Expressions of love did not come in the form of hugs or verbal communication from my Japanese parents while growing up. Love showed up in other ways. My mother made sure my school lunch sandwiches were never soggy: Double wrapped with waxed paper, they were protected from the elements and the closing flap precisely folded into itself, so it wouldn’t fall apart. The sprig of parsley that was tucked within the cut of the sandwich added a touch of freshness. This was her signature of love — the attention to detail.
My parents were both from Tokyo and immigrated to the U.S. in the 1960s. Being bicultural has always felt like a blessing, giving me an additional perspective to appreciate the gems of both American and Japanese traditions. I owe my creative practice and love for the art of wrapping and packaging to my Japanese heritage, which considers wrapping to be an integral part of the gift itself, a reflection of the gift’s meaning and an expression of gratitude that honors the recipient.
When I had children of my own, I found myself caring about the details of their school lunches — enclosing notes and little packages. Later, when my daughter became an adult, she shared the joy of opening her lunch, telling me she could feel my presence even in my absence. I can’t help but recall my own childhood memories, recognizing the same unspoken expression of love that I felt but couldn’t articulate.
It was during the craze of the holidays one year that I set up a makeshift table as a gift-wrapping station in the basement of my house in San Francisco. Just as a writer might lay out pens, a journal, a cup of tea, and anything that helps make writing possible, I gathered into a basket the tools that make wrapping easy: scissors, hole punches, twine. I found myself lighting a candle when I came downstairs. It was as if I consciously orchestrated a moment of serenity for myself amid juggling work projects and activities raising three children.
It was in the stillness of silence that I could hear the voice of my heart. If any feelings of gratitude surfaced within me, they were sure to appear here as I folded and pleated paper, escaping in thought about what brought me to wrap a gift.
I recently visited the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe and came across her quote: “I found I could say things with colors and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way — things I had no words for.” This captures the essence of how the art of wrapping feels to me. It allows me a way to convey an intention, a wish or feelings of gratefulness that I have no words for.
Looking back, I now see that the artist within me was revealing itself in those early days in the basement as I made attempts to translate my inner emotions into a tangible form. Wrapping became a medium of expression, evolving into both my creative outlet and canvas for exploring art. I remember volunteering at my children’s schools, where my wrapping was often in deep appreciation of the teachers or for the community of supportive parent friends helping one another out.
My gift-wrapping world was suddenly launched into the public arena when I was selected in 2008 to participate in the Most Gifted Wrapper national competition sponsored by 3M. Along with other finalists around the country, I was flown to New York City where a competition was held at Rockefeller Center. I was the runner-up and was referred to as “the second best gift wrapper in the world” by the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper.
If there ever was a need for outward credibility or a credential for gift wrapping, I received it here. It led to invitations over the years to host workshops, exhibit my art, teach on the online platform Creativebug, and travel to places like Australia and Japan for talks and demonstrations on the art of wrapping.
One of the unexpected things that came my way was an invitation to appear on The Ellen DeGeneres Show. It was a surreal and fun experience, but a question she posed on air would haunt me for years: “Why bother wrapping a gift when everyone just rips open the paper and throws it away?” A good question, a profound question, but what bothered me was I couldn’t answer it with any depth or the true feelings I had for the art form. It felt akin to not sticking up for a misunderstood friend.
My wrapping work, fast-forward, was featured in the 2020/21 winter issue of American Craft magazine, and it caught the eye of a publisher who reached out to me about writing a book. What moved me in that moment was the invitation to publish a book on gratitude in association with my wrapping. I felt so wonderfully seen.
There is an undefinable Japanese term, wabi-sabi, that has always resonated with me as it pertains to appreciating the beauty found in the transient, in imperfection and simplicity. I was following writer Beth Kempton (who wrote a book on this subject) on Instagram, and she described wabi-sabi more deeply in the context of how one experiences life in a way that spoke to me. She was offering a giveaway for a seat in her book proposal class and to my huge joy and surprise, I was one of two people who won!
It was while working on the proposal that a mesmerizing memory of me as a young girl surfaced. It was of me watching my mother air out kimonos from a chest. My grandmother spent her life savings on these hand-stitched kimonos so her daughter could start her married life with belongings of the highest quality. But this gift had no use in my mother’s new life in the U.S. With no appropriate occasions, she never wore the kimonos.
Still, every summer, my mother would gently unwrap the kimonos, air them out, then rewrap them for storage. She did all of this with the utmost care and with feelings of deep gratitude. This reconnected me to emotions around the act of wrapping and to a form of expression that had to be felt and experienced. I captured this feeling in words and it became the introduction to my book, unleashing the writer in me to bring a voice to the soul behind the art of wrapping.
Why do we wrap our gifts and what makes it meaningful? How do we wrap in an intentional way that nurtures our well-being, and that of others and our environment? I felt like I was given a second chance to answer these questions and finally confront what haunted me all these years. Little did I know that writing a book would also lead me on a journey to understanding myself, and help me to heal from the painful loss of my mother many decades ago.
Last year, two of my children got married to the loves of their lives and my youngest daughter earned her doctorate. My husband and I also celebrated our 35th anniversary. I couldn’t help but think of my mother in these moments and how I wished she could have met my children, her grandchildren. It was a shared dream of ours to experience these milestone life experiences together into my adulthood. I know it would have brought us both, and my family, so much joy.
As I reflect on my creative journey, I realize that wrapping our gifts is not only an art form but a way to approach life. It’s a philosophy, a way to honor life’s gifts and the people we cherish. It’s a reminder to slow down, to be present, and to infuse our actions with love and intention. Wrapping is a way — my way — of manifesting gratitude, of saying, “I see you. I appreciate you. I honor you.”
PROCESS FOR REIMAGINING THE GIFT BOW: A Symbol of Gratitude
Gift bows are a joyful universal symbol. Even the emoji for a gift is a box with a bow. Using ribbons and bows as part of gift wrapping was not originally a Japanese tradition. As a child, I remember being excited about picking out shiny bows for birthday presents. However, I learned years later of the environmental impact of synthetic ribbons, with 38,000 miles of ribbon discarded annually (and impacting our landfills) in the U.S. alone.
Symbols are powerful, shaping our culture and values. What if we could create an eco-friendly version of the iconic bow? Inspired by monozukuri — a Japanese word meaning “the way to make things” and a philosophy with a deeper meaning of making with care and responsibility — I set out to do just that. Merging the Japanese appreciation for simplicity and purpose with the more vibrant Western tradition of gift giving, represents a blending of cultural elements.
Starting with a traditional red ribbon bow, I studied its form, appreciating how it bloomed like a flower. I wanted to know its story before starting to reimagine it in any other way. Beginning from a place of gratitude allowed me to appreciate the bow’s history before embarking on an innovative process of creating something new. Retaining its shape was necessary, hopefully making it easier for others to embrace a sustainable alternative.
Inspired by the poinsettia, I began cutting file folders into strips, shaping them into pointed leaves as a template. File folders have a built-in fold that makes shaping easier, but this bow can be made with any paper.
The most enjoyable part of making the bow is the selection of paper materials. There is an inherent artistry in the selection of the material for wrapping. Each choice — whether a color, an object that has an associated meaning, or a seasonal motif — reflects intention.
There is also something fulfilling about transforming underappreciated materials into something beautiful. I love reusing maps, outdated calendars and music sheets — papers that hold memories and meaning. Repurposing paint chip samples makes for a festive, colorful bow. I’ve made bows from old tickets and brochures from trips, creating tangible reminders of cherished memories. My family has written loving messages on bow strips, turning them into keepsakes of special moments. (If using lightweight paper like newspaper, I recommend doubling the paper.)
I keep recycled papers like kraft paper and eco-friendly options like washi on hand. I recently collaborated with Wrappily, a company that manufactures recyclable and compostable newsprint wrapping paper that can be used for wrapping and also be easily turned into bows.
This reimagined gift bow makes for an ideal embellishment on a gift, a way to artfully personalize what we want to express to someone. I recently learned the Cajun-French-inspired word lagniappe, meaning “a little something extra” and I fell in love with the term. It’s adding that “little something extra” element as part of the process of wrapping a gift that makes it meaningful and an added opportunity for creativity.
I call this design The Gratitude Bow, inspired by my students from Tohoku, Japan, who lost so much in the 2011 earthquake and tsunami.
In 2018, I was invited to Australia as a spokesperson for sustainable wrapping in a national “Gifts that Give” campaign. The focus was on reducing holiday waste, particularly the environmental impact of gift wrapping. This inspired me to look deeper into creating wrapping techniques that didn’t require tape — a common concern of my workshop participants who sought earth-friendly alternatives.
When I was given the opportunity to write a book, I embraced the challenge of not using tape for any of my featured projects. My book offers 25 wrapping techniques and 11 embellishment ideas — all without tape. This was the hardest thing for me to undertake, especially given my love for tape and its practicality. I found, though, that setting my mind to this challenge led to innovative ideas and solutions. My sincere efforts reflect my gratitude for our planet and the activists dedicated to preserving it.
