In ancient times, it’s said that the Japanese only had four notions of color: red, black, white, and all other colors were packed into the definition of “blue.” When indigo was introduced in Japan from China some 1,500 years ago, the idea of the color blue was finally defined, and the deep blue color became such an iconic symbol of Japan that it has been also called “Japanese Blue.” From the blue samurai and blue figurines set against rice fields in the woodblock prints of the Edo period, to the powerless blue rowers engulfed by the blue ocean in Hokusai’s “Great Wave off Kanagawa”, and from the humble blue noren (panel curtains) flapping outside ramen shops to our beloved blue jeans, we all have at some point come across indigo.
Indigo is a natural dye extracted from the leaves of some plants of the indigo family (ai). Many Asian countries, such as India, China, Japan, and Southeast Asian nations, have particularly used indigo dye—known as aizome—for silk for centuries. Evidence suggests that indigo production began in Japan as early as the 6th century, when the ai plant was introduced from China. However, in Japan, indigo became especially important during the Edo period (1603–1868) due to a growing textiles industry, leading to the increasing cultivation of cotton, and consequently, indigo. Farmers wore indigo-dyed clothes for fieldwork, believing the natural ammonia in it warded off mosquitoes and poisonous snakes. Samurai also wore indigo under their armor to protect wounds from bacteria.
Filmmaker Shigeru Yoshida, in his debut feature-length documentary “Shades of Indigo”, embarks on a journey to discover the people and their passion that keep this disappearing craft alive. In doing so, he unveils the heritage and the deep connection with Japanese culture that makes indigo far more than just a color. The film starts in Morioka, Iwate Prefecture, where Ryuta Sasaki, indigo dyer and artist, follows a strict routine to create the dyeing concoction. We learn that the old traditional method uses only three ingredients: sukumo (fermented indigo plant), fresh tree ash, and clear spring water, and that a good result is enabled by a fermentation process called “building the indigo.” Indigo is alive, can change and mutate, and this is its intrinsic beauty. Bacteria do their job, while Ryuta feeds them, keeps them warm, and sometimes talks to them.
Ryuta is a self-taught dyer, but Tadashi Higeta, in Mashiko, is the descendant of a long line of koya—the family profession of fabric weavers and dyers. His family house features an amazing display of steaming pits full of fermenting ink. Here, indigo appears more than ever as a gift from the earth. “In the Edo period, every village in Japan had one or two dyers. Sadly, it is a profession that is almost extinct nowadays,” is his laconic remark. Only a handful of indigo farmers are left in the country, and in Matsuzaka, we encounter Jin Kitamura and Miyuki Onishi. Making sukumo, the paste at the core of the indigo dye, is a year-long process, starting from growing the beautiful tea-like leaves in a natural, pesticide-free way. Once harvested, the leaves are chopped, separated from the stems, and dried gently in the sun. Water from a mountain spring is then gradually sprayed and mixed to create a pulp. After four months of repeated watering, mixing, and piling up, the sukumo is ready.
Linda Brassington, a UK-based fabric dyeing researcher, points out that the Western idea and obsession with control and regularity (a hangover from the Industrial Revolution?) don’t go well with the inconsistency of indigo; in Japanese heritage, cloth has a life and mutates over time. Today, the primary use for indigo is as a dye for the cotton yarn mainly used in the production of denim cloth suitable for blue jeans, but the “natural way” has slowly given way to a quicker, more cost-effective chemically aided method. Indigo is a challenging dye because it is not soluble in water, so sodium hydrosulfite is used to make it water soluble. In Kyoto, Masaaki Aoki, a researcher of traditional dyeing and university lecturer, explains that the “chemical building” of indigo is like “fake indigo dyeing,” obtained with chemicals so it doesn’t rely on fermentation (he calls it “indigo dyeing on steroids”). Meanwhile, at the Osaka Research Institute of Industrial Technology, biological researcher Masashi Shimizu and his team are developing a process to genetically modify E. coli bacteria to enable it to create indigo. The synthetic chemical used for the apparel industry, especially to dye jeans, is made of petroleum-based aniline, which is harmful to people and the environment. Bio indigo would be human-friendly and eco-friendly and possibly cost-effective, competing with the very cheap-to-produce synthetic option.
Director Shigeru Yoshida has a background in directing music videos and behind-the-scenes footage for films and TV dramas. His documentary is informative and meticulously crafted over a year of observation. It beautifully captures how indigo is deeply rooted in Japanese cultural identity and in the circular cycle of seasons and life. Gorgeously shot, it takes the time to linger on the natural blue shades in nature—the ocean, the sky, and the water streams. Ultimately, however, it is an affectionate tribute to the artisans and artists that keep this craft alive with passion and a touch of madness.
