Shuji Nakagawa and Kitayama Sugi
Just a few miles north of Kyoto's streets, Nakagawa village rests within steep valleys where six centuries of history have settled quietly. Shuji Nakagawa of Kyoto Kitayama Maruta works here, carrying forward a forest shaped by necessity. Without broad rivers for timber, people grew slender cedar strong as iron, carried by hand up mountain paths. Lean soil etches tight growth rings. Sand from Bodai Waterfall polishes the wood to silk. Tea masters once found perfection in these trees, a beauty born from Kyoto's refinement and northern hardship.
The Daisugi Technique
Daisugi defines this craft. Dozens of straight trunks rise from one mother tree, a living form devised for steep slopes. Shuji Nakagawa prunes high in the canopy to ensure knot-free wood. The cuts heal smooth. Bark peels in summer heat. Sand and water alone bring the final luster, no coatings needed. The glow seems to come from within, crystallized from decades of care and human touch.
The Artisan's Forest
"These trees are like children raised with exacting love," Shuji Nakagawa says after decades with the forest. Each sapling shows its nature. The artisan climbs, envisioning its form twenty years ahead. Straight growth meets guiding hands. Dignity emerges. This relay of six or seven generations now rests in callused palms, scars marking a life tied to the trees.
Into Modern Spaces
Kitayama Sugi now reaches beyond alcoves. Kyoto Kitayama Maruta's wood appears in hotel lobbies and offices, carrying the forest's calm. Harvesting without felling the mother tree aligns with carbon farming, a permanent sink for our climate. Form and place may shift. The essence does not. This 600-year aesthetic, now sustainability's language, breathes steadily toward the next millennium.
