Reflection on two past exhibitions presenting indigo traditions from Nigeria and Japan to highlight the hyperlocal craft narrative associated with the colour.

Back in 2019, the fairly newly opened Coal Drops Yard of King’s Cross, London was host to a multitude of events that encouraged people to gather, and in particular, become connected to crafts explored by the many retailers. Kiosk N1C was to host workshops with indigo craftsfolk BUAISOU, and an Indigo Hands installation of hand dyed and handmade flags commissioned by Coal Drops Yard specifically for London Craft Week was presented.

With the University of the Arts London college of Central Saint Martins located here too, in Granary Square, there’s always a creative buzz. The college is used as a public crossing between converted sections of the industrial yard, and so they have revolving exhibitions in the windows from the various art and design degrees. In 2023, for London Design Festival, the seven-year project This Is Us was presented — a project in collaboration with Central Saint Martins MA Cities, Lagos based incubator 16/16, cartographers Mitsio Motu and supported by LVMH Maison/0.

This post brings these two to you to highlight some of the idiosyncracies of an ubiquitous material and colour, and acquaint you with some of the equipment and processes involved.

Indigo Hands — BUAISOU.

Established in 2015 in Tokushima Prefecture — an area of Japan known as the hometown for Awa indigo — BUAISOU conducts all of the indigo dye processes that were traditionally separated. From cultivating the raw indigo, fermenting the indigo leaves (Sukumo), dyeing, designing, and all the way to production. In 2018 they began making their own indigo-dyed jeans, with each skein of yarn hand-dyed one by one.

The indigo dye of BUAISOU uses a traditional technique called Jigoku date (‘making hell’). Jigoku date involves mixing wood lye, bran and shell ash, followed by a fermentation process. This is one of the world’s most complex dye production processes. They have a beautifully photographed calendar of the indigo farm, which highlights in what months particular cultivation is done, and you can see process videos if you scroll through their Instagram.

In 2019 I was working at the brand Blackhorse Lane Ateliers on communications and e-commerce, as well as retail in the Coal Drops Yard store. On a visit for the Indigo Hands flag exhibition and Kiosk N1C workshops, they came over to Walthamstow to see the jeans factory (May 9th, 2019). This is what I wrote as a follow up:

Yesterday we had a spur of the moment visit from BUAISOU and we’re still mega in awe of their practice and approach to making. We showed them around our factory and shared similarities in our production, from manually pressed buttons, to using the one piece fly. We also have both taken inspiration from the methods of engineered jean construction from the book Jeans Of The Wild West, which we regularly show visitors as an example of how jeans used to be durable tailored functional garments - and should still be. They are in town for an exhibition and natural indigo dyeing workshops as part of London Craft Week so head over to Coal Drops Yard to check out their installation - and witness their skilled blue hands.

Images: 1-3. BUAISOU visited the jeans factory in full hand-dyed indigo cotton garments, looked through samples of archive jeans and books, and through the products from Blackhorse Lane Ateliers [Credit: photos taken by Stephanie Steele for BLA on May 9th 2019, sourced again from Facebook].

Of course the workshop was fully booked, though they kindly allowed me to attend the workshop as an observer only. Even more generously, I was provided the opportunity to dip my own cotton handkerchief. Over time this has bleached in the sun changing to a pastel shade of blue from its more intense darker shade. I also purchased two skeins of cotton embroidery thread, dyed in two different shades, with the idea that I’d do some sashiko stitching on a denim jacket of mine. To this day they are in their packets unused; I couldn’t bring myself to use something so precious if the project failed, but I realise I need to cave in and let the joy out into the world.

I can’t find any notes from the day, yet fortunately recovered some photos following a hard drive crash so can somewhat remember the outline of the session. On the table were a variety of ingredients: the dried indigo leaves, clumps of fermented indigo cake, wood lye (in water I think), bran and shell ash. There were also books of tiny swatches, in a spiral of colour, with calculations and notes (in Japanese script). And examples of dyed products such as scarves.

Images: 1. Ingredients on the table: indigo leaves, indigo cake, wood lye, bran and shell ash; 2. Notebooks of indigo swatches and recipes with examples of indigo dyed scarf; 3. A stainless steel pot with indigo-dyed fabric at the bottom, and my two purchased cotton embroidery skeins.

Aside from the year-long processes involved in cultivating, harvesting, separating leaves from stems (Konashi), and fermenting (Nesekomi), is then the process of making the material into a preservable dye (Sukumo).

Because indigo does not dissolve in water or alcohol, to use it for dyeing, it needs to be fermented (a chemical change by microorganism action) again under an alkaline environment. By doing so, indigo is promoted to be transformed into water-soluble leuco indigo, which is applied to fibers and then exposed to the air to dye the fibers blue. — HOSOO Gallery, The Story of Japanese Textiles

Once Sukumo is achieved, a vat can be produced by adding water with the necessary fermentation ingredients, in this case it is lye, bran and shell ash. The indigo “blooms” on top to show fermentation is underway and is active. This takes time and patience and constant assessment — which will be why those sketchbooks have so many small swatches and notes. For the case of a two-hour workshop, this couldn’t be covered, so instead a huge vat was rolled out and we participated in the last stage — the dyeing. We were first shown the “magic” of green cloth oxidising and turning blue, and then allowed to collectively dip our own piece in. I do remember appreciating the strength of indigo when it remained on my skin, and in fact, when the team visited the jeans factory and I captured their exceptionally blue hands as they turned over book pages.

Images: 1-4. The large indigo vat is opened and revealed as a dark shade of blue into which workshop participants were able to dip their cotton handkerchief and allow it to oxidise from green to blue.

I highly recommend you check out the dyeing techniques they use for their own products and indigo dyeing service; such skill! You can see finished products and learn about various projects and marvel at the power of indigo. It was such a privilege to spend such a short time with them, and though it was now 6 years ago, I look at the scarf and respect the wisdom engrained within. I really should use those embroidery threads, right.

Beneath the Veil — THIS IS US.

This Is Us was founded in 2016 to show that Nigerian design “can be of a really high quality that everyone in Nigeria and abroad can be proud of” in particular by using local materials, craftsmanship and talents. They’d already worked in the region of Kano in Nigeria for 7 years, and the project in collaboration with Central Saint Martins MA Cities, Lagos based incubator 16/16, cartographers Mitsio Motu and supported by LVMH Maison/0 expanded on this work.

They wanted to test their hyperlocal vision by designing a luxury garment made from beginning to end using materials and craftsmanship existing entirely within the 384 km² of the remote village of Dawakin Kudu in Kano. Additionally, it would reveal the process behind a ceremonial cloth relevant to West and North Africa that is “normally invisible in the traditional finished textile”, along with focusing attention on transnational trade networks into Sub-Saharan Africa that perhaps both benefit and hinder. Beneath the Veil presented research practices conducted in relationship with artisans right at the centre of this craft.

This is one of the exhibitions I lost the photos of — which is a key reason why I like writing these journals (though, obviously all online content could also disappear and takes it’s own server energy demand) — so explanatory photos are directly from This Is Us. A digital document served as information for the exhibition, and that goes some way to guiding the Nigerian indigo process, but the file is too large so I’ve included screenshots and written explanation. I can’t find the guide online any longer.

Screenshot of part of the digital guide to Beneath The Veil exhibition, September 2023 hosted at Central Saint Martins. It shows a line drawing of artefacts explained above [Source: pre-downloaded digital guide, via This Is Us].

Indigo-dyed cotton fabric panels were hung up. They shimmered with such a lustre, like you’d get with beetling of linen (to enhance the surface and make it less dull). The blue was almost iridescent, and I couldn’t take a photo that captured this, especially with the glare of glass. What I missed because I couldn’t touch the cloth and look up close, was that it was actually made up of thin strips.

The dried indigo powder is beat into the Tukurdi cloth using a local ironing process to create a layer of indigo that cannot be achieved by regular dyeing. Ironically this rich layer of iridescent colour also conceals the hours of painstaking craftsmanship that goes into the making of the precious cotton cloth.

(1) Next to it in the gallery was a web of these cotton strips, known as “siri”; hand-spun cotton yarn woven in 90mm wide strips and left undyed. Women of the Dawakin Kudu village in Kano weave these.

(2) Dishes of ingredients included: dried indigo leaves and stems; ash; potash; dried indigo leaves/ash/potash/water mix; local indigo powder “shuni”; and imported indigo powder “shuni”. It feels important to give you the text verbatim from the guide of the purpose of each ingredient:

a) Dried Indigo leaves and stems - Fresh indigo is harvested and then stacked and left to dry naturally during the rainy season. The dried ingredients are then bagged and stored throughout the dry season and are used in dye pits all year round.
b) Ash - The remnants at the bottom of dye pits when a dyeing solution dies is moulded and left to dry naturally and then burnt with hard wood or corn stalk to create ash, which adds alkalinity for fermentation of indigo when mixed with water.
c) Potash - The third main ingredient in the indigo dye pit and an additional source of alkaline from a natural mineral source, potassium carbonate - a pit can be made with or without potash depending on what is being dyed. In the Dawakin Kudu pits, potash is left out while potash is used in the Kofar Mata dye pits to help the fabrics retain colour longer.
d) The dried indigo leaves, ash, potash, and water are mixed together in the pit and left to settle and mixed 3 times a day for 3-4 days until the colour activates/catches and forms a brownish yellow liquid. After this the dried indigo leaves and stems are removed from the pit and then the dried indigo powder “shuni” is mixed into the solution to intensify the colour.
e) Local Indigo powder “Shuni” - Naturally extracted indigo powder extracted locally by women by mixing in warm water and ash. It is usually moulded and left to dry.
f) Imported Indigo powder “Shuni” - For the past 10-15 years, the local extraction of the indigo pigment has drastically reduced and imported natural indigo powder is now more commonly used than the local extract.

(3) Kargo tree bark is soaked in water to release a dark red solution. It’s unclear at what stage, but using this results in the Tukurdi cloth taking on a blueish-purple tone; I wonder if it’s because of red and blue (from indigo) colour theory.

(4) Spools of hand-spun cotton. Read about Funtua cotton here.

(5) A local tool made using dried millet stalk tied together, which acts as both a cover for the pit and as a strainer to place dyed cloth on during the dyeing process.

(6) Photos of the process.

Images: 1. The millet stalk indigo pit cover with indigo pit below; 2. Finished dyed Tukurdi cloth [Credit: This Is Us Ng, Source: London Design Festival].

(7) A prototype garment in the “Dashiki” style — a loose, short-sleeved tunic of West African Origin usually worn by men and women, and worn both for work in the intense heat and also as occasion wear dependent on the fabric. It features an unravelled selvedge to draw attention to the construction (something I do in my own designs), and being made of Tukurdi cloth — the Siri strips — this one using 150 of them, it can be made and assembled 90% in the village of Dawakin Kudu. The remaining 10% is assembled in the This Is Us studio where an asymmetric collar is attached. This is made from a thicker woven fabric from a nearby village, trimmed with a cotton lace twill typically used in the packaging of the final Tukurdi cloth.

(8) The finished dyed Tukurdi Cloth was shown with (9) plain undyed Tukurdi Cloth.

More popularly known as the “Tagelmust” or the “Lithum”, the Tukurdi cloth is the indigo-dyed cotton veil/turban made known by the Tuareg men of the Sahel region and across the Northern regions of West Africa and Nigeria. Once common throughout Hausa society as male clothing, today it only survives when used for important occasions or ceremonies, rite of passage rituals to the adult age, marriage or in the inauguration of a social leader.

“Indigo is believed by wearers to be healthy and beautiful, with a build-up of indigo in the skin of the wearer being generally considered to protect the skin, and denote affluence”.

(10) showed the packaging of the Tukurdi cloth, made of strips of a locally woven cotton twill known as “Kasanki” (that I imagine was a similar width by the looks of it as the Siri). These are made specially for the purpose of wrapping and presenting the final cloth, which goes to show how precious. Not least, vertical integration with this hyperlocality of ensuring that the packaging (which tends to go overlooked) is also sourced close by and supports a local community and purpse. “The Tukurdi cloth is traded across the Sahara to date and is arguably the most commercially viable textile and cornerstone of the indigo dyeing traditions of Northern Nigeria”.

Images: 1. Kasanki strips of woven cotton twill used to wrap and package finished Tukurdi cloth; 2. Local ironing house where the Tukurdi cloth receives its distinct iridescent characteristic [Credit: This Is Us Ng, Source: London Design Festival].

Additional to the artefacts visually describing the cultural tradition of indigo production and dyeing in Nigeria, were research projects examining spatial connections and justice through indigo [The Glocal Gaze from MA Cities student Carina Tenewaa], and a map of the Kano indigo dyeing landscape [from data infrastructure and analysts Mitsio Motu]. Both highlighted the integrity of hyperlocal production. Imagine if the value chain was explicit with each product — we’d be better connected (and subsequently disconnected) due to the scale and blackholes of information.

What I hoped to convey with this journal post, is that each indigo tradition is hyperlocal. We talk of indigo dyeing as a blanket thing, like a garment is indigo-dyed, but it’s really so dependent on both the context, on the indigo variety, and on ingredients, plus the local ecosystem of resources, craftspeople, knowledge and then all the designers/makers et al across the rest of the value chain.

These are just two examples. I’ve another story coming about my visit to Indigo Garden London, but because here we don’t really have the appropriate climate to grow Japanese indigo at scale, our production is more of the home “cottage” type; super small, experimental, tiny batches. The history and use of indigo is so intrinsically intertwined with colonialism, slavery, global trade and resource extraction and is indeed this worldwide affair, which aids the notion that indigo is just one colour — not even necessarily a crop, and maybe not a commodity — that is the same wherever you are.

The stories need to be remembered and retold to prevent them being lost (as with all crafts), and fortunately the groups above — and others, such as Bailiwick Blue, Homegrown Colour, Stony Creek Colors [who look very techy] — are allowing for traceability of indigo production from multiple varieties, and simultaneously showing how it can be a useful crop otherwise.

And of course, this is about preserving and celebrating natural indigo. We also need to be educating ourselves on the detriment of synthetic indigo production.

Resources:

Wild Colours — Indigo plant varieties, plus explanation of Mayan indigo and Tamil indigo

Botanical Colours — FAQs about indigo

MAIWA — A World of Blue documentary [60:21]

Read similar reviews + THOUGHT posts, such as:

Ethical Colour.

Ainu Stories.

Regenerative dyes at Groundswell.

Sign up to my newsletter for weekly articles and the Food-Fibre-Fashion bi-monthly publication in your inbox or subscribe on Substack, Medium or LinkedIn instead.

Beneath the Veil / Indigo Hands.