Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath Online Catalogue by The Japan Foundation, Sydney

Feb 12 – May 2 2, 2 02 1 The Japan Foundation Galler y

We acknowledge the Gadigal people of the Eora nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which The Japan Foundation, Sydney now stands. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging.

contents

Foreword

Local Sentō, A Surviving Tradition Eloise Rapp and Simonne Goran

The Preservation of Sentō, an Urban Communication Hub Haruka Kuryū

apanese Tile Culture Cultivated in Sentō J Nodoka Murayama

he Art of Bathing in Japan T Stéphanie Crohin

Excerpt from How To Take A Japanese Bath Leonard Koren

Exhibition Images

Works

List of Works

105

Biographies

109

Acknowledgements

113

foreword

Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath is a vibrant exploration of communal bathing in Japan. While onsen hot springs are widely known internationally, sentō, a centuries-old practice that is special to Japanese daily life, seems to be less familiar territory for those outside of Japan. Encompassing the art and history surrounding the public bathhouse, this exhibition introduces the cultural phenomenon of sentō to Australian audiences. Steam Dreams connects us to a new generation of artists, researchers and advocates who are undertaking significant work to preserve the rich practice of public bathing. This exhibition also brings together community members, bathhouse owners, associations and museums who wish to see the continuation of local sentō. Together, they enrich our understanding of the cultural history of sentō through historical artefacts, retro-pop ephemera and local community art. The curators have undertaken a broad but incisive investigation into the distinct world of sentō. Steam Dreams features new works specifically created for the The Japan Foundation Gallery. These works are joined by other projects centred on the public bathhouse, including precious items rescued from sentō that were demolished to make way for new urban development. All these works address the public bath’s social and cultural complexities and help us to imagine a future for sentō that is ultimately optimistic.

With its vision to promote cultural exchange between Japan and Australia, The Japan Foundation, Sydney is in a unique position to facilitate a variety of engaging arts and cultural projects, including exhibitions, film screenings, workshops and performing arts events. Steam Dreams is a testament to this mission. I would like to show my appreciation to all of the participating artists and organisations without whom this exhibition would not have been possible. I am grateful to the authors who offered their insightful essays for this publication. I hope that these written contributions encourage further exploration of sentō and its enduring and fascinating imprint on Japan. I warmly congratulate the curators, Eloise Rapp and Simonne Goran, who have conceived this beautifully considered investigation of sentō. I also thank the Arts and Culture team, who remain dedicated to creating invaluable programming for Australian audiences. It is with great pleasure that I present Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath. I invite all to experience this compelling and enlightening exhibition.

Keiji Shono Director The Japan Foundation, Sydney

Milk bath salt at Kosugi-yu in Suginami Ward, Tokyo

local sentō, a surviving tradition Elois e Rapp and Simonne Goran Exhibition Curators

Our visit to the local bathhouse begins in a residential neighbourhood of a Japanese city. It is a winter’s evening and you’re surrounded by the gentle buzz of commuters making their way home. As you weave your way through narrow streets, past the fluorescent lights of vending machines and seven-elevens, you’re searching for a particular visual cue. You turn a corner and spot it—a temple-like awning nestled in a suburban block. A tall, thin chimney ascends from the rear of the building and a warm light spills onto the street from the entrance. As you pass through a decorative dividing curtain called noren and into the genkan (entryway) beyond, you feel as if you are leaving the outside world behind. The light from inside is now brighter, flickering through textured glass doors with the silhouettes and murmurs of customers coming and going. Colourful mosaic tiles are smooth underfoot as you slip off your shoes and place them in a tidy wooden locker. When you slide the door open an attendant greets you, perched high atop a wooden counter called bandai. They collect your entry fee and welcome you inside with a nod towards the changerooms. The ceiling is lofty and the bamboo matting warm underfoot. A TV is stationed high in a corner, supplying the changeroom with the low-volume entertainment of an evening variety show. You exchange a friendly greeting with fellow bathers, who are trickling in after work or dinner. With your clothes tucked into a basket and deposited into a locker, you head into the bath area. Steam envelops you as you settle into a wash station. After scrubbing

yourself clean, you select a bubbling pool and carefully ease yourself into hot water. Muscles relaxing, you exhale deeply, the troubles of the day leaving your body to join the warm vapour in the air. This is sentō—the local bath. As part of a drive to preserve the rich culture and history of sentō, a new generation of artists, researchers and enthusiasts are working to resurrect the cultural practice of public bathing. The Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath exhibition brings together Japanese artists, community members, university associations and museums, who are actively advocating for the continuation of local sentō. For them, the local bath is a crucial part of Japan’s social fabric—a tradition worth savouring in an ever-evolving cityscape. Steam Dreams explores the history of sentō, with a particular focus on its preservation and the future of communal bathing. The exhibition highlights how the public bath developed, from early ideas of ritual purification to later cultivating a sense of place and community. In particular, Steam Dreams celebrates the unique design elements of the Japanese public bathhouse, from the glorious hand-painted murals of Mt Fuji waterscapes, to sentō’s charming utilitarian objects. Through a diverse selection of works, including historical artefacts, retro-pop ephemera, mural painting, contemporary photography, illustration and local community art, Steam Dreams presents an introduction to the multifaceted sentō culture of Japan.

Entrance to former bathhouse Kujo-yu in Minami Ward, Kyoto

s entō through the ages The custom of communal bathing has its origins in the spiritual world. The rise of Buddhism in the 6th century saw the establishment of bathhouses as a space for monks to physically and spiritually cleanse. These spaces were called yokudō or ‘bathing halls’. After a time, the yokudō were opened to the sick and the poor and eventually adopted by the general public. The architecture of sentō has naturally evolved over several hundred years, from the windowless, closet-like steam rooms of early temples to the plumbed and boiler-heated structures of today. What hasn’t changed is the understanding of bathing as a regenerative ritual, capable of washing away more than a day’s grime. Sentō use rose in popularity in the decades following WWII and peaked in the 1960s, when many people still didn’t have a bath of their own. However, following the wave of technological development that accompanied the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, the prefabricated ‘system bath’ or ‘unit bath’ began to take over. As the plumbed, all-in-one home bathroom became fashionable and affordable, the popularity of neighbourhood facilities slipped into decline. This shift, along with the emergence of ‘super sentō’ complexes that offered a bathing experience more akin to visiting a theme park, saw numerous sentō shut their doors.1 Over the years, countless traditional bathhouses have quietly faded away, becoming emblems of another time. Today, in sentō that remain, you are likely to glimpse details that hark back to the local baths’ spiritual past, from the traditional noren split curtain at the entrance, to the deity-like animal hot water spouts. The owner may display a kakejiku (hanging scroll) with a favourite Buddhist mantra, or you may find a statue of the wealth-attracting tanuki, a folkloric character that keeps watch by the front gate. At a popular onsen in Hakone, the sauna has a sign over its small wooden door reading mushin-dō, or ‘mindlessness hall’. The name references a Buddhist state where one’s mind becomes clear and mutable. This invitation to free yourself from intrusive thoughts

may explain the recent re-kindling of interest in sentō. Whilst there is still a small but loyal patronage from elderly residents, a growing number of younger enthusiasts are coming to recognise sentō’s therapeutic effects.

a microcosm of japanes e s ociet y As civic facilities sentō are clean, safe and unpretentious. They provide an atmosphere that is at once calming and invigorating, intimate and social. The public bathhouse is a space that unites community, where for centuries locals have gathered to relax, exchange news and enjoy quiet banter. As Yoshiko Yamamoto and Bruce Smith observe in their book The Japanese Bath, “public baths in Japan form bonds of closeness among residents of the neighbourhoods they serve.”2 For elderly members of the community, the local sentō can be a lifeline. In larger cities such as Tokyo and Osaka, many senior citizens live alone in small apartments with limited opportunities for socialisation. Sentō provide an opportunity to talk with others and look after their health. This is the generation that grew up with sentō as a cornerstone of daily routine, so a visit to the local bathhouse evokes a sense of familiarity and comfort. The atmosphere of sentō differs from that of the more upscale, resort-style onsen that were developed around natural hot springs. Local bathhouses tend to be homely and familiar, often with a delightfully nostalgic interior. Rarely will you come across digital devices or slick minimalist furnishings. Instead, you’ll find ephemera that recall a more domestic kind of bliss. Seiko wall clocks and ads for beauty products dot wood-panelled walls. Post-soaking refreshments of beer or flavoured milk are stacked inside a tiny café-style fridge, and you might find a decommissioned massage chair or mechanical weight scale languishing in a corner. Sentō are shrines to simple instruments of comfort and convenience—many of which you will see in Steam Dreams.

Cold water faucet at Mibu-yu in Nakagyo Ward, Kyoto

steam dreams : bath ar tefact s on display This exhibition traces the progression of Japanese bath culture from over 150 years ago to today, including design transitions from wooden to tiled floors, the implementation of a gender division, and the visual connection to nature achieved through mural artistry. Historical photographs from the Kjeld Duits collection depict the evolution of the public bath from the late 1800s to the mid 1900s. The distinct architectural and atmospheric qualities of sentō today are captured by Kōtaro Imada in his photographic work. Artist and manager of well-known Tokyo sentō Kosugi-yu, Honami Enya offers a glimpse into daily sentō life with intricate watercolour illustrations that draw on the bathhouse’s architectural blueprint. The exhibition is framed by a younger generation seeking to inherit antiquated craft skills before sentō are rendered obsolete. Out of the three remaining masters, Mizuki Tanaka is Japan’s youngest and only female penki-eshi (sentō mural painter) active today. With her murals, Tanaka is attempting to revitalise a practice traditionally occupied exclusively by men. The mural commissioned for this exhibition is a humble gesture to Tanaka’s expansive paintings that impress the walls of sentō across Japan.

Change rooms at Mibu-yu in Nakagyo Ward, Kyoto

Another artist, Toshizō Hirose, uses the long-established technique of hanko (stamp)-making to create designs signifying the unique features of every sentō he visits across Japan. Hirose has also created a new hanko for this exhibition and it is on offer for attendees to use as the instigator for their own sentō pilgrimage. Revival, restoration, preservation and future-thinking are key references for Steam Dreams artists. These themes are reflected in the objects rescued from demolished or soon-to-be closed sites. The Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture collection offers various sentō ephemera, many of which are still in use today.

The Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi collection displays fragments of tiles of historical significance, as well as tile samples illustrating past design trends. New and old artefacts further highlight ongoing artisanal practices that produce painstakingly handcrafted objects for the communal bath. Finally, the living and thriving local sentō community is represented by Steam Dreams. Katsura-yu, an unassuming but much-loved public bath located in a quiet neighbourhood of Kyoto, has contributed a series of handmade tiles that normally adorn their change room ceiling. Created by both the owners and their customers, the cheerful ‘Yu’-themed art tiles encapsulate the true essence of sentō today—community, continuity and unpretentiousness.

steam dreams : reading material The texts collected in this publication offer a unique range of focus areas, bringing together four distinct perspectives from individuals working in and around the world of sentō. In ‘Japanese Tile Culture Cultivated in Sentō’, Nodoka Murayama, Curator at the Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi writes about the rich history of tiles used in bathhouses, providing insight into how they have proliferated and changed over time. In ‘The Preservation of Sentō, an Urban Communication Hub’, Haruka Kuryū reflects on sentō as a residential safety net and place of connectivity and details the archival and preservation work of Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture. As an official ambassador for the National Sentō Association, Stéphanie Crohin provides unique insights into the cultural and social aspects of bathing. She shares these with us in her essay, ‘The Art of Bathing in Japan’. Reprinted in this publication is also the ‘Overview’ from How To Take A Japanese Bath, a poetic instructional guide by artist, writer and aesthetics expert Leonard Koren.3

A selection of drawings from the original book by manga artist, painter and illustrator Suehiro Maruo are also featured. Steam Dreams and, by extension, this exhibition catalogue, invite you to contemplate how Japanese public bathing has evolved over time, surviving the perpetual currents of change. Will sentō continue adapting to new culture? We are excited to bring together a community of people who strive to remember this time-honoured practice by surveying its rituals, etiquette, design and social impact. With Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath, we contemplate the past whilst looking to the future of sentō— whatever it may hold. 

endnotes 1 Super sentō are large health spas that have evolved from the traditional indoor/ outdoor style of bathing popularised by onsen. They are modern and upscale and usually feature a variety of facilities, including multiple hot and cold baths, saunas, spa treatments and restaurants or cafes. 2 Smith, Bruce and Yoshiko Yamamoto. 2001. The Japanese Bath, Gibbs Smith: Layton, UT, p. 88. 3 Koren, Leonard. 1992. How to Take a Japanese Bath. Stone Bridge Press: Berkeley, CA.

the preservation of sentō, an urban communication hub Haruka Kuryū Director, Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

“In our country, the bathhouse is our public square.” These are the words of an exchange student from Greece. Arriving in Japan alone and not used to life in Tokyo, they ended up in a sentō and at last felt able to connect with people and find peace of mind. Even without really participating in the conversation, sentō allow you to share space and sense the presence of other people. In our modern, urban lives, where communication is lacking, sentō have become an even more valuable place than ever before. Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture first became involved with sentō in 2012. Our focus on sentō started as part of our activities to uncover the regional charms of Bunkyō Ward, Tokyo. At the time, there were 11 sentō in the area and within four years that number had decreased to six. We were witnessing the vanishing of sentō at tremendous speed right before our eyes. This is part of a larger historical trend. In 1965, there were more than 2,600 sentō in Tokyo, but today, that number has dropped to 500. We originally began our research because we were charmed by sentō’s kitsch style, however over time, we found ourselves drawn to their relationship to ‘the local ecosystem’, in which sentō play a central role. Turning local scrap wood and well water into resources, these shared bathtubs are the ultimate local ecosystem. Sentō have immeasurable potential as a safety net for a wide variety of social issues, from day-to-day care for the elderly and child-rearing outside of the family framework, to the provision of clean water during times of disaster.

Survey drawing of Otome-yu in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo

Last day of Tsukino-yu in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo

The elderly people who visit every day as their daily pleasure, the familiar neighbours who seem a part of the family, the students with no local relatives who have made sentō a second home . . . when sentō close down, where will they go? The problem of sentō’s decline can be perceived as the loss of urban communication hubs. We might even say that to preserve a sentō is to preserve an area’s community and to revitalise a sentō is to revitalise a community. Tokyo is being rebuilt according to the logic of economics. Large blocks taken up by sentō are being converted into more profitable apartment buildings and paid parking lots. Again and again, we have seen situations where the closure of sentō is followed by local shops vanishing, old tenement houses with no baths becoming vacant, and the distinctive look of the area changing completely. If we could avoid reaching this wretched ending, by creatively preserving and making practical use of the more than 500 sentō still in business, Tokyo would be sure to become an even more fascinating city. It is some small consolation that through our activities, we have worked hard to make use of items rescued from closed down sentō that share the history of their regions and continue the local

Top: Collection of the mural painting from Tsukino-yu

Bottom: Demolition of Otome-yu

communities that existed there. Part of this work involves renting vacant houses and warehouses, creating ‘local hubs’ in place of sentō and managing them as local salons. In recent years, there has been an increase in similar renewal projects, where sentō are restored with a new functionality, such as a shared office space, a café, a gallery, or even an izakaya. In a city like Tokyo, where the streetscape changes rapidly, it is delightful to see these buildings used with such care and appreciation. Meanwhile, as mentioned previously, the original function of sentō may have even more future potential for local communities. Currently, with some overseas financial support, another team named Sentō and Neighbourhood is repairing a tenement house attached to Inari-yu, an active sentō in the Kita ward of Tokyo. The 90-year-old building will soon feature a salon which locals can visit. It was once customary for sentō to display a row of signs from local shops and in return, these shops would finance sentō’s repainting of Mt Fuji murals. The community supported its sentō. The Inari-yu repair project aims to further develop the potential of sentō as a place for community, while also reconstructing its relationship with the local area. Through trial and error, we hope that this sentō can support the region. And, while appreciation of sentō in Japan cannot keep up with the speed of sentō’s decline, we sense a glimmer of hope in the way sentō are beginning to be treasured abroad, as can be gleaned through our project and this exhibition. When the COVID-19 crisis reaches its end and you pay a visit to Japan, we hope that in addition to the onsen, you will step through the door of our normal, our everyday: our sentō. 

japanese tile culture cultivated in sentō Nodoka Murayama Curator at Mos aic Tile Mus eum, Tajimi

The star of architectural decoration that shows off the spacious indoor area of any sentō is the tile. In sentō, or public bathhouse, tiles only came into common usage in the Taishō era, however, sentō still contain the largest quantity and most diverse range of tiles of any Japanese interior. These days, sentō in Japan have seen a drastic decline compared to their heyday, but there are still many fans who long for the days when they were the centre of local communities. Many books that introduce sentō with photos and illustrations have been published for enthusiasts. In these books, tiles almost always appear as a highlight of sentō and one of their charms. In particular, works by Shinobu Machida, a researcher of popular culture, are frequently accepted as fundamental knowledge on sentō tiles and the sheer volume of information and photographs Machida has collected over many years from sentō around the country are certainly worthy of mention. In addition, there are many valuable works that compile historical records, including Sentō kantei (Bathhouse certification), compiled from original source material, Takao Ōnishi’s Gifu sentō monogatari (Tales of sentō in Gifu), a collection of sentō from Gifu prefecture, and the catalogue from the Sentō and Yokohama exhibition, held in Yokohama city in 2018. Based on this information, I would like to introduce the features of sentō tiles and their changes over time in this essay.

Mosaic painting from former bathhouse Tokiwa-yu, Permanent Exhibition (4th floor), Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi

Tiles started to be used in sentō from the Taishō era (starting around 1910) onwards, because at almost the same time in Meiji 43 (1910), Jirōmaro Murase of Fujimi-yaki in Aichi Prefecture and Keizō Nose of Danto on Awaji Island in Hyogo Prefecture both achieved machine-made domestic production of dust-processed tiles. Both developers graduated from the ceramics department of Tokyo Higher Technical School and apprenticed under Germany’s Gottfried Wagner. Wagner was one of the key figures in not just the tile, but Japan’s entire ceramics industry, and many of the people who received guidance from him, either directly or indirectly, went on to play major roles in Japanese ceramics.

Another reason for the proliferation of tiles in sentō was the spread of health ideologies, such as the idea of ‘movement for life improvement’. As interaction with Western cultures increased, criticisms were raised regarding the unsanitary conditions, including mould and rot in Japan’s plumbed areas such as bathrooms, lavatories and kitchens, which primarily used wood, paper and earth. Tile usage began to be recommended, and there was an increase in demand, particularly for white tiles, which offered a sense of cleanliness. It is said that as this trend for white tiles continued, artists began to paint on them, creating picture tiles. The exact details of how this started are not clear, but from the period following the Great Kantō Earthquake (1923) to the early days of the Shōwa era (1926 onwards), there was a rush of sentō construction in Tokyo, and in the midst of this, the Kutani-yaki-style over-glazed tiles sold by Rineido in Kanazawa (Ishikawa Prefecture) were very popular. There was a time when these picture tiles, which featured the engraved signature of manufacturer Rineido, as well as the tile’s painter, could be seen in the majority of sentō in the heart of metropolitan Tokyo. It was in the latter half of the 1940s, after the end of the Pacific War, that Kasahara-chō in the former Toki District (now Kasahara-chō in Tajimi City) became one of the largest tile producing regions in Japan. The production of tiles in Kasaharachō began early in the Shōwa era, when a local named Itsuzō

Left: Kutani-yaki-style over-glazed tiles from former bathhouse Otome-yu, Permanent Exhibition (4th Floor), Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi Right: Otome-yu in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo

Yamauchi took development of the previously mentioned interior tiles in a different direction. This was the beginning of the glazed porcelain mosaic tiles developed by Yamauchi. Yamauchi’s small, colourful tiles were glazed, which meant almost no water absorbency, while their porcelain material fired at high temperatures ensured that they were hard to break. The system of mass production of Yamauchi’s tiles was developed in the Kasahara-chō region but their market expanded internationally, which made it possible to obtain the tiles at a comparatively low price. This caused them to spread far and wide into ordinary households. These colourful tiles with no water absorbency were eagerly adopted in sentō as well. Because they were so small, the tiles were easy to attach to curved surfaces and were placed everywhere from bathtubs to dressing rooms. Sentō’s high ceilings and large wall spaces turned into canvases and huge, pictorial displays, from Mt Fuji to waterfront landscapes reminiscent of Europe, came to life through the assemblage of tiny mosaic tiles. By Shōwa 40 (1965), it was said that many workshops making these sorts of mosaic tile creations existed in the area around Tajimi City. These days, with a decrease in opportunities to construct new sentō, there has also been a dramatic drop in orders for murals crafted from mosaic tiles and the number of craftsmen engaged in this sort of tile production has dwindled to a handful. Tiles, too, have entered an era of change. 

Hakusan-yu, Kotō Ward, Tokyo

the art of bathing in japan Stéphanie Crohin Official ambass ador for the Nation al Sentō Ass ociation

I know of no better way to experience and feel Japanese culture deeply than by visiting a local bathhouse called sentō. Sentō offer a mix between wellbeing and cultural heritage that appeals to all the senses. After WWII, many Japanese people did not have their own bath, so it was common to go to public baths on a daily basis. Nowadays, as most Japanese houses have a bathroom, the usage of sentō has somewhat changed. Washing the body is just one of the reasons people visit sentō today. Often, they go for the relaxation benefits offered by sentō’s various large bathtubs. In addition to improving health and beauty, some visit sentō for their community aspects and sometimes simply because of their aesthetic. The merits of sentō are felt in the body and soul. Sentō are like mini spas with their own history, which makes every bathhouse original and unique.

Ayame-yu, Izunagaoka

what are s entō? Sentō are most often run by a family, with customs passed down through generations. The word sentō (銭湯) first appeared in 1401. It is made up of two kanji: the first, ‘sen’ refers to the money unit; the second kanji, ‘yu’, simply means hot water. So, during the Sengoku era (1467–1615), you had to pay 1 sen to enter a bathhouse in Tokyo, which would equate to around 200 yen ($2.50) today. The current cost of entry in Tokyo is 470 yen. The price of a visit to sentō is determined by prefecture. Sentō flourished during the Edo period (1603–1868). Edo people were incredibly careful about their bodily cleanliness and placed importance on their physical appearance. Also common during this time was the use of furoshiki (traditional Japanese wrapping cloth), today adapted to wrap up gifts or bento boxes, although at that time people used it to bring clean clothes and bath belongings inside. Nowadays, it is common for the third or fourth generation of a family to run a bathhouse. I even know a place in Tokyo run by the tenth generation of descendants!

the charms of s entō Although most Japanese homes now have fully equipped bathrooms with a bath and shower, a visit to sentō is appealing in its own way. For me, the principal charms of sentō are health, beauty, community and art.

Shirahama-onsen, Himeji

healt h a n d b ea u t y Aside from offering a place to wash the body, sentō are places to feel rejuvenated, in both body and mind. A sort of restoration of the body. The quality of water is certainly a part of the beauty aspect. I get asked a lot about the difference between sentō and onsen. While onsen is a well-known term among foreigners, sentō is still not commonly known outside Japan. Onsen refers to thermal or mineral water—essentially a hot spring, whether it is of volcanic or geothermal origin, whereas sentō refers to a public bathhouse. Since most sentō draw water from deep below ground, some sentō can qualify as onsen too. It is said that almost anywhere in Japan an onsen can be found. It is also said that you can draw onsen water almost everywhere in Japan, and you can be sure that if you visit a sentō in a popular hot spring resort, all the bathhouses would be onsen.

I once visited a sentō in Oita City, where its elderly owner explained that the water had to be drawn from 750 meters underground for it to be the perfect temperature. Less depth would make the water too hot and require the addition of cold water. However, sentō owners won’t mix pure mineral water with tap water—this is in order to maintain the benefits mineral water offers for skin and overall health. In Tokyo, you can find around 45 onsen sentō and many bath houses with an outdoor bathtub. Onsen water is not necessarily hot—cold water baths are called reisen (cold mineral spring).

Shingetsu-yu, Toshima Ward, Tokyo (closed)

As for the cleansing of the mind, on top of deep relaxation, visiting sentō offers a moment of focus and care of the body without any outside distraction—no social media, no text messages, no work—it’s like being in your own bubble. The calming sounds of water flowing, sound resonating from tiles, bubbles flying, voices muted by the steam, all these make for an ideal meditative state. For four years now, I have been working at the front desk of a sentō twice a week where I have observed these positive effects on bath-goers. As the person welcoming customers, I can see firsthand how their complexion appears lighter, their skin brighter and of course, they give me a sincere smile upon leaving. Additionally, this traditional form of communal bathing has, in my opinion, a positive impact on the development of a healthy body image for young people. Inside sentō, most people keep a benevolent gaze upon others—there is no judgement nor body comparison and most of all, you are among a diversity of real bodies. It feels like such a breath of fresh air compared to the constant display of unrealistic bodies that can be seen in the media or on social media. Sentō may help put aside one’s insecurities, encouraging acceptance of one’s appearance, little by little. I believe this need for reassurance is very important regardless of age. A young woman visiting sentō will be able to feel more comfortable in her own body as she realises that the other women around her all have their own imperfections, and that’s okay—despite their unique bodies, they all belong. In the bath, there is no more place for shame: this young woman should feel accepted and the more she repeats the experience, the faster she should be able to come to terms with her body image. For me, sentō are a kind reminder that we all need to let go of the pressure that comes with the perfection of the social media world.

Hanazono shin-onsen, Nara

com m u n it y I believe sentō are some of the best places here in Japan to meet and share valuable time with locals. There are many ways to enjoy a visit to a sentō, whether you’re looking for a human connection through interacting with other bath-goers, or by silently connecting with surrounding people by enjoying a bit of peace and quiet in the bath. When visiting a new city in Japan, I will always recommend people take advantage of the community aspect of sentō by asking regular customers or owners for advice regarding interesting places to see, things to do, favourite restaurants in the area, etc. I believe that there is no better guidebook or website than the information heard in the bath! The role of sentō is also critical for the neighborhood. Among the daily bathers, many are living alone, some are elderly . . . but the customers will be eager to help a person in need of assistance. A friend of mine (a fourth generation sentō owner) will call his older or fragile customers during the hot summer days to make sure they are doing fine. The role of sentō goes beyond ‘basic’ bathing services and I feel that this crucial function is often underestimated.

To close up the community topic, I would like to use the expression hadaka no tsukiai in Japanese. It literally means ‘naked socialisation’ but translates as ‘completely honest relationship’. It reflects on the simple fact of sharing time with one another while naked. It means: come as you are, as long as you show respect to others (especially to the elderly); in here, there is no social distinction, no rich or poor, no boss versus employee. In the bath we all share the same value. I really feel that the comforting feeling procured by sentō comes not only from the baths but from the people as well. Sentō offer a special community where you feel at home. As a tip for first goers: I would recommend a simple ‘konnichiwa’ upon entering the room; it will attract friendly smiles and people will kindly help you if you seem lost.

Tsuru no yu, Edogawa Ward, Tokyo

art Art is truly another treasured aspect of sentō. Indeed, sentō are places to bathe, relax, share and also enjoy art! From the architecture of the building, through to the potential garden, to the tiny tiles leading into the bath . . . sentō have a multitude of design and art aspects. You can still find traditional miyazukuri buildings, mainly in the Kantō area surrounding Tokyo. Miyazukuri are constructions built in the same way temples and shrines are: with an all-wood structure and a very high ceiling (approximately eight metres) that let the steam rise. The similarity between these different constructions, according to many stories I have heard from sentō owners, is related to a belief that grew after the Great Kantō Earthquake of the 1920s. People thought that having the same symbolic constructions as those found in temples and shrines, which are symbols of peace and serenity, would relieve the hearts of the visitors. Some of these sentō buildings are registered as Cultural Property of Japan (bunkazai). The interiors of sentō often hide wonderful pieces of art, such as paintings, tiles or mosaics. As expected, representations of Mt Fuji are very popular among traditional sentō. Also called penki-e, these are amazing renditions that only three painters in Japan continue to depict. They are, respectively: Kiyoto Maruyama (85 years old), Morio Nakajima (75 years old) and Mizuki Tanaka (37 years old), whose work is featured in this exhibition. The completion of a full mural typically takes a day and thus needs to be scheduled on a closed day. Due to the humidity, a mural must be painted again every one to three years.

Teikoku-yu, Arakawa Ward, Tokyo

Mitake-yu, Minami-Uwara

Other than Mt Fuji, you can enjoy various sceneries, in particular depictions of the sentō’s local area and regional landscapes. Exploring sentō across Japan is also a way to spice up any trip by discovering new places. In some sentō you may find replicas of famous paintings from artists such as René Magritte or PierreAuguste Renoir, typically covering the tiles. Somewhere else, you may appreciate sceneries from overseas, such as dreamy castles in Switzerland or even Hawaiian resorts . . . each sentō interior has a different story to tell, you will always be surprised. I deeply feel that sentō are a wonderful and unique part of the cultural heritage of Japan, which deserves to be known worldwide for all the wonderful aspects they provide. Let’s Yu! 

Excerpt from How To Take A Japanes e B ath

Leonard Kore n Il l u st rat i ons Su e hi ro M a r u o

Overview Bathing in Japan has always been more about getting pure than about getting clean. After all, the act of scrubbing the body free of dirt always takes place outside the tub. Only after the body is clean does the bather finally enter the water.

In ancient times—1,000 years ago—

the “bath” was a natural hot pool, one of thousands created by Japan’s proximity to a tectonic crash zone. Then the impurities exorcised by the bath were such things as death, disease, and menstrual blood. Today, the typical Japanese tub is a hollow of molded plastic and fiberglass, located indoors, and just big enough to sit in with your legs folded up to your chin. Still, the object is the same—not simply to rid yourself of the befoulment of the physical world but to cleanse the mind and spirit until the body is in tune with

the forces of Nature. In the West, one works to avoid sin and to attain God’s glory in the next life. In Japan, spiritual dirt is something that attaches to us all— like the reek of hair pomade or tobacco smoke—in the course of living, and can be easily removed by a daily bath.

Records shows that Buddhist temples

in the 8th century maintained steam baths, sponsored in part by donations from wealthy nobles hoping to gain spiritual merit. The wealthy would personally assist in the bathing of the poor and sick, urged on by the example of the beautiful Empress Komyo. The empress was said to have a light emanating from her, indicating her high spiritual advancement. One day the light went out. She attributed this to her own lack of devotion and swore to bathe one thousand of the imporverished and infirm of all ages and sexes. The last person who came to her was a leper—or perhaps the Buddha disguised as a leper. But the

empress did not hesitate, and upon bathing him immediately her aura returned.

The first commercial public bath—

or sento—was built in the 1590s, and entrepreneurs throughout the country soon were opening up their own bathhouses. Food, conversation, games, and sexual pleasures became a part of the bath scene. Water replaced steam. In the late 19th century the government banned mixed-sex bathing. But the sento remained the equivalent of the medieval European well—the place where the community gathered to see and be seen, to exchange news and gossip.

With the construction of modern

housing, the sento is disappearing at a rapid rate from urban Japan. But over 12,000 still exist. Many have attached laundromats, so that your clothes can soak at the same time you do. Public baths are generally open from four in the afternoon until midnight. In their

egalitarian atmosphere you can get warm, chat with your neighbors (many of whom have baths at home but come to enjoy the sento anyway), and enjoy a generous volume of architectural space. Often there is a striking mural of a street scene or landscape on the back wall that you can lose yourself in as you sink into the tub.

Almost every sento adheres to the

same basic plan: At the entrance you remove your shoes. Then you walk beyond a curtain or sliding door to the men’s or women’s side, where you pay the attendant the equivalent of about two dollars. Then you undress and, with your bath kit (shampoo, washcloth, etc.), move on to the washing and soaking area.

A more naturalistic version of

the sento can be found at any of the thousands of hot springs (onsen) throughout the Japanese countryside. The bathing environment here usually includes a sensitive use of wood, stone,

and other natural elements such as ferns and waterfalls. Onsen baths usually have men’s and women’s sections, but the farther you go from the big cities, the less important are divisions by gender. When the baths are actually outdoors (rotenburo) there is often no separation between the sexes at all. Here, a deft use of the tenugui, an elongated cotton washcloth, provides as much modesty as is required. (After the bath, this same washcloth is used as a drying towel— wrung out and used over and over again like a sponge on the body.)

The home bath is an altogether

different experience, since it is solitary and confined. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the nuclearization of the Japanese family, and as such its ascendancy may have dire consequences for the traditional culture. Drawing a full bath every day when a shower would do, particularly if you’re living alone, is what the Japanese call mendokusai: a bother.

But the old ways die hard, and this is immediately noticeable even in the most modern Japanese apartment: the vulgar toilet is almost always in a different compartment from where the body is bathed and purified. The bath in Japan remains that special place where the mind is cleansed as the body steeps in its own physicality.

NOTE :

The Japanese word for bath is furo.

Water is kept very hot in most Japanese baths, much hotter than in the conventional American hot tub. If you are pregnant, older, or have any serious medical—particularly heart- or circulation-related—problems, check with a physician about the advisability of Japanese-style bathing.

ALSO:

Although

Japanese revelers sometimes consume alcoholic beverages prior to bathing, particularly at onsen inns, this is not recommended.

ex h i b it i o n i m a g e s 45

honami enya

I first discovered sentō while on temporary retirement from my previous position at an architectural firm, which had brought about health issues for me. The relaxing environment of the sentō healed my body and soul, and I began to draw illustrations out of a desire to share that appeal with others. My sentō diagrams are works that utilise a drawing technique called ‘isometric’ to depict the sentō from a diagonal, top-down view. My wish is for you to enjoy the broad and varied charms of sentō, such as the interaction between people in the bathroom, the different methods for enjoying baths and saunas, their architectural fascination, the delightful sentō accessories, and that blissful moment when you first step out of the bath.

Left: Honami Enya. Kyōnan Yokujō Illustration, 2018

Above: Honami Enya, Ōkura-yu Illustration, 2018

Honami Enya, Yakushi-yu Illustration, 2018

Honami Enya, Shōwa-yu Illustration, 2018

Honami Enya, Daikoku-yu Illustration 1, 2018

Honami Enya, Daikoku-yu Illustration 2, 2018

Honami Enya, Kuaparesu Illustration, 2018

Honami Enya, Kosugi-yu Illustration, 2018

toshizō hirose

The hanko (stamps) I designed for my sentō pilgrimage have been mounted onto square panels. The original hanko are actually 30mm square in size, but for this display I enlarged them and added colour at random. Please enjoy the ambience of the stamp collection made by this sentō pilgrim. I’m also delighted to share with you the Sydney-yu hanko I created especially for this exhibition. Sentō and hanko are both enjoyable parts of Japanese culture.

Above: Toshizō Hirose, Stamp ‘Sydney-yu’, 2020 Right: Toshizō Hirose, Sentō Stamp Panels, 2015-2020

kōt a ro i m a d a

Even in this day and age when it has become normal for the family home to have a bath, people still gather and bathe together in sentō and then return home. Such everyday routines still exist, and so I have photographed the owners who quietly support these customs. By photographing them, I believe there will be people who will see my work and visit sentō. They will also inspire memories of sentō that have since closed down. I don’t know what inspirations I might offer to viewers through my work on Tokyo Sentō, but it’s my hope that I’m able to fulfil even a small part of my role as a photographer through this work.

Kōtaro Imada, Edogawa-ku Tokiwa-yu, 2019

Kōtaro Imada, Katsushika-ku Atami-yu, 2008

Kōtaro Imada, Itabashi-ku Hanano-yu, 2017

Kōtaro Imada, Nakano-ku Matsumoto-yu, 2019

Kōtaro Imada, Kita-ku Inari-yu, 2018

Kōtaro Imada, Nerima-ku Tatsuno-yu, 2016

Kōtaro Imada, Ōta-ku Daini Hinode-yu, 2017

Kōtaro Imada, Arakawa-ku Teikoku-yu, 2008

Kōtaro Imada, Taito-ku Misuji-yu, 2007

Kōtaro Imada, Kodaira-shi Kodaira Yokujō, 2018

Kōtaro Imada, Meguro-ku Daikoku-yu, 2017

mizuki tanaka

Murals are often painted onto the walls of sentō bathing areas, and for many years, Mt Fuji was a featured image. The murals for the male and female bathroom walls can be completed in a day, using long ladders and other painters’ tools. Only four paint colours are prepared in advance: red, blue, yellow and white. All the colours needed for a traditional sentō mural can be created by combining these four colours. In addition to Mt Fuji, a sight

Mizuki Tanaka, Japanese Public Bath Mural, 2020

people are very familiar with and admire, the murals may feature other symbols of luck such as pine trees, which are said to signify long life. The themes and colours used may reflect the sentō owner’s tastes, and you can sense the character of each sentō from its paintings. These artworks are created by specialty artisans; in Japan there are currently only three such artisans.

bunkyo youth society of architecture

Sansuke Bucket, Otome-yu, Date unknown

Faucets, Date unknown

Various well-worn items are on display, including taps, buckets, stools, and clothes baskets from Otome-yu and Tsuki-no-yu, which were obtained when they closed down. The bathmat is made from recycled fabrics that have been hand-sewn together, and was used with great care by the sentō patrons. Some standard items include bathing supplies sold at sentō, thermometers and shoe horns. Also shown is a collection of objects that share memories of a Tokyo neighbourhood no longer to be found, such as custom-made noren (curtains hung in the entranceways of sentō). Furthermore, there are photobooks of all 11 sentō that existed in the Bunkyo ward in 2012, allowing you to appreciate the differing charms of each individual sentō. Five of these sentō have since been demolished, making these records all the more precious now.

Wash Buckets, Date unknown

Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture, Sentō Booklets, 2013

duits

Duits is a boutique journalism and photography agency in Tokyo with an extensive archive of authentic images of old Japan. MeijiShōwa is the agency’s archive of vintage photographs, illustrations and maps of Japan between the 1860s and 1930s (Meiji, Taishō and early Shōwa eras). Many of these materials are extremely rare and can often not be licensed anywhere else. Featured in the exhibition are reproduced images of sentō and onsen that depict the evolution of the public bath from the late 1800s through to the mid-1900s. The photographs on display consist of works that were originally collotype postcards with hand colouring, colour lithograph postcards, albumen prints and gelatin silver prints.

Kimbei Kusakabe, Women in Bath, c. 1890s

Artist unknown, Bathing Soldiers, c. 1920s

Seiundo Studio, Women and Children Bathing (Noboribetsu Onsen), c. 1920s

Kanda Sakurai, Shizuoka Izusan Onsen, c. 1930s

Nabezo, Bathing Woman (Joyu no nyuyoku—An actress taking a bath), 1908

Artist unknown, Bathing Women (O-Hana-san bathing with her sister), c. 1900s

Artist unknown, Bathing Women, c. 1890s

IJsbrand Rogge, Public Bathhouse, c. 1950s

Artist unknown, Bathing Women (Two Nude Women Taking a Bath), c. 1880s

katsura-yu

Left: Katsura-yu interior

Right: Katsura-yu, Sentō Ceiling Community Panels, 2014-2020

When our customers came to bathe, we asked them to express their thoughts and feelings while at Katsura-yu, or the things that came to mind while submerged in the hot water, using the hiragana character ゆ (yu). They were given complete freedom to decide on colours, stickers, design, etc., and they created a wide variety of ゆ for us, from completely original creations to works reminiscent of things seen elsewhere (such as pop culture symbols). The sentō panels they created adorn the gōtenjō (a series of square sunken panels in the ceiling) of Katsura-yu.

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Katsura-yu, Sentō Ceiling Community Panels, 2014-2020

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mosaic tile museum, tajimi

Mosaic tiles are mostly discarded when dilapidated buildings are demolished, except in rare instances where they are used in famous architecture. When local tile production started to decline, residents of Tajimi felt that the industry needed a way to maintain pride in its local tile manufacturing heritage. A few volunteers set about salvaging tiles and other precious items from buildings earmarked for demolition, and asking closing down tile factories for product samples. The volunteers fondly recall how their requests were initially met with bewilderment, but their activities have resulted in the preservation of the extremely rare materials forming the Museum’s culturally significant and extensive collection.

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Wall Segment with Square Mosaic Tiles, Hiromi-yu (Kani-shi), c. 1950s

Signboards, Otome-yu (Bunkyō-ku, Tokyo), Date unknown

Saji Tile, Nagoya Majolica Tiles, Sakura-yu, c. 1920s

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list of works

Sentō Curtain, Tsukino-yu c. 2000s Cloth 1740mm x 532mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

8. Kanda Sakurai Shizuoka Izusan Onsen c. 1930s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 273mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

Artist unknown Bathing Women c. 1890s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 227mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

9. IJsbrand Rogge Public Bathhouse c. 1950s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 280mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

Artist unknown Bathing Women (Two Nude Women Taking a Bath) c. 1880s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 220mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

10. Nabezo Bathing Woman (Joyu no Nyuyoku— An Actress Taking a Bath) 1908 (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 312mm x 550mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

4. Kimbei Kusakabe Women in Bath c. 1890s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 230mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

11. Toshizō Hirose Sentō Stamp Panels 2015-2020 Paper, styrofoam 93mm x 93mm (size of individual panel) Courtesy: The artist

12. Toshizō Hirose Stamp ‘Sydney-yu’ 2020 Wood, resin rubber 33mm x 63mm x 33mm Commissioned for Steam Dreams / Courtesy: The artist

Artist unknown Bathing Women (O-Hana-San Bathing With Her Sister) c. 1900s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 275mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

6. Seiundo Studio Women and Children Bathing (Noboribetsu Onsen) c. 1920s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 276mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

13. Tokyo Sento Association Sentō Pilgrim Notebook 2007 Paper 148mm x 210mm Courtesy: The artist and Tokyo Sento Association

14. Kōtaro Imada Meguro-ku Daikoku-yu 2017 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

Artist unknown Bathing Soldiers c. 1920s (reproduction, 2020) Archival photographic print 260mm x 270mm Courtesy: Kjeld Duits Collection

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15. Kōtaro Imada Kita-ku Inari-yu 2018 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

23. Kōtaro Imada Nakano-ku Matsumoto-yu 2019 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

16. Kōtaro Imada Kita-ku Inari-yu 2018 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

24. Kōtaro Imada Kodaira-shi Kodaira Yokujō 2018 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

17. Kōtaro Imada Ōta-ku Daini Hinode-yu 2017 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

25. Kōtaro Imada Taito-ku Misuji-yu 2007 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

18. Kōtaro Imada Edogawa-ku Tokiwa-yu 2019 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

26. Wash Buckets Date unknown Plastic 230mm x 110mm (size of individual bucket) Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

19. Kōtaro Imada Itabashi-ku Hanano-yu 2017 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

27. Honami Enya Daikoku-yu Illustration 1 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

20. Kōtaro Imada Katsushika-ku Atami-yu 2008 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

28. Honami Enya Kuaparesu Illustration 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

21. Kōtaro Imada Nerima-ku Tatsuno-yu 2016 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

29. Honami Enya Kyōnan Yokujō Illustration 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

22. Kōtaro Imada Arakawa-ku Teikoku-yu 2008 Photographic paper 400mm x 500mm Courtesy: The artist

30. Honami Enya Ōkura-yu Illustration 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

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31. Honami Enya Kosugi-yu Illustration 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

39. Azmaya Bath Stool 2006 Kiso hinoki (Japanese cypress) 280mm x 170mm x 228mm Courtesy: Azmaya Co., Ltd.

32. Honami Enya Daikoku-yu Illustration 2 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

40. Makoto Koizumi Ambai Hinoki Bath Stool 2002 Kiso hinoki (Japanese cypress) 300mm x 200mm x 300mm Courtesy: Koizumi Studio and GEN Ltd.

33. Honami Enya Shōwa-yu Illustration 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

41. Thermometer Date unknown Wood, glass, metal 97mm x 600mm x 11mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

34. Honami Enya Yakushi-yu Illustration 2018 Watercolour on paper 370mm x 450mm Courtesy: The artist

42. Signboards, Otome-yu (Bunkyō-ku, Tokyo) Date unknown Plastic Various sizes Courtesy: Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi

35. Wall Segment with Square Mosaic Tiles, Hiromi-yu (Kani-shi) c. 1950s Porcelain 250mm x 300mm Courtesy: Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi 36. ‘Tsubame’ Swallow Brand Shoe Box Locks Date unknown Metal, wood 135mm x 105mm x 20mm Courtesy: Eloise Rapp

43. Saji Tile, Nagoya Majolica Tiles, Sakura-yu c. 1920s Semi-porcelain 75mm x 150mm (size of individual tile) Courtesy: Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi 44. Marugo Pottery, Kasahara-chō Tile Sample ‘Plate Pattern’ 1955-60 Paper, porcelain 535mm × 293mm (size of paper) Courtesy: Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi

37. Assorted Wooden Keys Date unknown Wood Various sizes Courtesy: Eloise Rapp

45. Faucet Date unknown Metal, plastic 55mm x 125mm x 145mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

38. Sansuke Bucket, Otome-yu Date unknown Wood 280mm x 230mm x 120mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

46. Faucet Date unknown Metal 350mm x 220mm x 70mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

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47. Naoshima Bath I♥ ︎湯 Imabari towels Date unknown Cotton 820mm x 330mm Courtesy: Simonne Goran 48. Goods Sold at Sentō Date unknown Soap, plastic, cloth Various sizes Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture 49. Shoehorn Date unknown Plastic 45mm x 425mm x 65mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture 50. Bath Mat c. 2010s Cloth 566mm x 500mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture 51. Rattan Basket Date unknown Wood (rattan) 460mm × 335mm × 250mm Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture

54. Mizuki Tanaka Japanese Public Bath Mural 2020 Paint, foam styrol 1200mm x 2700mm Commissioned for Steam Dreams / Courtesy: The artist 55. Bath Stools Date unknown Plastic 295mm x 220mm x 285mm (size of individual stool) Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture 56. Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture Sentō Booklets 2013 Paper Various sizes Courtesy: Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture Please note that not all works listed here are reflected in the catalogue documentation.

52. Noren (Curtains Hung in the Entranceways of Sentō), Kasahara-chō c. 1950s Fabric 1130mm × 1400mm Courtesy: Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi 53. Katsura-yu Sentō Ceiling Community Panels 2014-2020 Cardboard, wood 420mm x 420mm (size of individual panel) Courtesy: Katsura-yu

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ar tist s

Honami Enya is an illustrator and the manager (bantō) of Kosugi-yu, a sentō in Kōenji, Tokyo.

After his return to Japan, Imada graduated from the Nippon Photography Institute and in

After completing an architecture degree at Waseda University Graduate School, Enya worked in a well-known architecture firm, the workload of which caused her health to deteriorate. Enya was saved by the sentō she began to visit while in temporary retirement, which led to her deciding to share her sentō illustrations, entitled Sentō Diagrams, on social networking sites. These illustrations became so popular that Kosugi-yu reached out to offer her the position of bantō.

2005 apprenticed under Yoshinori Komatsu and worked on taking photographs for home builder advertisements. In 2006 he began to take photos using sentō as his main subject. Two years after that, Imada joined the Kawasumi Architecture Photograph Office. In 2014 he became a freelance photographer, and inherited the trade name of his father’s studio. While currently based in Tokyo, he takes architectural photographs throughout the whole of Japan

Toshizō Hirose is originally from Yokohama city in Kanagawa prefecture. Though he was once a programmer, in 2015 he became a freelance sentō hanko (stamp) designer, which he still does today. Since June 2014 he has had an ongoing column in sentō newspapers around Japan entitled Sentō Hanko E-gatari (Tales of sentō hanko art). As of January 2021 he has completed hanko for 250 bathhouses (111 of which are situated in Tokyo). Kōtaro Imada was born in Sapporo, Hokkaido. He was always close to his father who ran a photo studio, and so became familiar with cameras at a young age. Imada began to produce his own photographic works while traveling and working overseas, including working on stock farms in Australia. While travelling through Europe, he became interested in architecture; in particular, he was deeply impressed by the Basílica de la Sagrada Família in Barcelona.

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Mizuki Tanaka was born in Osaka in 1983 and grew up in Tokyo. While attending Meiji Gakuin University, she apprenticed under master sentō artist Morio Nakajima. After her graduation, Tanaka gained experience in the publishing industry doing editing work, and was the former editor of the art review site Kalonsnet. Since 2013, Tanaka has been creating sentō murals with her husband Yoshikazu Komamura through his company Handyman Komamura. In addition to her regular work creating sentō murals, she participates in activities that will get more people interested in sentō via the murals, such as exhibitions, events, and workshops. Tanaka has done mural pieces for corporations such as Audi Japan and BEAMS, and her exhibition history includes Mizuki Tanaka Sentō Mural Exhibition (Matsudai Nohbutai, 2014), EchigoTsumari Art Triennale Selected 100 Marginal Arts of Today (Matsudai Nohbutai Centre, Niigata, 2015), and more.

organis ations and institutions

Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture was founded in 2011 as a volunteer organisation for young people, specialising in the city and architecture related to the Bunkyo Ward in Tokyo. They rediscover the overlooked charms of the region from an architectural point of view, and share their values by promoting the appeal and new modes of engaging with sentō through various channels. Since 2012, Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture have been shining a spotlight on sentō, a local community hub, and have toured an exhibition entitled Sentō: Your Local Luxury Space, a research project on 11 active sentō in Bunkyo Ward. At the same time, they also gather records of sentō when they close down, hold summits to support sentō, conduct seismic evaluations of aging sentō, and propose plans for the restoration and alternative use of sentō that are still in business. In addition to sentō, the organisation researches a variety of subjects both large and small, from komainu (guardian lion-dog statues at Shinto shrines) to long-established ryokan (traditional Japanese inns). In recent years they have been furthering their examination of local communities and popular places in Bunkyo, and the focus of their work has greatly expanded to include places outside the ward as well. They are currently producing a documentary that shows the state of their activities, and also have many other crossover events and projects underway in cooperation with organisations in other regions.

Duits is a boutique journalism and photography agency in Tokyo with an extensive archive of authentic images of old Japan. On display in the exhibition are reproduced images of sentō and onsen that depict the evolution of the public bath from the late 1800s through to the mid1900s. Katsura-yu was established in 1929, with the goal of being a sentō with strong, vibrant roots in the local area. The owners focus on improved health, mutual interaction, and improved welfare for their customers, and strive to be a place where people feel able to relax both body and soul. In addition, Katsura-yu have inherited good old-fashioned traditions, whilst carrying out new endeavours and initiatives that follow more modern trends, and work to make the region of Katsura in Kyoto more active. Editors Note: Sadly, Junichi Muraya, the owner of Katsura-yu passed away late last year. He was very excited to be included in this exhibition and introduce his sentō to Australian audiences. We are honoured for the opportunity to share his contribution to sentō culture and the Katsura-yu community, and our deepest sympathies go out to his family and the devoted customers of Katsura-yu.

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Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi is located in Kasahara-chō, Tajimi city. Following years of preparation led by organisations representing the local mosaic tile industry, which boasts the country’s largest production volume of mosaic tiles, the museum opened in 2016. Terunobu Fujimori, the architect who designed the museum building, is internationally acclaimed for his highly original creations informed by architectural history and created a wonderfully unorthodox external appearance for the Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi inspired by clay quarries where clay and silica sand are extracted for use in tile production. The museum houses over 10,000 artifacts and other materials. Most have been collected over the years by local volunteers and kept at a facility named ‘Mosaic Roman-kan House’. The collection includes tile sample books/boards and tile products from the past, such as wash basins, bathtubs and export goods, as well as tools and utensils formerly in use. In addition to exhibiting objects and materials, the museum hopes to play a unique role in connecting people from diverse backgrounds through the medium of tile, leveraging its location in the heart of one of the country’s foremost tile-producing locales.

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authors

Eloise Rapp is a Sydney-based designer and educator specialising in textiles, material culture

Nodoka Murayama majored in Japanese and Asian Art History from the Graduate School

and sustainable systems. Rapp has ten years’ experience in design studios and as a lecturer and tutor at educational institutions including UTS, Tainan National University of the Arts in Taiwan and Vantan Design Institute in Tokyo. She curated The Intuitive Thread at The Japan Foundation Gallery in 2018, and recently she spent three years studying fibre arts in Kyoto, Japan and Tainan, Taiwan. She is currently a sessional academic in Art & Design at UNSW.

of Fine Arts, Tokyo University of the Arts. She worked as a part-time assistant at the University’s Department of History of Crafts before being appointed as curator of the Museum of Modern Ceramic Art, Gifu. Following her special exhibition on Tajimi’s mosaic tiles in 2009, Murayama moved on from her role at the Museum of Modern Ceramic Art in 2014 to lead the setup of the Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi. Shortly after the museum opened to the public, she was appointed as curator, where she continues to serve to this day.

Simonne Goran is Program Coordinator, Arts & Culture, at The Japan Foundation, Sydney and Programmer for the Japanese Film Festival in Australia. Her background as an artist working predominantly in sculptural forms is informed by animation and film. She has exhibited widely in art spaces and festivals in Sydney, and participated in group shows throughout Australia and Japan. Goran’s longstanding interest in Japanese art and culture led to her relocation from Sydney to Tokyo in 2014, during which she co-curated the exhibition SPVI II at Turner Gallery, Tokyo in 2015. Haruka Kuryū studied architecture at Waseda University before studying abroad in Venice, and is now a representative of the groups Sentō & Neighborhood and Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture. Following her time with NHK Art, Kuryū taught architecture at university before initiating projects to regenerate people’s interest in public bathhouses and their surrounds, showcasing the diverse charm of these regions. She runs regional forums utilising vacant houses as venues. Kuryū is currently a visiting researcher at Hosei University Research Center for Edo-Tokyo Studies.

Stéphanie Crohin was born in the south of France. In 2008 she spent a year as an exchange student at Rikkyo University before relocating to Japan in 2012, where she has lived since. As an author, photographer, lecturer and journalist specialising in sentō, Crohin was nominated by the Japan Association of Sentō Culture as the first official sentō ambassador. She continues to explore sentō all over Japan and has visited almost 1000 locations so far. She has also published two books, one about the art of sentō and a Tokyo sentō guidebook. Crohin is deeply engaged in sharing the charms of sentō and spreading Japanese bathing culture far and wide.

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acknowledgement s

The Japan Foundation, Sydney thanks the exhibiting artists and their representatives as well as the contributing organisations and institutions, authors and publishers for their generous support and assistance with this project.

exhi bi t i o n

c at a log u e

The Japan Foundation Gallery Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath February 12 – May 22, 2021

Editors Yurika Sugie Simonne Goran

Artists Honami Enya Toshizō Hirose Kōtaro Imada Mizuki Tanaka Organisations and Institutions Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture Duits Katsura-yu Mosaic Tile Museum, Tajimi Curated by Eloise Rapp and Simonne Goran Presented by The Japan Foundation, Sydney Yurika Sugie Simonne Goran Susan Bui Anne Lee Aurora Newton Annabelle Gorga Isabella Abelardo Design Daryl Prondoso Photography Docqment Supported by

Assistant Editors Anne Lee Eloise Rapp Contributing Authors Texts commissioned by The Japan Foundation, Sydney on the occasion of the Steam Dreams: The Japanese Public Bath exhibition. Eloise Rapp Simonne Goran Haruka Kuryū Nodoka Murayama Stéphanie Crohin Translation Cassiel Merricat Copyediting Nina Serova Design Daryl Prondoso Image Credits Page 3: © Simonne Goran Pages 7-11: © Eloise Rapp Pages 15-17, 21 (right): © Bunkyo Youth Society of Architecture Pages 19, 20, 21 (left): Courtesy of Nodoka Murayama Pages 23-34: © Stéphanie Crohin Pages 45-66, 83-84, 86, 100-103, 104 (top): © The Japan Foundation, Sydney. Photography by Docqment Pages 68-82: © Kōtaro Imada Pages 85, 87-88, 104 (bottom): © The Japan Foundation, Sydney Pages 90-98: © Kjeld Duits Collection Page 99: © Tomoki Yoshimura

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Reproduced Material ‘Overview’, How To Take A Japanese Bath by Leonard Koren, 1992. Stone Bridge Press: Berkeley, CA. Illustrations by Suehiro Maruo, How To Take A Japanese Bath by Leonard Koren, 1992. Stone Bridge Press: Berkeley, CA. Published by The Japan Foundation, Sydney Published on March 13, 2021 ISBN 978-0-6451243-1-6

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