Japan's Traditional Arts & Crafts Archives - Page 2 of 3

“A Truly Beautiful Thing is Always New”

A story of Rakufulin 洛風林

I was intrigued by Reiko-san, the CEO of Rakufulin. For me, “Nishijin” was equivalent to “tradition.” My image of CEO of a Nishijin Obi company was a serious-looking, older man. Reiko-san is far from it, must be at least 15 or 20 years younger than I am. Why is such a young, beautiful woman running a Nishijin company?

Here is her family history that Reiko-san told me when I visited the Rakufulin office for the first time. It started with her grandfather.

Reiko-san’s grandfather, Takeshi Horie, was born in 1907 in Fukui Prefecture, which borders Kyoto to its south and faces the Japan Sea. Horie-san’s family was a kimono retailer, so it was a natural career path for him to be apprenticed to a prominent Obi maker in Kyoto when young.

He was well-trained there, and when he became independent in 1952, he named his own company Rakufulin 洛風林. His former employer as well as his mentor had a nickname Rakuen-o 洛園翁, and allowed Takeshi-san to use one of the characters for his new company name.

When he started Rakufulin, Takeshi-san introduced two unique aspects to his business.

First was his Obi designs.

When very few Japanese traveled abroad, Takeshi-san visited so many countries, especially Asian countries such as Iran and Afghanistan, retracing the ancient Silk Road. He collected various old textiles made in those regions. Inspired by the patterns of those ancient textiles, he created new designs for Obi.

Takeshi-san was also involved in the Mingei Movement with people like Kawai Kanjiro and Yanagi Soetsu. The Mingei Movement found beauty in ordinary crafts and functional utensils.

Most Nishijin Obi makers in those days had constant orders from the Imperial Court and other upper-class customers for traditional designs. Although Takeshi-san was considered an outlier in Nishijin, he never hesitated to pursue new designs. His motto was “A truly beautiful thing is always new.”

Second was how he collaborated with weavers.

Takeshi-san chose not to hire weavers as his employees, but carefully selected a handful of weavers with different skills, and formed a team of what he called Dojin 同人.

Takeshi-san played a role of a designer and a producer. Depending on the Obi design, he collaborated with the weaver on a certain technique that would best fit that particular design.

Takeshi-san as a producer and the weavers were equals. This horizontal relationship made it easier for both parties to bounce off their ideas and create new things.

When Tetsuo-san, Takeshi-san’s son and Reiko-san’s father, took over Rakufulin, he founded a private museum called Orient 織園都 to archive all the textiles that both his father and himself collected over time.

When her father’s health deteriorated and passed, Reiko-san succeeded as CEO. Her younger sister, Aiko-san, also joined the family business as a designer. The middle sister, Mayuko-san, takes care of the back office including accounting.

The three sisters take pride in keeping the business philosophy of Rakufulin, “a truly beautiful thing is always new.”

How Gold Film Made into Gold Thread

Craftsperson’s passion and skill are applied with Urushi

Katsuyama-san’s Obi uses ultra-thin gold threads. How are the gold threads made? Who makes them?

Katsuyama-san’s van left his studio in Shuzan 周山, the countryside of the northern part of Kyoto City. Those questions were answered at the next destination, a little closer to the city center.

A man whose name was Saito-san, with a large apron, greeted us with a big smile. Saito-san’s workplace was a low desk. He sat in front of the desk, and we sat on the other side as he started working.

At first, Saito-san placed a sheet of red washi paper made from Oriental paper bush, on the desk. On the washi paper, he spread urushi evenly. He seemed to have already got immune to urushi, because he was not wearing gloves.

Then he opened a package covered with white paper. Inside there were sheets of square, ultrathin gold film. He picked up one sheet using a tong made of bamboo and held it up in the light. The film was so thin that you could almost see through it.

Saito-san spreads Urushi on washi paper – Photo by Author Akemi Sagawa

Saito-san swiftly placed the gold film at the edge of the red paper. He pressed it evenly, picked up another gold film, placed it right next to the first one, pressed it evenly, picked up another one, placed it right next to the second one, pressed it evenly, picked up another one…

While answering our random questions, he continued his work. Five sheets in one row, and five rows on one sheet of paper. In total, he placed twenty-five sheets of ultra-thin gold film onto washi paper so effortlessly. There was no gap in-between the films, nor any overlap.

After he finished placing the gold film, he rubbed the surface with a special tool, creating a rustic look.

“The task is quite simple. What makes our work different from those of amateurs is the speed and consistency. After repeating it so many times, I can do it quickly, yet there is very little difference in how each sheet looks. That’s the work of a craftsman like me,” said Saito-san.

He showed us the sheet cut into thin thread, with sample of red fabric that was woven together with the gold thread. (See the first photo above.)

“How many people are working for you?” I asked.

Saito-san said, “Are you kidding me? No young people want to do such tedious work. When I retire, there is nobody that would take over my job here. I’m more than sixty years old. I will try to continue as long as I can.”

I hope Saito-san is not the only hikihaku (引箔) craftsman in Kyoto, but he is the only one whose work Katsuyama-san can fully trust.

Weaving by Hands with Love and Passion

The veteran weaver incorporated gold thread one by one

Adjacent to the Tatami-mat room where Katsuyama-san showed me his silk yarn and Reiko-san showed me the kimono fabrics, was a studio where several veteran weavers were working on making Obis.

In this quiet countryside surrounded by rice fields, Katsuyama-san’s father, the fourth-generation Obi maker, opened this hand-weaving studio about 50 years ago. While machine weaving became mainstream even in Nishijin, the father’s move seemed against the tide.

In the studio, several veteran weavers were working. The studio had a hardwood floor, but directly underneath the loom where the weaver sat and worked, the earth was exposed. When asked, one of the Obi weavers explained to me that having enough humidity coming from the earth helps maintain a favorable silk condition when weaving.

The punctual sound of the loom’s movement was soothing.

One of the weavers opened a flat sheet of paper. Inside were gold threads, ready to be woven into the Obi. How can these thin threads be made into Obi fabrics, I wondered.

Back in the Tatami-mat room, Reiko-san showed me several Obi woven by those ladies.　　These Obi were all designed by Katsuyama-san. Some of Shimura-san’s silk yarn was brought here from Nagano to be made into Obi. The gold threads were meticulously woven together with the silk weft, one by one.

In Pursuit of the Ideal Silk – A Journey of an Obi Maker

It starts with planting mulberry trees

On a sunny day in February, at the rotary of a train station in Kyoto, I met Katsuyama-san, a fifth-generation Obi maker in Nishijin, and Reiko-san, for the first time. Marusugi-san, the person who introduced me to Katsuyama-san, also showed up. We all got in a van and drove off.

Marusugi-san is a third-generation kimono and silk fabric retailer. She had traveled to Seattle in the previous year in an attempt to promote their new product lines that use ultra-thin silk fabric and gold film. I had helped her host a series of trunk shows in several places in Seattle. We agreed to meet again on my next trip to Japan, hence this reunion in Kyoto.

Katsuyama-san’s van headed north. Kyoto is bordered on three sides by mountains, so the further we went, the road became narrower and more winding.

The conversation in the van was mainly me talking.

“You know, the fabric you (I meant both Marusugi-san and Katsuyama-san) are selling is too expensive for clothing,” I said. “Why don’t you position the fabric as art? Why don’t you frame it and sell it through interior designers? American homes are large and they’ve got huge walls, which they have to decorate anyway.”

“Why stick to only kimono and obi? If you want to expand the market outside of Japan, expand the category. Wealthy Americans spend far more money than Japanese for their home decoration. I’ve seen so many Americans hanging vintage kimono or obi as a tapestry on the wall.”

Katsuyama-san nodded but didn’t say much.

The van stopped in front of a one-story building in the middle of a rice field. We all got out of the van and followed Katsuyama-san into the building. On the left there was a tatami-mat room, maybe twelve tatami mats in total. On one side of the room there were wall-to-wall shelves and drawers. On the other side of the room, there were stacks of flat boxes.

Katsuyama-san took out two bundles of thread and let me touch both. The first one was softer and less shiny, but depending upon the angle, it reflected the light differently. It felt ideal in my palm. The threads of the second bundle looked all even, but didn’t have that rich texture.

The woman in the black jacket was introduced to me as Reiko Horie, CEO of Rakufulin洛風林, the company that sells Katsuyama-san’s obi.

While I was still enjoying the softer texture of the first bundle of silk threads, Reiko-san (I use her first name because we are now good friends) started to explain what I was touching. It was the silk thread made by Katsuyama-san’s company based in Nagano Prefecture. In 2003 Katsuyama-san obtained property there and started growing mulberry trees to raise silkworms.

Katsuyama-san used to use imported silk (the bundle I liked less). One day he was asked by a national museum to work on the restoration of the fabric made in the fifteenth century. The silk fabric was nothing like he had ever seen before. Soft, light, graceful — ever since then he couldn’t forget that fabric.

When he visited Milan, Katsuyama-san encountered the same type of silk fabric in a men’s handkerchief. Quite impressed, he asked the shopkeeper where the fabric was made. Not in Italy, but it was made in Japan, was the answer.

Katsuyama-san did further research and found the person who made the handkerchief fabric, Shimura-san. After a lot of persuading, Katsuyama-san successfully invited Shimura-san to be the co-founder of his silk farm. Shimura-san moved from Okinawa to Nagano.

What is the difference between Katsuyama-san and Shimura-san’s silk and other silk? It’s in the kind of mulberry they grow. In their farm they grow two kinds of mulberry trees. They feed the silkworms only the younger, softer leaves. Shimura-san found through his years of research that it helps silkworms to produce thinner but stronger silk.

Once the silkworms create cocoons, their lives end before they come out of the cocoons. Today’s main method of taking the lives of silkworms in the cocoons is to blow extremely hot air into the cocoons. The hot air eliminates humidity, making it easy to store the cocoons. The silk’s natural texture, however, is somewhat lost.

Shimura-san found a more natural and time-tested alternative: to salt the cocoons. Shimura-san places cocoons in a wooden barrel and salts them for two weeks. This way the silk’s natural texture and strength is maintained.

Making silk yarn as well as dissolving the sericin is done by hand at their farm.

In the same farm where they grow mulberry and silk cocoons, they make silk yarn and weave the kimono fabric. Shimura-san uses mostly natural dyes extracted from local plants. The main reason Shimura-san decided to join Katsuyama-san in Nagano is because he can be involved in the whole process in one place, giving him complete quality control of his products.

Katsuyama-san quietly said, “I’m making fabric that is to be worn.” I felt ashamed of what I had said in the van.

Nishijin 西陣 Now and Then

Can they survive?

The word Nishijin 西陣 has multiple meanings.

The literal translation into English is “the Western Base,” a military jargon.

During the civil war called Onin no Ran 応仁の乱 (1467 – 1477), then the capital of Japan Kyoto became the battlefield of the two major samurai warlords. The neighborhood where the west squad placed its base was called Nishijin. The Onin no Ran and the wars that followed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries left Kyoto in ruins. Many people fled Kyoto during that period.

When the series of civil wars ended, people who had fled Kyoto gradually returned.

Skilled weavers and other craftsmen in the textile making who used to serve the imperial court and aristocrats also returned, settled, and resumed their crafts in the district where the Western Base was once located. Hence the word “Nishijin” became equivalent to Kyoto’s textile district, as well as meaning kimono and obi textiles that were woven in this district as a whole. Weavers in Nishijin district formed a tight-knit industry community, which also became identified as Nishijin.

During the Edo Era (1603 – 1868), Japan enjoyed more than 260 years of peaceful time under the Tokugawa Shogunate. With its exquisitely sophisticated techniques and high quality, Nishijin textile was sought after by the ruling samurai clan as well as by the imperial court and aristocrats. Nishijin flourished by providing them with top-of-the-line textiles for their luxurious attire.

The beginning of Meiji Era (1868 – 1912) was a challenging time for Nishijin. All of a sudden, its most prominent patron, the samurai clan, lost power because of the regime change, and the demand from the clan tanked.

That was when Nishijin sent three people from its weavers’ community to France to learn the newest technology, Jacquard Loom. Previously Nishijin used to employ a technique that required two people to handle one loom. Jacquard Loom, on the other hand, required only one person to handle it.

By implementing Jacquard Loom, Nishijin was able to boost its productivity as well as diversify its product lines to meet the need of a wider audience, the general public.

With the rapid expansion of Japan’s economy after World War II, Nishijin enjoyed high growth. Nishijin became a synonym for high-quality obis among common people like my mother. She didn’t have to ask further if the retailer indicated that the obi was “Nishijin.”

In the late 1980’s. Japan’s economy was having its hay day. So did Nishijin. “Gacha-man” is a word I learned from a friend of mine who grew up in Nishijin. “Gacha” imitates the sound of a Nishijin weaver moving the loom to add one weft. “Man” is a short form of ichiman, or ten thousand yen, roughly a hundred dollars. According to my friend, a weaver would earn a hundred dollars each time s/he moves one weft. This expression depicts how prosperous Nishijin once was.

During the economic bubble, national kimono chain stores started to appear and soon became dominant, replacing many smaller independent retailers. Many such stores took advantage of the ignorance of their customers, rather than taking time to educate them. Hiring many salespeople who didn’t have much knowledge of kimono, such chain stores employed aggressive sales tactics. They manipulated gullible customers to purchase a grossly marked-up, expensive kimono of questionable quality.

A set of kimono and obi would often be priced as much as a brand-new car. And just like buying a car, many customers were obliged to pay in installments. The aggressive sales tactics of kimono chain stores became so notorious that even TV channels created documentaries about their practice to warn people.

I was recently out of college and working for an investment bank in Tokyo around that time. Purchasing business suites was my top priority so I paid little attention to kimono. Even if I was slightly interested in trying out kimono, having heard of horror stories, I was too intimidated to enter those big kimono stores I found here and there in downtown Tokyo.

Then the economic bubble burst in 1990. Japan’s so called “Lost Decade” became “Lost Decades” and is now stretching over three decades. Kimono production plunged over the years, and so did textile production in Nishijin. Many such national chain kimono stores went bankrupt. Also there were far fewer independent kimono retailers left.

The chart above is what I found on the Nishijin Textile Industry Association website. The production of Nishijin’s textile is less than 10% of the hay days. In such a dire situation, can Nishijin survive?

In the course of pursuing my favorite kimonos and obis, I have met several people in Nishijin who are doing everything they can to survive and thrive. I will keep on writing about what I encounter…

The Bamboo Magic

I was lucky to see Tanabe Chikuunsai IV’s installation in Osaka

Bamboo. Such a common plant. I grew up surrounded by so many things made of bamboos, such as scoops, collators, chopsticks, coasters, baskets, bags, bento boxes, flower vases, benches, brooms, fences… People have been making practically anything necessary for their everyday lives out of bamboo.

It was rather strange, therefore, to learn that many museums in the world collect objects made of bamboo as work of art.

Tanabe Chikuunsai IV’s exhibition was held at the art gallery floor in Osaka Takashimaya, a prestegious department store, and I happened to see it while I was visiting Osaka. The installation in the main gallery space was nothing like what I was familiar with before.

The two main pillars in the center of the gallery were covered with organic shaped object, comprising so many bamboo sticks, each meticulously, thinly split, about 7 feet long.

Utilizing such common materials and traditional techniques, Chikuunsai transformed the entire space. What an artist he is!

I felt so lucky to have encountered his exhibition. And it was free admission!

I would love to see this type of installation and exhibition at the international airports in Japan.

Engrave Spirit of Japanese Tradition in Love for Kawaii Fashion

Presentations of Two Youngsters from Kyoto Awed Me – 2

The week in Seattle has indeed become in their words, a life-changing experience for the two TASK students from Kyoto, Japan. I’m relieved and happy to hear that. The daily snapshots of their visit appear on the TASK website.

The highlight for me was the presentations they conducted at Seattle University on the 6^th day. The audience, mostly design students as well as faculty members, were awed by the impeccable skill and precision of the TASK students.

I got permission from the students to share their slides with you here. I will try my best to accurately summarize their presentations in English on this blog site.

Woodworking by Sakura Nakane

“Hi, my name is Sakura Nakane. I’m a Junior at TASK, studying woodworking.”

“My introduction to Japan’s traditional woodworking was, rather sadly, the natural disaster that hit Japan in March 2011. A grave tsunami hit the northern part of Japan and many people lost their lives, homes, and belongings.

A TV program showed that a lot of furniture, like chests and drawers, which were made with Japan’s traditional woodworking techniques, survived. Because they were built with no nails, they were restored by replacing only the part that was damaged. None of the modern, mass-manufactured furniture using nails, on the other hand, could be salvaged once damaged.

When I watched the program, I was very impressed by the resilience and sustainability of Japan’s traditional woodworking. ‘I want to master this wonderful technique!’ was my reason to study at TASK.”

Apply Established Techniques to the New Lifestyle

“The technique of Japan’s traditional woodworking is admirable. But I’m not a fan of so-called Japan’s traditional design. They look outdated. How can we apply this technique to create items that are more fitted to our modern lifestyle?

One assignment was a proposal to a famous Japanese sweets maker with over 300 years of history, to combine their established brand and the English custom of high tea. The photo above is a serving shelf. Utilizing bamboo crafting, woodworking, metal crafting, and ceramics, we proposed a new style of enjoying Japanese tradition.”

Create What I Truly Love

“The serving shelf is a nice try, but I wouldn’t necessarily want it at home. It’s not kawaii (=cute) enough. Can I create a fashion item so kawaii that I would love to use it for myself?”

“In Japan, we celebrate coming of age when we turn 20. I’ve decided to wear my own creation to celebrate my coming of age. I got inspiration both from Maiko geta, sandals worn by apprentice geisha, and from Rocking Horse shoes designed by Vivienne Westwood (my favorite fashion designer)!”

“The photo above is my creation, named Rin. The challenge was to determine how much I should carve the heels. Carving too much, then they lose the strength to hold the body. Carving too little, then they look boring…”

“For my coming-of-age celebration, I had my pictures taken. I chose two different Furisode (long sleeved) kimono and obi. Of course, I’m wearing Rin!”

(Then Sakura showed a video of her preparing a planer, one of the main tools she uses for her woodworking.)

See a video of Sakura preparing her planer on Instagram.

“A planer is a tool we use often. Each time we use this tool, we carefully sharpen the blade until the surface shines like a mirror. We use two different types of whetstones one rough, the other fine. Each whetstone has to have a smooth, flat surface. So we start smoothing the surface of the whetstone with another tool.”

See a video of Sakura smoothing the surface of the planer

“The body of the planer needs tending, too. We level the surface of the planer. Using another tool, we make sure that the planer has a straight, smooth surface. Depending on the condition of the planer, it takes from 30 minutes to 3 hours to get the planer ready for use.”

Demo Time

Sakura fixed a wooden board on the desk, and took out her planer. Before using the tool, she carefully examined the blade.

Once she made sure the tool was conditioned, she demonstrated how to use the tool. It looked effortless.

She let several audience members to try planing the board, assisting each person. It was a special experience for the audience.

Beautiful Plates for Happy Meals

Presentations of Two Youngsters from Kyoto Awed Me – 1

The highlight for me was the presentations they conducted at Seattle University on the 6^th day. The audience, mostly design students as well as faculty members, were highly impressed by the skill and precision of the TASK students.

I got permission from the students to share their slides with you here. I will try my best to accurately summarize their presentations in English on this blog site.

Japanese Ceramic Art by Rena Yamamoto

“Hi everyone! I’m Rena, a senior at Traditional Art Supercollege of Kyoto (TASK). I’m studying ceramic art.”

“I believe people’s ultimate goal is happiness. And when do people feel happy most often in everyday life? When having meals with their loved ones! I want to create beautiful plates and bowls to be used for their meals… That’s the reason why I decided to study ceramic art.”

Start with Tools, then Clay

“The first thing my teacher taught us at TASK was not how to make ceramics. Rather, he taught us how to make tools to make ceramic objects. He said, ‘It all starts with making your own tools that perfectly fit your hands. Skip this process and you will never create anything great.’

“The next thing I learned was how to knead clay. Chrysanthemum kneading, as it’s called, because of the pattern shaped from the process. This kneading is critical to eliminate any air bubbles from the clay.

We practiced this kneading process for three months. Only after mastering this process can we finally sit in front of the potter’s wheel.”

Repetition is Shortcut to Mastery

(Rena showed a video of her kneading the clay and “throwing” plates on the potter’s wheel.

Here is a video of Rena kneading clay on Instagram.

Here is a video of Rena throwing plates on Instagram. Using the tools she made on her own, she shapes the plates with such high precision.)

The assignment was to throw as many as 100 of them. Repetition is crucial to master the craft.”

“After throwing plates on the potter’s wheel, the process continues.

Let them dry for a day
Shape the bottom with the metal tool we made ourselves
Dry them for a week (see the photo on the left above)
Fire them in a kiln at a lower temperature (950 °C /1742 °F) for 3 days or until the water is completely evaporated from the clay (see the photo on the right above)
Apply the glaze evenly
Fire them in a kiln at a higher temperature (1250 °C /2282 °F). It takes about 4 days to cool down.

“Next it’s time to paint the design on the surface. You boil the gelatine in a pot and apply the hot gelatine on the surface with the cloth. The gelatine is like the glue that holds the colors of the paint.”

“The paint we use is dry powder. You add medium to make it liquid. You keep on mixing until the paint has a consistent texture, for at least ten minutes.

I will demonstrate how I apply paint on the surface shortly. Let me show you some of the works I made at TASK so far.”

“The photo on the left above is a tea bowl I made when I was a sophomore. The assignment was to master several Japanese traditional patterns by repeating the process.

The one on the right is my recent work. Based on the traditional motifs, I designed and painted from scratch. It took me three months to complete five plates.”

“I made the one on the left in my freshmen year.

I like goldfish! I want to depict their graceful figures with fine lines. As shown in the photo on the right, my latest focus of the study is drawing lines with precision.”

Demo Time

Rena then moved from the podium to the desk situated in the center of the classroom. She first displayed her two plates. While the audience was looking closely at her work, impressed by the beautiful and meticulous design, Rena placed tools to be used for demonstration: A turner, paint brushes, a pallet of paint already mixed with medium, and plates with gelatin coating on them.

She placed a plate on the turner and started spinning it. Once the spin of the plate became stable, she picked up the brush, applied a little of the paint, and started creating the thin circle closer to the rim.

Although many people were present, the classroom was totally quiet. Everybody’s attention was solely on Rena. Rena, understandably, got nervous at first. But by the time she took off her shoes and crossed her legs on the chair, her razor-sharp concentration kicked in.

I Might Change Two Youngster’s Life This Week

Just like my life changed 40-some years ago

Image by Traditional Arts Super Collage of Kyoto (TASK)

Tomorrow is a big day for me.

Two students from TASK are flying into Seatac Airport tomorrow. Sponsored by Five Senses Foundation, the nonprofit organization I founded, these students will experience eight days of cultural exchange. After three years of delay because of the pandemic, the program is finally coming true!

The program includes:

Visits to campuses of major US corporates (Amazon, Google, Microsoft, and Starbucks)
Cultural workshop at Seattle University
Tours at Seattle Art Museum and Portland Japanese Garden
Private house tours in Whidbey island
Staying with a local American family rather than staying at a hotel.

The students get to visit places that normal tourists wouldn’t have an opportunity to visit. They get a glimpse of how Americans learn, work, and live firsthand.

What will these two young Japanese women grasp and pay attention to? What will they be surprised, impressed, or inspired by? What impact will this week give them?

I have no idea.

I had my SUV washed yesterday. This afternoon I will start cooking for the welcome dinner tomorrow. I will do my best to navigate them, drive them, and serve them this coming week.

Most likely I won’t be able to write an article in the coming week. My apologies in advance.

My previous posts describing how this program has evolved

How Future Traditional Craftspeople Are Trained at TASK

Visiting Kyoto? Don’t Miss This Hidden Gem!

This Super College Teaches 10 Vital Courses for Japan

How Future Traditional Craftspeople Are Trained at TASK

My visit to the campus percolated an idea

Photo by Author Akemi Sagawa

The “Open Campus” program offered by TASK (Traditional Arts Super College of Kyoto) gave me another surprising opportunity in addition to making my own wooden pencil case.

…

After a short presentation and a video introducing TASK, an instructor lead me and a teenage boy from the auditorium to the woodwork studio.

Photo by Author Akemi Sagawa

On the wooden table, two sets of small pieces of wood and tools were laid out. A chisel, a saw, a plane, glue, and sandpaper… When was the last time I touched these tools, or have I ever used a chisel or plane? The instructor was patient enough not to lose her cool until both of us completed the whole process. I planed the lid too much so that it was a little loose. Well, at least it looked decently rectangular of a pencil case. I think I understand why I didn’t become a master craftsperson.

It was Sunday, but several students were at the studio working on their own projects. According to the instructor, it was not uncommon to see students on weekends. I asked one of them if she enjoyed studying here. Her response of a powerful “yes!”

…

This campus visit convinced me to make a proposal to the school, that Five Senses Foundation, the non-profit organization I run, would sponsor two students to spend a week in Seattle.

Why?

The students at TASK reminded me of myself a long time ago when I was in high school.

I spent one year in a small city in Pennsylvania as an exchange student. It was in the late seventies. There was no Internet, but we had TVs. I thought I knew the US pretty well, until I arrived.

The houses and the cars looked enormous. The ceiling of the living room was so high, and I had never seen such huge walls in a house. The dining table looked larger than the entire kitchen of my house in Japan. In the US, everything was huge!

There were and still are so many differences in lifestyle between the two countries. Seeing is believing. No TV program nor the book is sufficient. Firsthand experience is vital.

The domestic demand for Japanese traditional arts and crafts is dwindling. The industry must create demand outside Japan. The US remains the dominant economy, and it makes sense to market there. The first step is to understand the customers. I wanted the students at TASK to experience the US firsthand, as I did years ago.