Japanese culture makes for fascinating observation and study. The Far Eastern industrial giant not only rose out of the ashes – and nuclear radiation fallout – of World War II; it has also displayed an extraordinary propensity for being able to adapt and incorporate artistic, cultural, and commercial climes.
Taking a circuit or two of the Japanese Design Today 100 exhibition, currently on display at the Tikotin Museum of Japanese Art in Haifa, you can’t miss the knack of Japanese designers to achieve a succinct marriage of alluring aesthetics and user-friendly utilitarian pragmatism.
The display concept first saw the light of day in 2004 and flew the flag of Japanese design around the world for a decade. The current collection is the third rendition of the best the Land of the Rising Sun has to offer, taking in around 100 products, the majority of which came onto the market in the 21st century. But there are also some iconic creations from earlier slots too, dating back to the 1950s.
What's being shown at the Tikotin Museum of Japanese Art?
Photography buffs will no doubt be enticed by the seductive charms of the Nikon F camera, which came out in 1959. Curators Hiroshi Kashiwagi and Masafumi Fukagawa, helped by graphic designer Taku Satoh and design historian Yuko Hashimoto, characteristically add some tongue-in-cheek vignettes with some smile-inducing juxtapositioning. The seminal Nikon model, for example, is neighbored by the FujiFilm Quick Snap Flash 400, a cheap and cheerful snapping device.
Dr. Etty Glass Gisis proved to be a font of knowledge as we made the rounds of the products, as well as the fetching exhibition of monochrome prints shot by young Japan-based Israeli photographer Michael Sela. A fluent Japanese speaker with a doctorate from Gakashuin University in Tokyo, the Tikotin chief curator was well placed both to curate Sela’s work and enlighten me about the design items on show, as well as providing me some insight into Japanese art and culture and the philosophy behind them. “There are 13 categories, the first of which talks about the origins,” she advises. Other product classifications include electronics, furniture, tableware and cookware, architecture and environment, and safety and disaster supplies. “These are designs which became iconic,” Glass Gisis states.
That, she observes, is testament to the robust nature of Japanese aesthetic expertise. “In the field of design and, in particular, product design, we know how difficult it is to sustain a product for more than a few years. Something new normally pops up to replace the older version, which becomes outdated.”
Notwithstanding the dynamic nature of the commercial sector, some of Japan’s manufacturing output has stood the test of time. “Look at these glasses,” she says, pointing to what is described in the show catalogue as “tempered glass tumblers for general use.” It goes on to explain that the classic-looking glass has “a toughened rim to reduce the risk of chipping and cracking,” adding that “the tumbler can be stacked to save space in both commercial and domestic settings.”
Here we have yet another example of pragmatism proving its durable worth. “These glasses date back to 1972,” Glass Gisis points out. “That’s over 50 years. And who doesn’t recognize them?”
When we consider the relatively diminutive dimensions of a typical Japanese urban residence, the stackable element comes in very handy. It also informs designer thinking across a broad range of products. The Butterfly Stool, from 1956, is a delectably pristine furniture piece that takes up little room. Close to half a century on the stackable Sodento Desk, from 2010, doubles as shelving. At less than 5 kg. a blow, the desk-cum-container can be used by people of all ages and fitness levels.
According to Glass Gisis, the compactness aspect of Japanese design thinking is also the result of necessity. “After WWII, there were severe shortages of all kinds of materials, in addition to the small homes in Japanese cities.” The size-sensitive products on display in Haifa include the easily foldable Sputtering Gloss origami bag; the pleated Issey Miyake long-sleeved T-shirt; a short, wide folding umbrella; an inexpensive, easily assembled paper partition system; and a wafer-thin, miniscule pocket soap tablet, which comes in various shapes and shades and “provides just enough suds to complete the hand washing job,” Glass Gisis notes. There is also a clear environmentally friendly side to that.
Space constraints play a formative role in various areas of Japanese life, including religious observance. “What we are looking at here is a household Buddhist temple,” she explains. Really? If I hadn’t grasped the Japanese gift for flexibility and adapting to circumstances, the penny finally dropped when I came face-to-face with a sort of shelving arrangement that might have come straight out of IKEA. In fact, I was looking at a set of A4-sized Buddhist altars.
“This is the item that moves me the most in the exhibition,” Glass Gisis enthuses. “This is pure genius. This is a Buddhist-Shintoist altar.” That, she points out, feeds off the ability of the Japanese to tailor their needs and desires to the street-level scene. “It doesn’t make any difference how advanced Japanese art is in the 21st century. It could be the 25th century. I can promise you that everyone will have a Buddhist-Shintoist altar at home. Everyone has one, regardless of what they believe in.”
Other fetching exhibits that caught my eye included the sultry Panasonic direct-drive turntable system and the BC Play CD player. Naturally, there was a whole slew of products relating to the preparation and consumption of rice, which, Glass Gisis tells me, is the mainstay of three meals a day in Japan. The rice theme ran from the 1959 Toshiba electric rice cooker and the 2018 Kamadosan Denki version by Siroca Inc. through to the rice-wash stick by Marna Inc. and the Hirachawan set of bowls for serving freshly steamed rice. I also learned that there are serrated Japanese chopsticks, which makes life easier for the diner, particularly of the Western ilk.
The Light on Skin photography exhibition of works by Michael Sela is also well worth your time. The 26-year-old, who apparently declared, at the age of 17, that he was going to be “the best photographer in the world,” certainly packs artistic firepower and cultural-societal nous. He uses good old analog film, black and white, to create tender, velvety textures and compelling interplay between light and shade.
The shots were taken in 2019 and formed part of Sela’s pilgrimage to the spiritual and emotional hinterland of his adopted home. The results of that journey, across a seemingly unbridgeable cultural chasm, make for impressive and emotive viewing.
There is a palpable sense of intimacy in the pictures, all shot in Japan, which imparts a feeling of comfort and trust between artist and subject. “In fact, he photographs people he knows,” Glass Gisis explains. “You can see that. He doesn’t take pictures of people who don’t mean something to him.”
Sela takes the bold approach to his art, happy to take leaps of faith without a safety net. His choice of actual physical film means he can’t follow suit with his digitized contemporaries who can reel off dozens of snaps in double-quick time and immediately check out what they’ve got. He ups the risk-taking ante by even eschewing the advantages of a light meter. “I adjust the aperture according to my eye and the extent to which I have to close my eyes, for example, in front of the sun or, rather, open them in a dark room,” he explains.
That sounds like a refreshingly definitive human approach to a discipline that, like almost all areas of 21st-century life, has become increasingly controlled and tailored to the ostensible precision of technological means.
His choice of subjects also reflects a desire to capture fleeting moments of real life rather than hunting for thrill-inducing hype. “These are not tourist pictures,” Glass Gisis notes, more than a little superfluously. “These are photographs taken by someone who knows the place and lives the place,” and, she may have added, applies a sensitive eye, mind, and finger to the shutter-release button.
The exhibitions close on November 25. For more information: https://www.tmja.org.il/eng
