Between light and paper - Japan's lanterns and the silent magic of light

If you stroll through the narrow streets of Kyoto at night, you might hear the soft clicking of bicycle chains, the distant clinking of dishes, and a soft, warm light hangs over everything. It can be seen on wooden door frames, above low entrances, on temple walls and bridges: round, cylindrical, sometimes oval shapes made of bamboo and paper that seem so delicate that you wonder how they can even withstand the wind and rain. These lanterns are called chochin and they are so commonplace in Japan that although they are everywhere, you rarely really notice them. But if you stop and take a closer look, you will recognize a piece of the Japanese soul in their soft glow. A combination of craftsmanship, history, spirituality and everyday beauty.

From practical light to cultural symbol

The history of chochin goes back a long way. They were already widespread in Japan in the 16th century. At that time, there was neither street lighting nor electric lamps. People carried their light with them, protected by a cover made of bamboo and paper that could be folded up. That was the trick: the frame was made of spiral-cut bamboo covered with fine washi paper. This meant that the lantern could be folded up when not in use. A piece of ingenious Japanese engineering long before the modern age.

The name Chochin literally means "portable light". Originally, it was a utility item for traveling, for temples, for night markets. But it soon began to become something more: Symbol, handicraft, spiritual sign. In temples, chochin were hung with painted characters dedicated to gods or guardian spirits. In towns, traders began to mark their stores with them. The practical lantern thus became a visual statement: "Here is light, here is life."

Today, centuries later, they still glow, even though the flame has long since been replaced by LEDs. But the shape, the feel, the atmosphere - all that has hardly changed.

The craft of light

Anyone who visits a traditional chochin workshop immediately understands why this craft is almost meditative. The cracking of the bamboo, the even turning of the frame, the stretching of the damp washi over the filigree structure: everything follows a rhythm that has been passed down through generations.

In places like Gifu or Fukui, workshops have been preserved where the old craft is still practiced. A good lantern is not simply glued, but built under tension, with the bamboo frame bent into a spiral shape so that it remains flexible and the lantern "breathes". The washi is carefully glued on, layer by layer, often with rice paste, and then coated with a clear varnish to make it more resistant. Finally, the moment comes when the lantern lights up for the first time. A moment that many craftsmen describe as almost ritualistic. Each lantern has its own personality - in the color, the lettering, the shape. In restaurants, red chochin with black lettering can often be seen, an invitation to enter. In temples, they are white, with the names of the patron deities written in calligraphy. And at festivals they hang in rows, each slightly different in tone, as if they are whispering to each other.

When the night awakens - Chochin in modern culture

Despite its deep roots, the chochin has remained surprisingly modern. In cities such as Tokyo, Osaka, Sapporo and Nagoya, they now form the visual backdrop for nightlife. In Izakaya districts in particular, the familiar red lanterns sway in the wind. Their light is like a promise: Warmth, conversation, food, life await here. Perhaps this is the reason why the chochin has never disappeared. It has found its place in the urban present. Even hip cafés or design stores are picking up on its shape again, sometimes minimalist in white, sometimes reinterpreted with geometric patterns or fabrics. At the same time, their cultural depth remains intact. At temple festivals, hundreds of lanterns hang in long rows. When they are lit, the atmosphere changes abruptly. Noise becomes a shimmer, chaos becomes a quiet glow.

Even in modern Japan, where neon lights bathe entire neighborhoods in bright light, the chochin has not lost its power. Perhaps precisely because of this. It is the opposite of glaring. It does not shine, it glows. It is not a light that attracts attention, but one that touches.

Traveling under the sign of the lantern

Anyone traveling in Japan will encounter the chochin in countless places. Sometimes as a silent companion, sometimes as the star of the scene. In Kyoto, they hang in front of traditional teahouses, often with hand-painted kanji whose brushstrokes are simply fascinating. In Asakusa, one of Tokyo's oldest districts, a giant red lantern marks the gate of the Sensō-ji temple, a truly iconic motif. And in small towns, far away from the big cities, chochin hang over narrow streets, bathing the pavement in golden light. At summer festivals, entire streets are decorated with lanterns. Children carry small chochin, families stroll through the streets, music plays and the smell of food fills the air. It is a kind of communal ritual: the light not only marks the festival, but also the connection between people.

Between past and present

Perhaps the fascination of the Chochin lies in the fact that it combines opposites: old and new, light and shadow, function and poetry. It has its origins in necessity - light was needed. But it has survived the centuries because it was never just practical. It has always been beautiful too, and beauty has a long tradition in Japan.