SAGA, Nov 08, 2025 (News On Japan) - A shortage of domestically produced lacquer, essential for restoring Japan’s cultural properties, has reached a critical point. For centuries, lacquer—or urushi—has been integral to traditional crafts and national treasures, but production has fallen sharply.
One 83-year-old man, Masami Watanabe, is now dedicating his later years to preserving this fading tradition.
Watanabe, who lives in Chikushino City, serves as chairman of the Tosu Urushi Association in Saga Prefecture. Standing in a small plantation he helped clear from what was once natural forest, he looks over 40 lacquer trees. “There used to be a shrine above here, and after the rain the greenery is beautiful,” he says. “It took clearing the land to finally make an urushi field.” His mission is urgent: in Kyushu, there are now almost no trees left suitable for tapping lacquer. “Maybe it’s my job to tell people about this before it’s too late,” he adds.
The Cultural Affairs Agency issued a notice ten years ago requiring the use of domestic lacquer for the restoration of cultural assets. Yet about 93 percent of lacquer currently distributed in Japan is imported from China. While annual restoration projects require around 2.2 tons of Japanese lacquer, domestic output in 2024 was only 1.8 tons. To fill the gap, Watanabe founded the Tosu Urushi Association four years ago, continuing to plant lacquer trees and raise awareness to protect Japan’s lacquer heritage.
Recently, researchers from the Forestry and Forest Products Research Institute visited his plantation to observe tree growth. “Normally, lacquer doesn’t sprout like this,” said fellow researcher Masashige Tabata. “It’s reacting to stress. If roots don’t spread properly, the tree won’t grow.” From a single tree, only about 200 grams of lacquer can be collected—a reminder of how limited and labor-intensive production remains.
Another major challenge is urushiol, the skin-irritating compound that causes severe rashes. “When you break a leaf, the white sap that comes out is what causes the reaction,” explained Tabata. Watanabe has long endured these rashes but continues his work undeterred. “I actually started out selling lacquerware,” he says. “But people know so little about lacquer, so I decided I had to grow it myself. It’s a tough reality—there are land and cost issues—but someone has to do it.”
At his home, a lacquer tree he planted 25 years ago has now grown eight meters tall. “I put it here temporarily, and before I knew it, it got big,” he laughs. Each day, he searches for ways to increase lacquer production, determined to revive an art that has sustained Japan for millennia.
Alongside his preservation work, Watanabe runs a craft shop showcasing lacquerware from across Japan, including the traditional “Negoro-nuri” style. “Everyone uses lacquerware bowls for miso soup,” he says. “It’s part of daily life.” The more lacquerware is used, the deeper its luster becomes—something Watanabe calls the material’s “infinite potential.” Demonstrating a repaired bowl, he points out, “Look, it was cracked, but I glued it entirely with lacquer—it’s incredibly strong. This is another way lacquer can be used.” He smiles as he adds, “If kintsugi restoration can add value, that makes me happy.”
“I do this simply because I love lacquer,” Watanabe says. “It’s about connection—passing something on. The answers don’t come right away, but I’m grateful for what lacquer gives us. It’s a gift of life.”
Source: RKB毎日放送NEWS
