Carrying on the Family Trade

A few centuries make a decent start

Kazumichi Hamada is a master maker of paper lanterns.

Focus on that for a second. The man produces by hand a product that everyone would have needed in 1745, and yes, his business is viable today.

I first met Hamada-san and saw his workspace on a walking tour of an older, downtrodden area of Tokyo. I was helping a local NPO bring a small group of teenage children of recently immigrated families on a treasure map game that familiarized the kids with life aspects in their new host country.

Hamada-san had volunteered his shop to be one stop along the way. I have no idea how he knows the NPO or why he thought it was important to take a few hours out of his day to speak with kids from China, the Philippines, Kuwait, and such. Probably he’s just a good guy.

The inside walls of his grey concrete and corrugated tin workshop are brightened with hundreds of lanterns displaying sizes, shapes, and colors. It looks like a flower shop housed in a cold shed.

“I am fifth generation,” he said of himself and his family business.

I chuckled (quietly). I’m such an American I don’t even know what fifth generation means. What, his grand grand grand something started the lantern operation? Is that four grands and a dad?

It’s probably the Yank thing again, but I need to put these numbers into a graphic context. Five generations is sepia, if not oil painting. And certainly no indoor plumbing.

And here is Hamada-san artfully carrying on a tradition of hand-making tissue and bamboo crafts that a market apparently still exists for. He’s not rich, but he isn’t bankrupt either.

Hamada-san is in his late thirties. His young wife who originally harks from Sendai helps him with the business. It’s still not that uncommon to see a young couple taking up a family business in Japan. It could be a noodle restaurant that has sat on the same street corner since Meiji 12. Or a laquerer of chopsticks once tapped by an imperial family or a shogun to help set a table.

Importantly (for me at least) these artisans are still venerated by modern society.

I asked Hamada-san who his main customers are. “You know, today.” I hoped my question wasn’t too clumsily worded.

I offered that maybe it’s restaurants or ah, temples? Hamada-san seemed to appreciate my interest. He smiled and said that actually private parties now make up a good chunk of his orders.

Parties? Like weddings? Now I was intrigued. I imagined an ukiyoe woodblock print of silk-dressed Japanese holding evening parties I would never be invited to on river banks. Chasing fireflies and giggling—all that aristocratic stuff.

“Large weddings are really good, yes. Also company celebrations, wakes, coming-of-age parties, shop openings, art shows, maybe retirements…there’s a host of events that people want to bring some personalization to,” he said beaming.

Aristocratic stuff with lanterns.

Hamada-san is great with kids. He doesn’t simply lecture and take questions, he also sets up hands-on opportunities for them to build lanterns or to paint and letter alongside him.

Our immigrant charges got wide-eyed when they saw the Japanese paint brushes readied for them that day.

So, what are these lanterns? They can be small and hand-held or stretch from floor to roof—whatever you order. Largely they are bamboo framed but their “bones” can also be fashioned from aluminum say. All are covered in hand-made Japanese washi tissue for proper luminescence. They can safely cradle wax candles inside, though in our overly insured modern age, battery-operated dime store lights are now often substituted.

The hand-painted messages on the tissue though are what makes the craft according to Hamada-san. His work is all manually-calligraphed with…yes, hand-mixed inks.

These Japanese.

The words could be a family’s name, a wish for luck, an expression of condolence, a company tag line…whatever a client works out with Hamada-san as appropriate for the occasion. His shop has a stand of well-worn dictionaries and reference books that confirm proper phrasings and brush strokes just in case.

When I got another second I asked Hamada-san if he has a website, does he do online commerce? Nope, just walk-ins and personal introductions. Anything human and non-data is great. He has a telephone number.

I often wonder if they save these for next year or just order afresh.

I try to put Hamada-san’s viability into a western context.

Imagine if in 2023 you are the fourth-generation maker of horse-riding spurs in Chicago, and you’re doing just fine. Or maybe you meticulously craft—using precisely the same processes as your great great grandfather did—gas lamps or feather pens or Teddy Roosevelt monocles in Cincinnati. And there’s a waiting list for your work.

I sat next to an Indonesian girl of maybe 12 or so. She was assigned 平和, the two characters for “Peace.” Hamada-san’s shop had already stenciled the outline of the word onto the stretched white tissue of a small lamp and her job was to paint them in using a color she liked. She chose what I can only call Space Age Neon Green and filled in the lettering beautifully.

Each kid took his lamp home.