“Attending art school was a significant milestone for me; it altered my perspective on city life and immersed me in its subculture. However, I soon realized that this experience barely scratched the surface; everything seemed diluted within the confines of my school reality. On the contrary, my passion for climbing mountains and riding motorcycles led me to travel extensively. These journeys sparked questions about the divide between rural and urban life – what defines the essence of rural living? What constitutes a fundamental, rural occupation? I became intrigued by the intersection of rural subculture, mountain environments, and my personal experiences.”
ー Wataru Hatano
Wataru grew up on Awajishima, known in Japanese mythology as the first island created by the gods. His maternal family had a farming background, with cows being a common sight. He often napped in the kaya, embracing old ways of life. His grandma would frequently make pickles from the vegetables she grew, which he enjoyed daily.
The mesmerizing beauty of the night sky inspired a deep interest in art. Although being preoccupied during high school with exams, that beauty was always present, waiting to be noticed. It was a realization that, much like the art of washi making, such simple yet profound aspects of life can be easily overlooked yet cherished. Even as a high school student, he found himself drawn more to the natural side of life as opposed to the urban hustle. Questions persisted within him, even as he indulged in typical interests of young adults in their twenties, like exploring America and other cultures.
“When I first painted on washi paper, there was an immediate certainty that this was the right medium for me. It’s something you’d expect most Japanese artists to gravitate towards, yet many don’t. It felt natural, so I decided to visit some washi makers. One of them was Ogawa Washi in Saitama, where I observed the meticulous process. I purchased paper from small local shops specializing in washi. This should be the norm, but in the modern world, it’s the opposite.
So, for me, it just felt like the right thing to do, like Europeans using European paper for their art. However, there’s a tendency for everyone to look up to and emulate Western methods, and that same tendency should exist in Japan as well. Yet, here, it’s fading away. Europeans don’t use washi for their art, so Japanese should have a deep respect for their own traditional paper. If that were the case, washi would be the standard. That’s “mottainai,” ( a sense of wastefulness or regret for the loss of something valuable.)
In the first seven to ten years, washi making was primarily a pleasurable pursuit despite financial constraints. While the income was meager, the lifestyle felt liberating. However, delving deeper into the world of washi making revealed its challenges; the pay was low, yet the satisfaction immense. Fortunately, he found kinship within the community—like-minded individuals engaged in farming and environmentally conscious endeavors. Ayabe, a small village one and a half hours away from Kyoto where the tradition of 800 years of KUROTANI washi was made, in particular, was a hub for such individuals. There, he found camaraderie among carpenters, farmers, and artisans, although washi making remained uniquely his own pursuit.
“There was always a part of me that felt the urge to live self-sufficiently, a notion that simmered in the recesses of my mind from the outset. Modern society’s ethos of make or throw away, of scrapping and rebuilding, never quite resonated with me.
As a child, I distinctly remember being told in school about the oil economy fading out in 50 years, implying its expiration by the time I reached 60. It was a rather casual assertion from my teacher, but it left me feeling unsettled. However, there was a kernel of truth in it -the realization that resources are finite.”
Wataru is contemplating an alternative way of life, one that prioritizes self-sufficiency and independence from the modern economic system, especially in the face of potential upheavals like war. His goal is to detach from the norms of modern living and become more self-sufficient, even if it means ignoring conventional economic pathways.
His commitment to sustainability is evident in his plans to invest in solar power for his studio and transition to electric vehicles. The challenges posed by COVID-19 reinforced his belief in self-reliance, prompting a quest to reduce dependency on external systems while still enjoying modern conveniences. His ultimate goal is to establish a self-sustaining community, as he farms Kouzo (mulberry) for washi, he eventully wants to grow food for his team. This dream reflects his dedication to a self-supporting lifestyle, despite the ongoing challenge of balancing it with his busy schedule. Alongside his work in washi making, Wataru designs and creates spaces, as well as showcases his artworks globally.
His mission is a poignant blend of tradition and innovation, weaving together the threads of Japan’s rich craftsmanship and artisanal legacy with a vision for sustainable living. His endeavor serves as both a personal odyssey and a testament to the transformative power of art and community in shaping a resilient future. In a Japan marked by peace, Wataru seizes the opportunity to advocate for positive change and the development of sustainable systems, preparing for potential challenges ahead. His commitment to self-sufficiency and rural revitalization not only meets immediate needs but also lays a sturdy foundation for generations to come.
With an unwavering sense of responsibility and foresight, Wataru’s initiatives extend beyond his own lifetime, creating enduring spaces that prioritize community, sustainability, and self-reliance. Through his dedication to passing on these values to future generations, he ensures a legacy that transcends political fluctuations, fostering a culture of innovation, cooperation, and preparedness that safeguards the future for all.
Yasuyuki Takagi
Yasuyuki Takagi is a photographer / director born in Tokyo, Japan. He Studied Media Arts at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York and lives And works in Tokyo, Japan. He has published photo books “小さな深い森 Petite Foret Profonde” and “植木 UEKI” both from France and his latest photo book “BLR: Brooklyn Lot Recordings” was published by Neat Papers in Tokyo Japan. His directing works include: “How to be like Tom Sachs” “A portrait of a place: Arakicho” amongst others.