber textiles, bashofu.