Thank you very much for coming along today. First of all, please tell me how you met, and how your friendship developed.

Moriguchi Kunihiko (hereinafter, Moriguchi): In 1963, I went to France to study at the National School of Decorative Arts in Paris (École nationale supérieure des Arts Décoratifs) on a French government scholarship, and that’s where I met Philippe. He had enrolled in the school the previous year, 1962.

Philippe Weisbecker (hereinafter, Weisbecker): Yes, that’s right.

Moriguchi: As a regular student, Philippe had started from the first-year course, but as I had graduated from Kyoto City University of Arts, I skipped the first-year classes, and in 1963, I enrolled directly into the second-year course. Thanks to these events, we were in the same school year and met in the same atelier. There were four mixed ateliers, consisting of the first to third-year students. If we had belonged to different ateliers, we might never have met, but just by chance both of us were in Professor Shedo’s atelier. So we ended up studying together in the same atelier for two years, and for the fourth year, we had to select a specialty.

Weisbecker: We both chose graphic art.

Moriguchi: Yes, both of us majored in graphic art, and so we were studying together for three years in total. After graduation, I went back to Japan, and Philippe left for New York, where he made his name as an illustrator. His career blossomed. After many years he decided to leave New York and he applied for a French government scholarship. This meant he was able to stay for four months in Villa Kujoyama, a residential cultural facility for the French, located in Kyoto.

Moriguchi: That was in 2002, and around then I had no idea what he was doing, but I did hear a few rumors on the grapevine, the odd vague whisper.

Weisbecker: Vaguely.

Moriguchi: After our graduation we did not really have any opportunity to meet again, but fortunately when he came to Kyoto, he tried to look me up. But…

Mr. Weisbecker, were you convinced that Mr. Moriguchi was in Kyoto?

Weisbecker: That is a good point. When I came to Kyoto, I still had strong memories of Kuni. If I flash-back to our school days, from the first time I met Kuni, I was fascinated by his physical presence. As you know in those days we hardly saw Japanese people in France; that alone made them seem pretty exotic. But that’s not all. I was overwhelmed by the perfection of his work. Oh, yes I can clearly remember being struck with admiration. He was staying in the International University Campus in Paris, and when I visited him one morning, I was surprised to find just how small his room was, but despite this, seeming lack of space, in his mind he was always shaping really massive and magnificent architectural projects. I thought what an amazing guy. In my opinion, at that time, Professor Shedo did not properly appreciate his talent; his view was a bit subjective. But in my case, I was blown away by Kuni’s description of his daily morning practice: “Every morning, immediately upon arising, I sit in full lotus (cross-legged), and for some hours I practice drawing straight lines with a long stemmed brush.” I thought he was a god.

After graduating, years passed with no contact. As you know I was living in New York. After my stay in Villa Kujoyama was confirmed and when I came to Kyoto, I was convinced that Kuni must have become a great architect somewhere outside Japan. But I knew Kuni’s father was a living national treasure, a kimono artist, and his family home was in Kyoto. Therefore, I figured there was a good chance that Kuni’s parents’ home would still be in Kyoto. So I made inquiries at what is now the Institute France Kansai, and I asked a graphic designer who had worked for me before: “Do you know about Kunihiko Moriguchi? Then, he exclaimed in a loud voice full of awe “Moriguchi-san!! Of course.” (Laughter) I sort of got the idea this Moriguchi character was famous. I thought he was talking about Kuni, but I still wasn’t absolutely sure, it could have been Kuni’s dad, after all.

Weisbecker: At that time, a French photographer was staying in the Villa Kujoyama, and I got to know that Kuni was likely to come to the opening party of the photographer’s exhibition. I have forgotten how I came to know this, and Kuni had no idea that I was invited to that party.

Moriguchi: No I didn’t.

Weisbecker: I arrived at the party, and then I saw the figure of Kuni. Kuni also noticed me.
Instantly both of us rushed up to each other and hugged.

Did you recognize each other straightaway?

Moriguchi: Yes, even though 38 years had passed.

Weisbecker: We noticed each other at the exact same moment.

Moriguchi: Yes, at the same time. In other words, both of us hadn’t changed.

Weisbecker: No, we hadn’t. It was really emotional, especially as I had believed that Kuni was definitely not in Kyoto. Thinking back on Kuni’s ability and skill in our school days, I imagined that he would have certainly been an architect. That’s funny, isn’t it?

Yes, it is. After your reunion, have you seen a lot of each other?

Moriguchi/Weisbecker: Yes, of course.

Moriguchi: I consider his work is truly wonderful, marvelous. Very simple, but very deep. I like any of his pieces. Have a look at some of his drawings in this illustration book. Over the four months of his stay in Kyoto, he took to visiting the shop of an artisan on Senbon-dori street, who made metal tools such as hammers like this one in this book. Actually this toolmaker and owner of the shop was a neighbor of the man who was my father’s right-hand man. Do you remember the connection?

Weisbecker: No, I didn’t know about that.

Moriguchi: The toolmaker’s shop was right next door to the home of my father’s right-hand man.

Weisbecker: Gosh, I really didn’t know that.

Moriguchi: So I knew the toolmaker pretty well for a long time. He made my scissors and keeps them in good shape.

Weisbecker: Isn’t that interesting? So, I began visiting the toolmaker regularly, but it wasn’t like I was readily accepted from the beginning. I didn’t have the courage to ask much, and mainly just kept watching, saying very little at all. Slowly the toolmaker accepted my presence, and then, he allowed me to draw sketches of the tools and hold and closely look at them. In that way…

Moriguchi: Yes, for craftsmen, when they are concentrating on their work and a stranger comes to see them, frankly speaking, it’s just bothersome.

Weisbecker: I see.

Moriguchi: Like it or not, they find it annoying. So I am sure at first he didn’t warm up very much, but Philippe was successful with heart-to-heart communication… Anyhow he drew this tool you can see here in the book; I think this was really a great choice. I can really see something authentic. It’s exactly here that we can see the brilliance of Philippe. His eye for objet (object or mono in Japanese) present in Japanese daily life is wonderful. What he finds and takes is the real truth. I like this point. Mmm, somehow you’re becoming the main focus in this talk!

Weisbecker: (Burst of laughter)

Moriguchi: People start to get interested in that way… In Japan my work is regarded as traditional art. But for French people like Philippe, it might be thought of as artisan’s work (artisanal), and might not be art. They think it is nothing more than artisan’s work. But, while we were discussing my work (pieces), we noticed that underlying the work of Japanese artisans there is a philosophy. I think it was a great discovery for him.

Weisbecker: The common point in our thinking is that both of us want to leave the essence of beauty to future generations by using contemporary methods. In the case of Kuni his subjects are kimono, and in my case they are simple objet or mono; in particular they are objet or mono, which are not or have not been affected by fashion or artificial changes. Kuni has continued creating many works through this approach.

Moriguchi: (Laughing)

Weisbecker: So have I.

Mr. Moriguchi, could you tell me about how you came to be involved in this collaboration with Mitsukoshi.

Moriguchi: First of all, in June 2013, a representative of Mitsukoshi visited me in Kyoto, and talked about ideas for Mitsukoshi’s new shopping bag. For me, this was a very surprising proposal. It was around the time that I had just completed my work to be shown in the 60th Japan Traditional Art Crafts Exhibition. Then, what I suggested was…

Today, the circumstances surrounding Japanese traditional crafts are quite tough when considering we want to maintain the way things were done in the past. I wanted to break free, so I made the following proposal: “Mitsukoshi will add this kimono to its collection, and just like a museum producing museum goods by incorporating patterns and the like taken from its collections, the kimono pattern will be used on the carrier shopping bag; if there is a part where I can be of help, it would be application of the pattern onto the bag. I am an artist who originally studied graphic design; so I want to create the kind of bag, where the three-dimensional structure of the bag will play and interact with the kimono pattern. It’s not just simply printing the kimono pattern on the bag any old how; everything’s carefully thought out.”

After that first conversation three months, no four month have passed. Finally we are nearing completion of the project. I think, for Mitsukoshi, with a history of more than 340 years since its foundation, this new shopping bag implies a fresh start on a new path. I always want to express evolution or the re-volution of tradition. When we look back at the tradition of yuzen printing, the yuzen technique was also born at roughly the same period as Mitsukoshi. Mitsukoshi and Isetan have merged, and I wish this joining will be a happy marriage. To achieve this hope, it is important for both companies to continue discovering their own and the other’s identity. The cultures of these two companies are totally different; therefore, they must not be blended. In a sense that clarifies the difference, the two distinct identities should complement each other, just like Mitsukoshi being known for “dyeing,” and Isetan for “weaving.”

By the way, Mr. Moriguchi, you don’t use the term “reform”; you use the term “freedom.” Could you expand on that?

Moriguchi: Once I start talking about it, it can get a bit abstract, so let me explain by giving a specific example. As far as I know, nowhere in the world has fabric with drawn or printed pictures been made into clothes for rulers or the wealthy. Powerful figures, that is to say, emperors, kings, princes, and the rich have always worn gorgeous fabrics woven from very expensive materials. When studying any of the historical sources or paintings, their clothes were never made of simple printed fabrics. Kings always put on magnificent and substantial garments to emphasize their power and authority. It was the common people who wore far less elaborate clothes made of dyed or printed fabrics. Japan, however, was the only exception, and there was an era in which the appreciation and recognition of silk fabric with drawn designs suddenly flowered. After the 17th century, the yuzen technique was a symbolic presence for people in the Edo period, who yearned for their own cultural freedom. In earlier Japan, the Chinese and Korean cultures were still dominant and had significant impact; in particular, three dynasties on the Korean Peninsula had exerted a great influence upon Japan. One of the best examples of this effect is the art of the tea ceremony, which was actually introduced from Korea. Japan up to the 16th century was a country easily influenced and susceptible to the introduction of culture from foreign countries. In such circumstances, the Japanese kept accepting and absorbing many new ideas, and over time refined and blended them to create a Japanese culture. It was in the 16th century, when, a man who could be described as a sort of wild man, an enfant terrible of his times, appeared; his name was Oda Nobunaga. Although headstrong, he was also highly intellectual and sensitive, and he wanted nothing less than a revolution. Nobunaga had his eye on ruling all of Japan and he was set to bring about sweeping changes. He was the first person to wear hand-drawn and dyed garments. He bluntly said: “I want freedom. I want a unique thing that only exists here.” Nobunaga wanted to wear bespoke clothes; he demanded haute couture and original one-of-a-kind patterns, such as the exquisite designs created by shibori-zome (tie-dye). Around this time the outlook and mindset of the Japanese people was gradually changing; it was the start of our establishing independence from foreign cultures. Although Japan kept incorporating cultural influences from other countries, there was an increasing emphasis on putting Japan’s originality and freedom first. In the 16th century, Japan began a search for an independent Japanese culture and identity. In the 17th century, Japan entered a peaceful era with an enforced period of national isolation. In the middle of the 17th century, Mitsukoshi inaugurated an enterprise, and the yuzen technique was also born, both of which contributed to the completely free expression and dissemination of yuzen. For that reason, similarly to the ukiyo-e prints that appeared in the same period, yuzen can be considered as a symbol of the freedom so desired by the society of the Edo period.

As for this work I’ve been told that the design perfectly symbolizes Mitsukoshi, and its longing for freedom and the exploring of a new path. Definitely I too want it to symbolize freedom. However, at first glance the path I chose appears not to be so “free,” because any geometrical design naturally involves many restrictions. With hexagons, squares, and angles, everything is pretty much nailed down.

Even so, I still stand by the concept of “free,” purely because I have the freedom to choose which domain I position myself within. When we have decided our own domain, we start to be restricted to the space we have chosen, but we still have freedom to decide where we will be positioned within that space. That is why I am “free.” I was completely free in my choice of one hexagon and the three squares. The restrictions arising later are also wonderful limitations. At first, in the sort of groping stage, I just used trial and error, but in the end I started feeling a pleasant sense of relief, and a sort of liberation, because I skillfully selected my restrictions or framework at the beginning. It is freedom from that sense.

Some 300 years ago the French Revolution heralded the ideals of “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity.” Fraternity and equality are concepts requiring the participation of others, but only liberty does not need others. I can feel I am alone and can become wholly independent. That is exactly what I love. From among liberty, equality, and fraternity, I like liberty the most.

That means you and Mitsukoshi’s spirit were on the same wavelength, right?

Moriguchi: Yes, there is a part where we see eye to eye.

Weisbecker: If I could just return to when Kuni mentioned that Korean and Chinese traditions were spread in Japan, this really piqued my interest. I think such a movement was wonderful; however, I feel that the way the ordinary people incorporated such different cultural influences is a reflection of the Japanese temperament. Yesterday, I was saying that without exception I feel something very sophisticated about Japanese people. Only yesterday, I was saying that sort of thing, and now today, Kuni is saying the same sort of thing as well. I didn’t know those aspects of Japanese history he has just explained, but after listening to him, what I have noticed is that at one period, such a powerful man as Nobunaga started wearing dyed garments; it can be said that by acting in this way, he in effect lowered the highest ranked in the land, but it can also be said that in the same instant, he raised the level of all society. Precisely for this reason, to a large extent Japanese culture is endowed with a sense of unity, and on the whole it is pretty refined. In France, we had many centuries where very wealthy people possessed extraordinary luxury, and poor people were ill-educated and possessed very little, and this period lasted longer than in Japan. For the upper classes, to lose and to let go does not mean loss or defeat, rather what is let go is simply waste, and as a result, the other classes will be ranked higher; I think there is a need to find a proper balance to realize this.

Moriguchi: That’s right.

Weisbecker: I think it is a very Japanese phenomenon.

Moriguchi: Certainly, in 17th century Japan, Japanese people at all levels of society were basically cheerful. Although there was a strict class system, on the cultural side, there was a good open atmosphere. At its base we find literature, and in my view literature played a significant role. As subjects in medieval or Heian period literature, there is no discrimination between commoners, emperors, aristocrats, and feudal lords, and literature was very important for their life. Such a culture is very distinctive.

Weisbecker: Yes it is.

Moriguchi: In the first place, it is very special to talk about freedom in this way and particularly when it’s connected with a shopping bag; it’s a bit hard to believe.