Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

This is my memoir.
The story concerns several Japanese papers inserted within this book.
The chosen ones are by no means distributed across every province.
Nor does this work attempt to recount paper's history from antiquity.
Through fortuitous connections, I sought now to recall papers I had engaged with these ten years.
Therefore, what was newly created takes precedence.
To many of these were added my friends' admirable skills.
Moreover, these were things I wished foremost to use—indeed many had already been employed.
Because indelible memories adhere to each, I desired to gather them here that we might commune at will.

Of course, not all the papers presented here were entirely new creations.
No new endeavor could disregard tradition.
What we had to do—what we could do—was breathe new life into old traditions through modern creation.
Many of the items collected here had been created under that intention. I found these things beautiful.
At the very least, traces of the effort to make Japanese paper—nay, beautiful—ought to have been demonstrated.
Even if they were inferior to those of old, could we not say they were preparations to someday surpass them?
I considered that some of them had already taken a new step.
Through these works, I wished to commemorate the achievements of the many friends who had directly contributed to the task.

Alongside these, I selected both several papers renowned in history and nameless raw papers produced in local regions.
These will stand as tokens of my enduring reverence.

II

My profound connection with Japanese paper began with the editions I published.
The first I published was a book titled *Korean Art*, which dates back to Taisho 11 (1922), so it has now been over twenty years.
Subsequently that same year, I published *The Beauty of Ceramics* and *Recollections*.
For all of these I used paper from Shinshū.
Though I had long been acquainted with Korean paper through various opportunities, since I now speak of Japanese paper, I shall set that aside.

I came to draw even closer to Japanese paper around Showa 6 (1931).

When I visited the two provinces of Unshū and Sekishū for Mingei research, Mr. Ota Naoyuki introduced me to two individuals.
One was Mr. Nakamura Kazu, a papermaking technician.
The other was Mr. Abe Eishirō, a papermaker from Iwasaka Village.
At that time, they showed me several prototypes and sought my opinion.
This connection marked the beginning of my proactive involvement in papermaking.
What ignited my hopes then was ganpishi paper.
The thin-leaf variety was something everyone had come to know thoroughly.
Yet what profound fortune it was that we could revive in this land those thick sheets once used for ancient texts!
Into this truly noble ganpishi paper I poured my passion.
The actual specimens numbered one and two attached at the book's front exemplify what we thus prepared.
I used them in two or three private editions.
This counted among those rare worldly luxuries worthy of gratitude.
Though young, Mr. Abe approached his work with sincerity.
Trusting me implicitly, he diligently produced every paper I requested.
The finest result came from the stock used for my private edition of Thinking of the Tea Ceremony.
In winter of 1935's deepest cold—the optimal season—he crafted sturdy paper from pure paper mulberry, drying it on boards for me.
The execution proved magnificent.
Having preserved leftover sheets, I included them in this book's third illustration.
The indigo-dyed paper in the fourth illustration likewise testifies to Iwasaka's praiseworthy work.
Its material consisted solely of Mitsumata.

I used this paper to fashion Munakata’s block prints into folding screens and art books.
They are still kept at the Mingei-kan.

Since then, a new momentum for Japanese paper arose abruptly from this quiet village.
I heard that the Abe family’s annual production—once a mere 5,000 yen—had reached twelve times that amount, 60,000 yen, within a few years.
This was truly a remarkable development, owing entirely to Mr. Abe’s labors.
Nor must we forget the contributions of Technician Nakamura and Mr. Ota, who assisted and encouraged this work.
We held large meetings in Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto on several occasions.
Each time, every last item sold out.
Wherever I traveled, I encountered woodblock-printed labels bearing titles like “Izumo makigami” or “Izumo meishi.”
When I found them even as far as Kagoshima and Korea, I felt joy as if they were my own doing.
I believe Iwasaka’s work marked a new epoch in Japanese paper’s history since Showa.
Many new papers were devised and created.
One cannot fathom how widely attention to Japanese paper has spread through this effort.
To this achievement, the “Takumi” Craft Store also lent its strength.
Incidentally, Izumo’s early work is best documented in *Kōgei*’s twenty-eighth issue from Showa 8 [1933].
It remains a publication of singular significance regarding Japanese paper for its time.

Although I never fully established ties with Sekishū bordering Unshū, as one who had always favored Sekishū hanshi, I specially requested that paper be prepared for *Kōgei*. The pouch-bound paper used from Issues 41 to 48 was pure-paper-mulberry "Sekishū," a product of supreme quality. Its distinctive yellow tinge being naturally developed was already celebrated. This likely marked the pioneering instance where large-format Sekishū hanshi was produced for monthly publications. It was made in Ichi-yama.

III

When one speaks of “Takumi,” Mr. Yoshida Shōya’s name is inevitably recalled.
His hometown was Inaba.
He worked diligently with considerable enthusiasm for local handmade paper, but alas—perhaps because no sincere individuals emerged among the manufacturers—his efforts concluded without achieving accomplishments on par with Izumo.
However, “Inshū shoji paper” and “scroll paper” likely reached considerable production volumes.
What must not be forgotten is that Mr. Nagamatsu Seiichirō was a prefectural technician at that time.
He produced scroll paper dyed with amur cork tree in response to my request.
It was a pure paper mulberry sheet with reinforced edges—for its time around 1932, there was absolutely nothing of such quality.
The paper quality was superb; among the many scroll papers tried thus far, even now nothing surpassing this has been found.
The ink adheres well, the texture is smooth, and even now I continue to use it with great care.
As a memento, I used several sheets and included them in the fifth frontispiece of this book.
Now it has become a fine memento of Mr. Nagamatsu.
He later became a technician in Saitama Prefecture—partly due to my recommendation—but passed away in Ogawa in 1940.

What must not be forgotten regarding Mr. Nagamatsu is Mr. Yamaguchi Izumi, who served as head of Saitama Prefecture’s Commerce and Industry Department at that time.
That in 1934 we received an official invitation to survey crafts throughout the prefecture and particularly strive to elevate Ogawa’s paper quality was entirely due to this individual’s ardent encouragement.
It was likewise he who invited Mr. Nagamatsu to the prefecture.
(Our subsequent journey to Ryukyu years later also stemmed from Mr. Yamaguchi’s connections.)

The work in Ogawa relied entirely on the guidance of Mr. Serizawa Keisuke.
Within a short period, they carried out multifaceted activities and finally presented the results in Ogawa Town.
They were also exhibited at Tokyo’s “Takumi.”
It goes without saying that Mr. Nagamatsu’s assistance was significant in this endeavor.
The details of these endeavors can be found in *Kōgei*.
They were reported in Issue 59, and Mr. Nagamatsu also contributed an article.
This issue, together with the aforementioned Issue 28, became a groundbreaking publication that introduced Japanese paper.
(In later years, I believe that even publications such as *Washi Kenkyū* owed much of their impetus to being inspired by these issues of *Kōgei*.)
This issue carried both Mr. Hiki Takashi’s insightful commentary on Ogawa’s ancient documents and an annotated bibliography of washi literature.
Mr. Serizawa’s guidance was devoted solely to processing dyed paper, stencil-applied paper, and board-clamped textiles, resulting in the creation of numerous unprecedented products.
Later, those products were used in great quantities for the linings of folding screens housed at the Mingei-kan.

However, this work in Ogawa—despite having influential figures like Mr. Yokogawa Teizo who devoted themselves to establishing cooperatives and guidance centers—ultimately proved impermanent and met an unfortunate end.
I believe this resulted both from the lack of manufacturers possessing sufficient passion to carry the work through to completion and from the substantial harm inflicted by the wholesaler system.
We acquired various valuable lessons through this experience.
Incidentally, the traditional high-quality paper produced in Ogawa is Hosokawa paper.
Its paper quality is superb.
The technique employed is also the age-old *tame-zuki* method (pooled vat papermaking).

When Mr. Nagamatsu passed away, it was Technician Nakamura—strangely enough, someone with deep ties to us—who succeeded him.
We welcomed him in Saitama, whom we had met in Shimane.
He assumed the position of director at the newly established Papermaking Guidance Institute in Ogawa.
Since then, I frequently visited him and was always granted his generous goodwill.

My "Tea and Beauty"
The paper for the hardcover binding was produced under the supervision of the same individual.
The same individual’s treatise on Japanese paper was published in the aforementioned *Kōgei*,
Issue 28 of *Kōgei* and *Mingei*,
and appeared in the October 1941 issue.
It was a paper deserving of earnest study.
Regarding the body paper for *Kōgei*, I frequently sought assistance from the same individual.

IV

I must also discuss Yashū Karasuyama here.
In 1933, when Mr. Nakarai Kiyoshi served as governor of Tochigi Prefecture, I was invited to survey local handicrafts throughout the prefecture.
Among these was a visit to Karasuyama.
There I first met Mr. Ōnishi Toratoshi, who was then working as a technician.
I soon recognized how essential his presence was to that region.
Accordingly, I advised the governor to formally appoint him as a technician.
What remains most unforgettable among his initial creations was a sturdy yellowish postcard paper.
Later, this lineage of paper would be used in Mr. Tonemura Yoshinosuke’s *Kafu-chō*.
The sixth frontispiece included here stands as eloquent testimony to his technical mastery.
Karasuyama also produced the greatest volume of body paper for *Kōgei*.
We repeatedly commissioned cover papers and had them experiment with mixing pigments into the pulp.

But the most outstanding paper we had Mr. Ōnishi produce was for the Naval Academy’s commissioned *Fumei-chō*. It was pure kōzo paper, remarkably thick with a slightly yellowish tint. This photo album containing brief biographies of war casualties and public service fatalities remains housed at the Naval Education Reference Museum in Etajima. It constituted a massive twenty-volume folio edition—the largest publication I ever contributed to. Though termed a publication, only a limited print run was produced. Mr. Serizawa Keisuke designed both the bindings and display shelves, making it likely an unparalleled colossal work that will never be replicated. This occurred in 1936.

V

I will here collectively discuss paper encountered at many other papermaking workshops.

What remains most unforgettable is "Kyōsei-shi" paper made in Yanagi, Nakata Village, Natori District of Rikuzen. I do not favor this new descriptive name—what was it called in antiquity? Henceforth I shall call it *Kamikogami*. It is not that Yanagi alone can produce it, but this remains the sole place where paper descended from kamiko traditions is still vigorously made. I first encountered this paper during my travels in 1928, but it was when Mr. Nakarai Kiyoshi assumed office as governor of Miyagi Prefecture and commissioned another craft survey that I personally visited its mill—in 1934. At Yanagi Village resided Mr. Abe Ryōsaku, devoted entirely to this paper's production. Though then on Sendai's outskirts, the village has since been incorporated into the city. Those in the field know this paper well, though adding konjac powder during crafting remains a guarded secret. Its hallmark lies in layering sheets crosswise before crumpling them. Remarkably water-resistant, it withstands washing. Friction-proof too, it lacks Japanese paper's usual fraying tendency. When fully kneaded, soft as chamois leather, it serves for undergarments and workmen's leggings—ideal kamiko material retaining warmth superbly. No other Japanese paper compares, its chalk-white hue singularly beautiful. Two variants exist: bleached and unbleached. This epitomizes Japanese paper—beautiful yet eminently practical. I instantly recognized its perfection for book covers. Since then I've used it eagerly and recommended it widely; already many volumes employ this paper. Truly no purer Japanese paper exists for binding—that none used it before seems inexplicable.

That no one had used it until now was almost strange.
My recently published works *Kōgei Culture*, *Beauty and Patterns*, and *Bashō-fu Monogatari* all used this Kamikogami as their base material.
The first three volumes of the *Mingei Series* were also the same.
I also frequently used it for outer boxes, but now that I think about it, such usage seems lacking in substance.
Between Mr. Abe and me, letters were frequently exchanged.
When I first held this paper in my hands, I wondered why the prefectural authorities had not yet made such a remarkable product known to the general public.
The cover of this book employed that Kamikogami, while Nos. 7 and 8 inserted here also used the same paper as their base material.
The beautiful color of No. 7 was produced through an extremely complex process.
First came a base layer of sappanwood, then vermilion above it, followed by persimmon tannin; oil was applied to this, and water washing was then used to develop the color.
The eighth is true indigo dye.

One of the papers I admired during my regional travels was a product of Etchū Yatsuo. Among these, *Tatakikomi* and *Hondakuma* were exceptional, while the red-pattern-dyed medicine bag paper also exhibited distinctive characteristics. *Tatakikomi* embodied sheer robustness itself; according to Mr. Tanii Shūhō’s explanation, its distinctive quality stemmed from the unique technique of moving the papermaking screen. It possessed a subtle natural hue, with profound depth to its surface and an unyielding tautness—one could not help but relish the crisp sound it produced when accidentally struck. Yet such paper qualities were paradoxically found now and then in products from obscure mills, making them feel like Japanese paper in its purest form. I added a specimen to Frontispiece No. 9. My guide to Yatsuo was Mr. Yasukawa Keiichi.

In addition to the renowned handmade papers that have existed traditionally, I wished to include samples in this book and selected two.
One was Echizen *Dan paper* (Sample No. 10), and the other was *Hodamura* (Sample No. 11).
"When speaking of *Dan paper*," people typically imagine differentiated types like Ōdaka and Kodaka—creased, paste-treated papers—but I came to understand that true *Dan paper* was as presented here.
This pertained to the work of Elder Heizaburō Iwano of Okamoto Village, Imadate District, Echizen.
I must say it was truly splendid paper mulberry paper.
Its character stood remarkably close to antique Korean paper.
"Hodamura" had originally been produced in Morotomi Village of Kuji District, Hitachi Province alongside "Nishinouchi" and others, though high-quality versions could also be made across the river in Karasuyama of Yashū.
A thick, dignified paper where Japanese paper's inherent qualities manifested richly here as well.
It employed a settled vat method with a small amount of rice flour mixed in.

When traveling through the regions to seek out Japanese paper, one occasionally encounters the unexpected.
One such example was the silkworm egg paper produced in Oguni Village, Date District, Fukushima Prefecture.
It was a thick paper with creases on its surface and a board-like stiffness.
I purchased about one hundred sheets wanting to use this for the covers of my privately published editions, but upon being earnestly entreated by Mr. Jugaku Bunshō, I yielded half of them.
It became the cover of his book titled *Shomotsu*.
Later, they created an imitation of this in Iwasaka.
Fortunately, utilizing several of the original sheets I had kept in my possession, I inserted actual samples here.
No. 12 is that one.
Regional demand gives rise to unusual papers.

If one were to search all over Japan, there must still be various papers lying hidden.

Echizen’s *Torinoko*, Mino’s *Shoin*, and Settsu Najio’s *Maai* were all splendid examples, but as these decorative papers were already too widely known to the world, there was no need to describe them anew.
In Shinshu, I encountered solid examples in Uchida paper and Matsuzaki paper.

An unforgettable impression from my travels was the work in Tosa Province's Hosoboso Village.
In an extremely shabby household workshop, I caught sight of an old woman working quietly and diligently.
It was a crude, simple set of tools that made me wonder if this was truly adequate.
But when looking at the completed *Senka*, there was a truly stately quality—its strength robust, its color pure, and its paper texture beyond reproach.
Where does such strength and beauty come from?
I cannot help but think of the aid of distant tradition.
Many beautiful items found in regional areas often arise from such environments.
It is a kōan that compels contemplation.
I could not help but seek several bulky bundles bound with straw rope.
Many people love and respect Japanese paper.
But how many are there who also look back upon the people who make these deeper things, livelihoods, and devotion?
Thus do the unnamed craftsmen fade into oblivion.
But the work does not die.

I was also drawn to the work of paper cloth.
In paper cloth, Shiraishi of Iwaki was historically renowned.
I was often consulted on such matters, and it was delightful to see its recent revival.
Not being bound by the past, I ardently hoped they would newly develop sound products.
Though not from Shiraishi, among the new products created in recent years, what impressed me most was a type woven in satin style using high-quality pure mitsumata threads.
Thanks to the generosity of Mr. Ota Mitsuo of Okitsu and others, this book came to be adorned with actual samples, for which I was deeply grateful.
The production had been carried out through the skill of Mr. Yamakuni Kunizo, who devoted many years to this craft.
(Frontispiece No. 13) Additionally, I included a paper cloth with warp cotton threads and weft kozo threads (No. 14).
These were products where the distinctive qualities characteristic of paper cloth were utilized.
Originally, this type of cloth prided itself on its sturdiness; thus, I believed it possessed sufficient raison d’être as a distinct category within textiles.
The paths for new uses would likely open up in various ways.
The future of paper cloth is vast.

VI

Looking back, not a single month passed over these ten years when I went without using one of these papers.
That was also due to having continued publishing the magazine *Kōgei*.
This magazine used Western paper only during its first year.
When I reflect on it, using handmade Japanese paper reached 100 issues.

The production areas have been noted previously, but to summarize them, they are as follows: Izumo Iwasaka (Nos. 13–24, 37–40), Echizen Okamoto (Nos. 25–36), Iwami Ichiyama (Nos. 41–48), Shimotsuke Karasuyama (Nos. 49–60, 73–91, 102–110), Musashi Ogawa (Nos. 61–72), Tanba Higashihatta (Nos. 92–101)—the above six locations. We felt a certain mission and pride in using Japanese paper for our publications. For from the mid-Meiji period to the present day, the world of books had all too forgotten to use Japanese paper. A magazine that reached 100 issues using handmade paper month after month likely existed nowhere but in *Kōgei*, making it a publication of rare uniqueness with few parallels worldwide. Some of them were splendid papers. Due to economic pressures, this work gradually became difficult, and it was unavoidable that in recent years we had reached the point of lowering paper quality. Even so, it endured ten years. The ones who took charge of accounting and steered us through these difficulties were due chiefly to the meticulous consideration of Sister Sato Sawako and, more recently, Sister Araki Michiko. Even now, I cannot help but feel grateful for their efforts. Since each issue of the large-format sixteen-page signatures required approximately eight thousand to ten thousand sheets of paper, *Kōgei*... For 100 issues, we used a total of approximately 900,000 sheets. Even I am astonished by this number. In addition, covers for approximately forty issues’ worth of Japanese paper were added, and even much of the wrapping paper was made with Japanese paper containing inclusions, making the combined total an extraordinary quantity.

Moreover, *Kōgei*’s editorial office published many books using pure Japanese paper, and with the addition of my privately published editions, we used a quantity that comfortably reached a total of one million large-format sheets.
If we added the paper used for my special editions published by other booksellers, the total would become even greater.
Therefore, over these ten years, the Japanese paper that passed through my hands averaged at least 100,000 sheets per year.
Looking back, I marveled that we managed to use so much.
The scroll paper, stationery, envelopes, manuscript paper, business cards, mounting paper, notebooks, shoji paper, and other items I personally used were separate.
In truth, my repeated investments in Japanese paper often left me impoverished.
However, since the joy of work more than compensated for that, I could not fathom how richly it had nourished my spirit.

VII

Since we were not technicians ourselves, we could not engage directly in the craft of papermaking.
Yet I believe we proved somewhat useful in considering what types of paper ought to be made according to each region's unique qualities - what varieties to create and what purposes they might serve.
Regarding Japanese paper's inherent value, our writings must have fulfilled some role.
As for book bindings and scroll mountings, they likely served as living demonstrations of washi's beauty.
However, our colleagues' most significant contribution to papercraft lay in processing the base material.
Broadly speaking, this manifested through three approaches.
One was dyeing.
One was stencil application.
One was lacquer painting.
Through these endeavors, my many friends performed truly exemplary work.
This will surely come to be regarded someday as historical fact.

The one who performed the most numerous and excellent work in dyeing was Mr. Oikawa Zenzo; the one who newly pioneered a path in stencil application was Mr. Serizawa Keisuke; nor must we forget the recent efforts of Mr. Sawada Toshihisa of the third generation. The one who demonstrated remarkable achievements in lacquer painting was Mr. Suzuki Shigeo. I take joy in recording the work accomplished by these friends.

Mr. Oikawa’s work was carried out in Yasutaira, Jūnikakura Village, Waga District, Rikuchū (now Tsuchizawa Town). The record of his work was specially featured in *Kōgei* No. 87—those in the know will understand. Each piece represented authentic craftsmanship through true dyeing methods—plant-based techniques—and pigments. Several *Kōgei* covers too were crafted by Mr. Oikawa’s hand. In character, his work admitted not a shred of deceit, rigorous in its sincerity; I consider him likely the foremost technician of our time to have mastered true dyeing in practice. The colors held depth and subtlety—dyed papers that could be called genuinely authentic. Soon, a compiled volume of Mr. Oikawa’s achievements will be published through *Kōgei*’s editorial office. Having collaborated with him and witnessed how Japanese paper came alive through color, I find my gratitude renewed afresh. Without his dyed papers, I could not have fully accomplished the mounting work required for the Mingei-kan. Within this volume too, I wish to speak of Mr. Oikawa through several sheets of paper—(Samples 15 and 16; the former dyed with persimmon tannin, the latter with sappanwood).

The achievements of Mr. Serizawa Keisuke—a peerless dyeing artisan whom I trusted—in contributing to Japanese paper stencil work were equally significant.
Regarding the work attempted in Musashi Ogawa, I had previously written about it.
Mr. Serizawa’s work—imbued with extraordinary talent for pattern and color—pioneered new frontiers in paper craftsmanship that will surely gain wider recognition in time.
The three specimens included here (Nos.17-19) alone could sufficiently attest to his mastery.
He created not only stencil-dyed papers but also numerous superb dyed varieties.
All emerged from his Kamata workshop.
I repeatedly engaged his skills for scroll mounting and produced many works.
Had he not existed, how many of my visions would have remained unrealized?

Incidentally, the characters on the stencil-dyed paper I included in Illustration Seventeen are as follows.

"Raw papers from various provinces: Yogochiri, Hosokawa, Matsuzaki, Gobā, Uda, Tobikoma, Morishita; (Thick paper) Kaida, Nishi-no-Uchi, Santome, Hodo-mura, Sengai, Jūmonji"

In this work of stencil-dyed paper, the ardent efforts recently devoted by Mr. Sawada Toshihisa of the third generation must also be recorded.
Many of the recent covers of *Kōgei* were made at his workshop in Shizuoka.
Although his work had only just begun, I felt that a vast future awaited.
If enthusiasm for this work did not wane over time, the results would be assured.
Samples 20 and 21 attached to the specimen were his work.
The latter had been given a glossy finish.
I also entrusted work to Mr. Shiozawa Gengo and Mr. Masui Tomiji, both of whom engaged in dyeing as their profession.
“*Kōgei Sensho*”
The First Volume and the Second Volume were the work of these same colleagues.

I came to believe that this work of stencil-dyed paper—having left no notable historical traces until then—bore great promise as new pioneering. As all knew, traditional pattern application had relied almost entirely on woodblock printing; more recently, lithography had grown common. Yet printing and dyeing inherently yielded different outcomes.

Beyond these two paths of dyed and stencil-dyed papers, the most remarkable achievement emerged through Mr. Suzuki Shigeo’s lacquer-painted paper. *Kōgei*’s thirty-six covers from Issue No. 73 to No. 108 stood as an original endeavor with scarcely any historical precedent at that time. His talent as a lacquer artisan manifested vividly here—something truly inimitable in its essence. I recently gathered all these works to create a six-panel folding screen for the Mingei-kan. To hand-draw a thousand covers monthly for *Kōgei* must have demanded extraordinary resolve.

The combination of Japanese paper and lacquer had some historical precedent, but there had never been an artist who produced work as strikingly vivid as Mr. Suzuki Shigeo’s. He achieved a variety of effects by combining brushwork, stencils, and dyeing techniques. Such methods would undoubtedly gain recognition as a new field in Japanese crafts. The actual specimen included in this book stands as a prime testament to his talent—lacquered paper crafted through his hands, then painted with urushi lacquer. Furthermore, the title label affixed to this book’s cover (No. 22) bears Mr. Suzuki’s brushwork, while the vermilion-dyed paper in Frontispiece VII likewise represents his artistry.

8

With this, I have spoken about my many close and respected colleagues in paper-making.
My connection with Japanese paper would not have been possible without the cooperation of those people.
As a token of gratitude for this, this volume was compiled.

However, I felt compelled to add a note about yet another friend.
That was Mr. Jugaku Bunshō.
Though not directly engaged in papermaking techniques, as one who now devoted himself to the scholarly study of Japanese paper, all likely owed an academic debt to Mr. Jugaku Bunshō.

The reason I spoke of Mr. Jugaku Bunshō was that I believed one motive leading him to pursue paper studies lay in his association with us.
Since then, we too had come to owe much to Mr. Jugaku’s knowledge and observations.
The recently published *Washi Fūdoki* stood as an exemplary primer—indeed, the foremost guide regarding Japanese paper.
While I believed a magnum opus awaited in the future, we who observed from the sidelines had to acknowledge that keeping such a scholar among our ranks constituted an environment worthy of gratitude.
Mr. Jugaku’s Kōnichian editions were already well-known among connoisseurs.
Those volumes employed several sets of superlative Japanese paper.
The profound reverence and affection for Japanese paper that pulsed even beneath the surface formed the very foundation elevating Mr. Jugaku’s scholarship to greater solidity.
He stood clearly apart from other scholars prone to mere empirical analysis.
The remaining handmade paper workshops across the regions had likely all received Mr. Jugaku’s visits.
Those accounts would undoubtedly yield precious insights for Japanese paper’s future.
It remained my ceaseless hope that this would transcend being a mere report—that it might become the ultimate preparation for safeguarding tradition and advancing from that foundation toward even sturdier creation.
Recognizing Japanese paper’s value while striving to promote and elevate it—these I believed were dual missions entrusted to us all.

The past ten years flowed by.
I pray that the coming ten and twenty years will yet become years devoted to Japanese paper for me.
Is not loving Japanese paper, in essence, precisely what makes Japan’s existence more beautiful?

The latter part of the twelfth month of the seventeenth year of Showa

At Gōra, Kanrei