A sheet of factory-made paper can be produced in seconds. A single sheet of traditional Japanese washi can represent months of work — growing and harvesting a specific shrub, stripping and boiling its bark by hand, and repeatedly lifting a wooden screen through icy water in a precise rhythm that takes years to learn properly. Japan still makes paper this way, on purpose, for reasons that go beyond nostalgia.
What is washi? Washi is traditional Japanese paper, and a single sheet can represent months of work: a specific shrub is grown and harvested, its bark is stripped and boiled by hand, and a wooden screen is lifted repeatedly through icy water. Unlike most industrial paper, made from short, randomly oriented wood-pulp fibers, washi is strong enough for construction and restoration work.
Washi is strong enough to be used in construction and restoration work that would destroy ordinary paper within days. That durability is not an accident. It is the direct, and expensive, result of how the paper is made.
What Makes Washi Different From Ordinary Paper
Most industrial paper is made from wood pulp, with fibers that are relatively short and randomly oriented, which is part of why regular paper tears easily and degrades within years. Washi is traditionally made from the long inner bark fibers of specific plants — most commonly kozo (paper mulberry), along with mitsumata and gampi — fibers that are considerably longer than wood pulp fibers and, when processed correctly, interlock into an unusually strong, flexible sheet.
This fiber difference is why well-made washi can remain structurally sound for centuries under the right conditions, and why it has historically been used for tasks ordinary paper could never survive: sliding door panels (shoji) exposed to daily physical stress, historical document preservation, and even the restoration of Western oil paintings and Old Master prints in museums outside Japan, where conservators specifically seek out washi for its combination of strength and near-invisibility once applied.
The Process, Start to Finish
Traditional washi production begins with harvesting kozo branches, typically in winter when the plant’s fiber quality is considered best. The branches are steamed to loosen the bark, which is then stripped by hand, and the outer dark bark layer is carefully scraped away to leave only the usable inner white fiber.
That fiber is then boiled for hours with a natural alkali to break it down further, rinsed extensively (often in cold running river water, historically believed to improve the paper’s whiteness and quality), and beaten by hand or mallet until the fibers separate into a workable pulp. Only after all of this does actual “paper-making” begin.
Nagashizuki: The Sheet-Forming Technique
The defining Japanese contribution to papermaking technique is nagashizuki — a method of forming sheets by repeatedly scooping and sloshing diluted fiber pulp across a mesh screen (su) held in a wooden frame (keta), rather than the single-scoop method used in most other papermaking traditions worldwide.
A mucilage extracted from the tororo-aoi plant root is mixed into the pulp specifically to slow drainage and keep fibers suspended evenly during this repeated sloshing motion, allowing the fibers to interlock into thin, remarkably even, remarkably strong layers. Mastering the specific wrist motion and timing required for consistent nagashizuki sheets is widely described by experienced papermakers as requiring years of daily practice.
A Craft Recognized by UNESCO
In 2014, UNESCO added washi papermaking traditions from three specific Japanese regions — Hosokawa-shi from Saitama, Sekishu-banshi from Shimane, and Honminoshi from Gifu — to its Intangible Cultural Heritage list, formal international recognition of hand papermaking techniques that had been passed down largely unchanged for centuries.
This recognition arrived against a backdrop of real decline: the number of working traditional washi workshops in Japan has fallen dramatically over the past century as industrial paper displaced washi for most everyday uses, leaving a shrinking number of dedicated craftspeople to sustain techniques that once supported entire regional economies.
Where Washi Still Matters Today
Despite industrial paper’s dominance for everyday use, washi retains specific, hard-to-replace roles: shoji screens and traditional interior fittings, high-end stationery and art paper favored by calligraphers and printmakers, the tanzaku wish strips tied to bamboo during Tanabata, and specialized conservation paper used by museums and archives worldwide precisely because nothing manufactured industrially matches its particular combination of strength, translucency, and longevity.
Some contemporary washi workshops have also found new relevance supplying interior designers and international fashion and luxury goods brands drawn to the material’s texture and handmade authenticity — a modern commercial lifeline for a centuries-old craft that might otherwise have few remaining everyday uses left to sustain it.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is washi paper made from?
Washi is traditionally made from the long inner bark fibers of plants like kozo (paper mulberry), mitsumata, and gampi, rather than the wood pulp used in most industrial paper, giving it much greater strength and longevity.
What is nagashizuki?
Nagashizuki is the traditional Japanese technique of forming washi sheets by repeatedly scooping and sloshing diluted fiber pulp across a mesh screen, rather than a single scoop, which allows the long fibers to interlock into unusually strong, even sheets.
Is washi paper still used today?
Yes, particularly for shoji screens, calligraphy and art paper, Tanabata’s tanzaku wish strips, and museum-grade conservation and restoration work, where its strength and near-invisibility once applied make it valuable even against cheaper industrial alternatives.
Paper Made the Slow Way, on Purpose
Washi survives commercially today for the same reason many traditional Japanese crafts do: because the slow, labor-intensive method genuinely produces a material result that faster methods cannot replicate, not merely a more sentimental one.
A sheet of well-made washi is, quite literally, built to outlast the person who made it — a fitting quality for a craft whose entire technique has already outlasted many, many papermakers before them.
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