Inspiration from Traditional Craftsmanship

Our topic this time is inspiration from traditional craftsmanship.

Our guest is up-and-coming creator Kishida Tomohiro.

He makes clothes using a historic technique called saki-ori, in which fabric is reduced to threads, then rewoven.

Japan's traditional crafts reveal the fundamental beauty of creation.

Creators are taking a novel approach to materials, shaping new ideas with an eye to the future.

Hello. Welcome to Design Talks plus, I'm Andrea Pompilio.

Hi, I'm Shaula.

So Shaula, traditional Japanese crafts are in artform created out of necessity, right?

Today, we have a guest who has been inspired by these traditional crafts.

Let's meet our guest. We have Kishida Tomohiro.

Hello.

Welcome.

Hello.

I'd like to start our conversation by admiring your jacket!

It's really wonderful.

Thank you.

It's lovely.

You made this yourself?

Yes, using saki-ori.

Saki-ori?

"Saki" means to tear fabric.

"Ori" means to weave.

It's a technique that goes back at least 300 years.

You cut old, unwanted fabric into very thin shreds, like thread, then weave them into new cloth.

And that's how you made this!

That's fascinating.

Let's take a closer look at some of Kishida-san's clothing designs.

Kishida works from a studio in Osaka.

This fabric was left by fashion design students who were using it to practice patterning.

Now I get to reuse it.

By shredding it very thinly, I'm able to use it as threads and make something new from it.

Cloth that would have been thrown away is repurposed into weft threads.

It's a technique that has been employed for centuries.

In 2018, Kishida began making clothes out of saki-ori fabric.

I'm completely focused while I weave.

It's almost like meditation for me.

And the result always surprises me, both for better and for worse.

It often comes out completely different to how I expected it.

From there, I create designs that are in dialogue with the fabric I end up with.

Snags and frayed ends that would not pass muster in a retail garment.

Kishida welcomes them as the signature of handmade fabric.

Most clothes are made through the joint efforts of a designer, patterner, and manufacturer.

But Kishida undertakes all of these tasks alone.

He even makes the buttons by hand.

I press cloth into the mold so that the texture of the button blends in nicely against the fabric.

I fell in love with
the rough-woven texture.

It seems heavy or stiff.
But it loosens up as you wear it.

It's impossible
not to fall for these clothes.

Kishida's work has a refined elegance paired with homespun charm.

It takes a long time to complete a single item.

He's also working on another experimental project.

Titled "Land to Skin" he grows cotton from seed, and makes clothes from the result.

The cotton must be spun after harvesting.

Kishida began the project as a way to properly examine the materials he uses to make his clothes.

I think that if people understood the life cycle of plants and its role in making clothes, they would take more care of them, and perhaps that would be a step in the right direction.

A boutique in Tokyo's Harajuku neighborhood holds regular, solo exhibitions of Kishida's work.

It's all about trends and
new seasons, new clothes.

Kishida's clothes break that cycle.

They make us reconsider
what's really important.

Historic Japanese techniques can enrich our modern lives.

Kishida explains back in the studio.

That's amazing, Kishida-san!

Isn't it?

Thank you.

I feel like I have a better understanding of your vocation now.

I was already a fan of your designs, because they have a vintage feel that appeals to me.

But now I realize that their value goes even deeper than that.

The items I've brought with me into the studio today are from my saki-ori project.

Fabric shops, manufacturers, and especially tailors all end up with off-cuts from making jackets and pants.

It's material that they can't use.

So they throw them away.

But I can use them to weave new cloth.

This tag is great - all the materials that went into the cloth.

Yes, I wanted to show the different threads that went into each item of clothing.

When we buy regular clothes, we don't think of the threads that make up the fabric.

True.

But I thought it would be fun to list all of the threads.

Make them more visible.

Interesting idea.

Would you like to try this on?

May I?

Please.

Okay. Here we go.

That suits you!

What do you think?

It's great!

It has a really lovely weight to it.

A lot of the time, coats have to be sort of 'worn in.' But this already feels very comfortable.

It almost feels like something that came out of my own wardrobe!

You're thinking of taking it home?

Maybe!

So, saki-ori is a traditional technique.

How exactly did you first come across it?

I studied at a fashion college.

During my time there, I noticed that all the cloth we practiced with would be thrown out straight away.

It was turned straight into trash.

This seemed like such a waste to me.

And that's what inspired me to try saki-ori.

I explored each process on its own, unraveled them one by one, and before I knew it, I'd completed an item without really intending to!

You tried it, and it worked?

Pretty much.

It was experimental.

Exactly.

Spotting the waste and making use of it instead - it feels like a very Japanese thing to do.

This is something we talk about more these days, but I suspect that in the past, people just made the most of what they had without trying to justify it.

The natural thing to do.

Exactly.

Today, we're subjected to a constant bombardment of branding and fast fashion everywhere.

Has this aspect of modern society always felt strange to you?

This is an issue that I've struggled with ever since I first began making clothes.

Personally, I've always been very drawn to historical techniques.

To the beautiful traditional craftsmanship Japan has to offer.

To me, they just have this incredible appeal.

I think that people are really drawn to the idea of having things made completely by hand.

It's a very human instinct.

A universal sensation.

It doesn't matter where you're from, or what language you speak - it's just a basic human response.

That appeal really comes through.

As a student, did you always want to work in a fashion related field?

And also with crafts?

I actually studied architecture as a student.

And after that, I studied ergonomics.

Oh wow!

I thought that an understanding of the structure of the human body would help me create things that people use.

I wanted to make furniture.

Yes, chairs and so on.

Ergonomics is key.

That's a good point.

But it's also like a miniature version of architecture, right?

Smaller scale.

Exactly.

I got an engineering job at a manufacturer.

But it was quite a large firm, so although I was sort of involved in the process of making things, I never really had the feeling that I was actually creating anything.

I was mostly just doing research.

Ah, I see.

I thought about what I enjoyed most, and it was clothes.

So that's what I turned to!

Back to the human body, but a new approach.

Yes, I went from the large-scale pursuit of architecture to the more human-scale pursuit of furniture.

It all felt like a natural progression to me.

Interesting!

There's a connection, sure.

You sound so passionate when you talk about what you do.

Do you have any ideas as to where that passion might have come from originally?

I'm really curious.

If I don't know something...

You want to learn.

To see.

A 'no touching' sign...

You want to touch!

Pretty much!

And that's gotten me into trouble a few times before.

You can't make clothes without cloth.

So I figured out how do we make cloth.

Can I do that myself?

Sure I can!

And so I began weaving.

A trial run.

Right.

That made me think about thread, and how to make it.

And then I planted cotton and began raising plants...

It all comes back to the soil.

It does, yes.

So that's how it all began.

One creator is combining modern products with traditional techniques to create unique items.

Artist JunAle.

He repairs old, worn sneakers with cloth and sashiko stitching.

He's been a sportswear designer for 15 years.

But a constant focus on cutting-edge materials left him with questions.

We praise the functionality
of artificial materials like polyester.

But we also talk down natural materials.

That didn't sit right with me.

On a trip to Tokushima, the home of aizome, or indigo dyeing, JunAle had a revelation.

The dye comes from
fermenting leaves.

It looks like black mud.

Yet it produces gorgeous colors.

This discovery inspired JunAle to start researching scrap, or boro culture.

When fabric was a precious resource, old scraps and rags would be sewn together using sashiko stitching.

They weren't shaped
to some ultimate design.

Just made from what was already there.

Normally when I design sportswear
I put my final goal first.

But it's a different process.

A natural result of my everyday work.

Beauty in hand worked crafts.

JunAle felt inspired to begin stitching sashiko on his own clothes, before arriving at his current canvas: sneakers.

I just can't stop myself.

Just one more stitch.
One more stitch. Over and over.

You'd think sewing rags
would have been painful.

But I think it could have been fun!

I think that's partly why
"sashiko" is still used today.

Sportswear design and traditional techniques.

These polar opposites found new ground in JunAle's work.

He's fascinated by the transformation of scuffed and ragged sneakers.

Sneakers are so modern
that I use them like an icon.

I like seeing how they interact with rags.

This intersection of old and new
has become a theme for me.

And taking it one stitch at a time
serves as a great yardstick.

JunAle's shoe designs bring the warmth of handicrafts to modern materials.

It's a fascinating fusion, isn't it?

Modern shoes and sashiko stitching.

Well-worn sneakers do develop scuffs and holes and a lot of wear and tear.

But most people want to keep wearing them.

We tend not to want to give them up.

I wonder why.

So interesting!

I felt a real sense of kinship with his story and work.

And his collection of old boro items...

Yes!

A few years ago, I actually had the chance to meet some people who still do sashiko embroidery up in Aomori, in northern Japan.

And they talked about how women back in the day had to sew up holes in clothes.

Of course, those women would start competing to see who had the best embroidery skills, and whose designs were the coolest and so on.

They turned it into a competition.

Right.

Over skill and fashion sense.

It began as a necessity, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be fun or chic.

The artisans found pleasure in the work.

I get a similar feeling from this.

I was struck by JunAle saying that he just couldn't stop.

Right!

We so rarely have the opportunity to sew like that - just one stitch at a time.

It feels like such a luxury.

That makes me really grateful and happy.

That's often how I feel as I work.

I think people in Japan tend to use things for a long time.

People here take great care of their belongings.

Do you have a perspective on that?

I don't consider my clothes to be complete once I finish sewing them.

They only start approaching their completed state after the customer takes delivery and begins wearing them.

They might unravel a little or develop a snag.

Maybe they'll even get a hole or two.

Perhaps the wearer will sew them up.

Perhaps they'll spill something on them, and have to dye them to cover the stain.

That kind of maintenance is part of the finish.

I went home to Hawaii recently and found my dad working in the yard.

He was wearing this pair of really old, beat-up sneakers, and I noticed that he'd wound duct tape around the toes to reinforce them.

I asked him why, and he said, well they've got holes in them!

It was like, if they have holes in them, why are you still wearing them?!

Throw them out!

I said I'd buy him a new pair!

But he said wearing those particular shoes reminded him of his years as a pilot.

There's always a connection somewhere.

Whether it's shoes or clothes - we definitely have a relationship with our belongings.

Wearing or using them brings back all kinds of memories.

That conversation really brought that home for me.

That relationship is so important.

But trends change so fast these days, and we move on before relationships can even form.

That's very true.

Yes.

It's a shame.

You're growing your materials from scratch out in the fields.

That dedication to such a slow process - it seems to me like something that would appeal to a great many people.

After starting this project, the very first time I finished making an item of clothing from cotton I'd grown from seed, it was the most extraordinary feeling.

I was overwhelmed.

It was a completely different feeling to finishing an ordinary piece of clothing.

Oh, I'm sure.

It was a realization that clothes are a product of farming.

I was able to watch the cotton cycle in real time: planting seeds, seeing shoots, buds, and flowers.

Doesn't happen in a week!

Exactly. The cycle takes a full year.

And then you plant seeds again.

And repeat.

But even mass-produced cotton that's planted and harvested by machines is still a material that comes from nature.

That's something I realized during my farmwork.

I'm not necessarily looking to change people in some profound way through my projects.

It's more about these small realizations - giving people little nudges to pay attention.

I hope it inspires people to think about taking care of their belongings, to find pleasure in caring for them.

A small box, decorated with countless sparkling adornments.

Light gleams across its gold and mother-of-pearl surface, exuding an unmistakable presence.

It's the work of urushi artist Asai Yasuhiro.

It's an incense burner.

I'll need to add a lid.

Urushi lacquer is layered over a decorated item.

Once dry, the item is polished.

This process is repeated over and over.

Sumitogi, or 'charcoal finishing' ensures the smoothest possible surface through special, fine-grained charcoal.

Coating with urushi was once known as 'japanning.' Asai respects traditional techniques while also using a wide variety of materials.

His modern designs have won him acclaim.

The craft of raden showcases Asai's skills.

It uses mother-of-pearl of a mere 0.1-millimeter thickness.

He sometimes uses up to ten thousand fragments for a single piece.

I'm playing with natural colors.

I pick out rare hues that make up
barely 1-2% of a shell.

I used over 1,000 shells
in a sample for one work.

These shellfish died for art
that might last 1,000 years.

That kind of timeframe
demands top-tier work.

This is an "urushi" bath.

You add water regularly
to keep the moisture high.

The lacquer must be dried gently to prevent patches or streaks.

Asai dries his works slowly at a regulated humidity.

The materials are so delicate that he must work on their timescale.

Today, about 90% of urushi lacquer used in Japan comes from other countries.

Concerned about this situation, Asai turned to his family in Tottori prefecture to help grow their own.

After harvesting their resin, the trees are cut to encourage new growth.

Few have the skills to do this today.

Tiny scraps of wood are filtered out using washi paper.

Lovely thick "urushi."

It's top quality!

Asai's father has spent twenty years cultivating this urushi.

Everyone sees something in
the lustrous black of "urushi."

The universe. Ocean depths.

We used to use candles, then
fluorescent lights and LEDs.

New hues light up our streets.

Every era has its own light sources.
I want to reflect that.

In a century, people will be able to feel
the passion behind each item.

These are treasure troves
we pass on to future generations.

Light is a constant companion to urushi's darkness.

Asai's work presents the future with a glimpse of today.

Amazing.

Truly.

What do you think?

He's reinterpreting a very old traditional craft through a modern lens, and thinking about how it can continue into the future.

It's incredible.

But that's also how traditions like these last long enough to be passed on to future generations.

We all learn from those who came before.

But sometimes there are gaps, when something falls out of favor for a while.

It feels like he's reviving these old ways of doing things - adapting them for the future.

I think so.

We're adding new knowledge and skills.

It's also symbolic of a certain way of life - of specific values.

Just as your own work is, Kishida-san.

I feel like we'll see more of this kind of creativity in the world going forward.

Last of all, I want to ask you to tell us a little about your plans for the future.

Of course.

With the way I create my products, I've positioned myself as the antithesis to mainstream fashion.

So I think it would be very interesting to showcase this alternative through a fashion show, which is something very symbolic of the fashion industry.

Oh yes, definitely.

I suppose my long-term goal is to make a kind of challenge to the fashion industry.

Interesting.

I look forward to that very much.

I can definitely see it - in some ways, your work is the epitome of high fashion.

It's focused on hands-on processes, and it has a story.

It's been really interesting talking to you.

I'm really happy to hear that!

Please visit us again.

I'd love to!

And we'll come to Osaka.

Thank you for today.

Thank you.

Thank you.