“We may simply have lost our appreciation for handmade goods.” Igarashi san has been making chochin paper lanterns in his little shop for his entire life. His pop too, and his grandfatherand great granddad and even great, great grandfather. The tools & hardware that surround him today, in fact, have outlasted his ancestors, their wooden surfaces worn smooth with age. Since the start of the Meiji era (1868 - 1912 ) Kanazawa citizens have been purchasing Igarashi chochin from the store, in the guts of old Kanazawa’s merchant district, near the back of the castle. The shelves are stacked high with superbly decorated lanterns - vibrant bursts of color peppering the dusty confines of the tiny workshop.
Chochin lanterns have a fairly long history in Japan - there’s evidence of them being used in temples in the 10th century - and were used basically as a movable method of lighting. Only occasionally used inside, they typically hung outside a place, church or business or else in the entrance, ready to be suspended on a pole and carried before anyone going out at night. Igarashi-san reckons that at one time they were so generally used there would have been around forty or 50 chochin shops just in Kanazawa. Nowadays there remain only himself and one other local craftsman in the trade and the other fellow (Matsuda-san) has long since diversified, making traditional umbrellas his mainstay.
Making a chochin is a fiddly, fairly delicate procedure despite the attractively simple appearance of the end product. And, when asked what are the most vital qualities in his profession Igarashi-san responses, his bright eyes dead heavy, “patience and concentration.” The average sized lantern according to Igarashi-san, at roughly thirty cm across, can be produced at a rate of about two a day by one man including almost all of the painting. However some truly huge ones have left the Igarashi shop over the years - his biggest was a matsuri monster measuring 5 shaku ( one shaku = 30.3cm in the old Japanese measuring system) in diameter with an intricate year of the rabbit design on it. The old lantern maker is realistic about the fact that people want cheaper, mass-produced, plastic covered lanterns today - he even sells them himself - but he is assured in the knowledge that a well-made paper lantern is a lovely thing, superior in a number of ways to these garish modern impostors.
“You can fix a good chochin,” he tells us, “you can replace one rib or fix a hole in the paper no problem.” “Plastic lanterns have no internal frame and can’t be patched.” A paper lantern no matter how well made lasts only about a year (natural beauty is always fleeting) whereas a plastic one might last twice that and cost half as much. On top of that, we as a society might have simply lost our appreciation for handmade goods. Price has become our main motivation as clients. We don’t care to know how things were made nowadays, or who made them, or else Igarashisan would be the prosperous head of a chain of shops.
The walls of the Igarashi Chochinya and his ready-to-hand scrapbook sport countless monochrome photos and press clippings showing a proud, broad-shouldered young man with powerful, thick arms and a fetching grin showing off classy paper spheres with matsuri lights glimmering in the background. Humbly showing us them, his warm, friendly smile only slips barely as he tells us that he will be the last of his family line making lanterns here.
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