Colors and stories beyond
“To dye with plants is to receive a hidden gift of color from the plants. To dye with plants is to feel into the story behind the color”. This is a loose translation of something I read in posts shared by Kyoko-san, a plant-dye artist in Yakushima.
Meeting Kyoko-san was another serendipitous encounter I experienced while I was in Yakushima this summer. A very, very small, weathered wooden sign painted in blue that reads 工房そらのあお (workshop sky blue) on the side of a road. We drove by the small sign every time we visited my dad. With many things on an island surrounded by salty ocean air and constant rain, any outdoor signage wears out so quickly that I had no idea how long the sign had been standing in the same spot. Every time we pass by the spot, I would quickly take a peek into the narrow road that the sign was pointing at. The road itself was also almost disappearing, covered by a thick subtropical jungle. Once these rural roads become unused, they quietly disappear into nature, OR perhaps nature just takes back what belongs to them.
Either way, neither the road nor the wooden sign showed any clue that anything actually existed beyond what I could see from a glance. I’m not sure what possessed me to ask Frido one day, “Can you either drop me off at the roadside where the sign is or go up the driveway with me to see what’s going on there?”
Intuition? A whisper?
Before I knew it, I was knocking on the door of a small shed-sized studio densely surrounded by woods, heavy with the humidity of Japanese summer. I knew that someone was present because I saw a car parked under a carport.
That’s how I met Kyoko-san one afternoon and learned how she harvests plants from the island, collects wood from the forest around her home to boil water that is scooped up from a creek running right along her house. After the fabric is dyed in the plants, she rinses it in the beautiful stream and hangs it outside to dry in the air. I learned that she trained as a kimono weaver in Kyoto and is currently working on a project where she creates a dress entirely made from materials found on the island. This includes harvesting plant materials locally that will be used to dye and then weave into fabric.
The afternoon's meeting with Kyoko-san left me with a trace of memory that is so vivid and deeply felt… I wonder if this is how one feels when someone accidentally strolls into a fairytale land and returns to the real world, confused yet enchanted.
When I look back, our entire Japan trip was filled with serendipitous relationships with plant-dye artists - a studio visit with Haru in Kyoto and an indigo-dye experience with Takuro-san and Akane-san… to name a few. On the other side of the Pacific, many of my dear friends welcomed me back after my summer away in Japan. I realize that these friends also work with plants in different capacities. Jen creates art with plant-dye ink, Natalia makes the most potent flower essences, Lindsay works with plants to make tinctures, herbal teas, and more, and Caitlin creates “paintings” using fabrics she dyes with plants as her medium.
At BK, I valued the soft aspects of “working together” dynamics amongst the team members. It has always been important to me that we feel and acknowledge that we are a collective of unique souls first, before we see ourselves through the lens of the various roles we play at BK. I mean… isn’t it so much more fun to spend time at work with other folks when we appreciate and respect each other? As a parent, observing my two kids squabble and then immediately get along in the same breath, I've come to realize the simple truth: shared experiences build deeper connections. So I started curating BK team/family retreats post-pandemic. After all, these amazing team members are the core of the BK community, and when they feel supported and sturdy, our entire community can thrive.
Knowing that we will be carrying new artifacts from Japan that are closely tied to plants very soon (I’m so excited about them and can’t wait to share more when the time comes:), I didn’t hesitate to ask Caitlin if she could offer her plant-dye workshop to the BK team and families when I saw her posted a recent hands-on workshop she hosted. That was how our wonderful Saturday in the canyon came together this past weekend.
As the early morning marine layer moisture evaporated from the air, we gathered at our home in the canyon and were welcomed to outdoor tables, where Caitlin curated a beautiful presentation of plant-dye supplies and materials. The visual feast of dried marigolds, a jar full of blue hollyhock flowers, fresh eucalyptus, and black walnut cuttings from Caitlin’s neighborhood, along with colorful plant-dye print examples, filled the table. She explained different ways we could leave a colored impression on the cotton bandana fabrics she had prepared for us to dye that day. When she brought out her collection of pressed flowers, which were also a part of the possible ingredients to use, we couldn’t help but share the collective audible sigh filled with our admiration.
Then we were set loose to start composing our designs on the fabric with these beautiful materials. The most wonderful aspect of working with plant materials is that it is a collaboration with plants that brings the design to life. Since we were working outside, we were also collaborating with a canyon breeze, which blew away the pressed flowers and loose plant materials just when we thought we had the “perfect” composition on the fabric canvas. We laughed so hard every time we could feel a slight breeze touch our face, reminding each other that this was meant to be a practice in the spirit of wabi-sabi.
Once all of the plant ingredients were laid out on the cloth, we rolled them up tightly around dowels and wrapped them with strings. Then, the steaming process activated the pigment in the plant, releasing the beautiful color into the fabric. I made sure to breathe in some of the potent aroma that was also released from these plants as they were being steamed. Knowing exactly what materials we were working with, being reassured that there were no toxic chemicals in the process, and being able to immerse myself in the experience fully helped my heart feel even closer to the projects we were working on
After about an hour of steaming, it was time to untie the fabric from the wooden dowel and reveal the results of our plant-dye designs - probably “the” most exciting part of the process. And so in a count of three, we unrolled our cotton clothes together.
And wow.
The collective excitement for seeing what unfolded was indescribable. Some of us were clearly more restrained in composing those pressed flowers, with just enough other, finer ingredients, that the silhouette of the pressed flowers showed through the fabric so clearly. Others (like myself) went all out in mixing all the colors and textures they blended to create more organic patterns. Everyone’s design looked and felt so unique, and I loved getting to know our team members and their families through a new lens. What united all our projects was the color palette, undoubtedly not from a computer screen, but from the natural world around us.
My mind floats back to Kyoko-san’s words (translated through my interpretation),
“Some people believe that all of the colors can be expressed in CMYK or RGB. But how could those numbers capture the depth of stories behind these colors derived from the plants, including the entire process for these colors to reveal themselves? From harvesting the materials to boiling water, there are collaborative human hands as well as multitudes of gifts from nature that make the existence of these colors possible. How can one say that a few letters and numbers on the screen can capture the entirety of the colors gifted by this process?”
I’m wearing a bandana I made on Saturday around my neck. I feel wrapped up in the laughter we shared that day in the canyon and the protection of my botanical friends, who have green leaves and yellow and orange flowers instead of arms and legs. I am not sure if I can ever put words and letters together on a keyboard that are sufficient enough to capture how much I love the feeling of having the fabric wrapped around my neck. Just as some colors can’t be expressed in the human code of letters and numbers, some feelings are not possible to be spelled out in words we know.
What an incredible experience! Also, your writing is so beautiful, Wakako.
Love this so much!