Hear a Ginkgo Leaf Falling 聽到飄零的銀杏葉

I finished a design project. I had some time on my hands. I sat with my legs crossed, my eyes closed. I blocked out distractions, thoughts, and sensations. I concentrated on the sounds I heard. It was difficult to hear with focus at the first beginning. Gradually, I became aware of layers upon layers of overlapping noises.

The coo, hoot, twitter and chirp of birds from the back yard. The distant grind and groan of a car. The strident shouts, cries and chatter of children on the playground. The steady hum from the refrigerator in the kitchen. The pounding, heavy footsteps from the staircase in my walk-up apartment building. The unidentified snorts, laughter, bangs, honks, squeaks, creaks and whistles.

Twenty minutes latter, I opened my eyes. I stretched my body, and I heard a voice in my mind: more practice, and bigger ears, I could get to hear a ginkgo leaf falling on the sidewalk of Mott street in NoLiTa.

Perspective 觀點

New York Downtown Style: Chinese version vs. Taiwanese version

The old Egyptians drew the head in profile but rendered the eye as if it were on a front view – the body is more recognizable from front than side. However, arms and legs are more clearly described from the side.

Cubism combined glances taken from different angles at different moments into a single composition. A picture that wasn’t meant to look like anything but itself.

My first book New York Downtown Style (bilingual), first introduced to the reader in 2006, is now released in China with a new design by the Hong Kong born graphic designer Lu Zhi-Chang (Simplified Chinese: 陆智昌). Looking back and forth between the first and second covers, I could sense the difference from each other in composition, temperament, and tempo. In Lu's work (the left image), forms are more solid, enigmatic, and cooler. And to Lou Hsin-Mei (Traditional Chinese: 羅心梅), her approaches are more joyful , funkier and sweeter.

Different cultures, different times, different designers – different points of view.

A Rose Is Not a Rose 不是玫瑰的玫瑰

The American historian Alice Morse Earle wrote, "The fragrance of the sweetest rose is beyond an other flower scent, it is irresistible, enthralling; you cannot leave it. I have never doubted the rose has some compelling quality not shared by other flowers...". Seen in this light, the fragrance experts claim that the rose perfume creates a mysterious atmosphere and state of mind conducive to romance.

Although the words rose and fragrance go together like hand and glove, rose is my least favorite scent. I rather exclaim over color and beauty of a rose in a full bloom than smelling it from a perfume bottle. More than any other sense, smells keenly evoke memories and feelings for me.

A rose fragrance with gourmet touches makes me ill. Worn by a person who easily lost himself in the rage. It’s truly a horrible smell!

Last night, in a gallery opening on Broome Street in SoHo, I was having a drink and gazing at the artwork in the fashion crowd. A peculiar rose smell suddenly hit my nose and it was like a nasal déjà vu – I shivered, a chill rushed down my spine. I had to leave right away because the sickening smell permeated my nostrils.

To me, a rose doesn’t lose its color in the rain, but it does lose its fragrance in my olfactory memory.

Inspired by René François Ghislain Magritte, I conjured up an image of rose in a contradictive context : the rose is not a rose, because it does not smell.

Do You Hear My Design? 你聽出了我的設計嗎？

It's known that music can respond and appeal directly to an artist's "internal element" and express spiritual values. On writing, the French poet Charles Baudelaire affirmed that "scents, colors and sounds answer one another". On painting, the Russian artist Wassily Kandinsky had this to say:

"Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key then another to cause vibration in the soul. It is therefore evident that color harmony must rely only on a corresponding vibration in the human soul."

If scent is the music for our nose, color is the music for our eyes.

I don't have a good ear to listen, but I appreciate music. Music allows me a freedom of imagination, interpretation, and emotional response on my design. I especially feel attracted to Bach, whose works are greatly admired for their intellectual depth, technical command and artistic beauty.

While working, I like to play Bach's music. I often picture myself walking through fields of paper, touching it with my pencil as if I'm composing the most enchanting music. To me, the organic and geometric shapes that I draw on my sketchbook are like Bach's musical notes that tangle with my joy and happiness.

I was enthralled by Kandinsky's curious gift of colour-hearing (synaesthesia), which he successfully translated onto canvas as "visual music". His artistic ambition got me thinking that, as a designer without the capacity to see sound and hear color, how I can conjure a visual presentation of music that illustrates the affinities between shapes and colors?

Therefore, I crabbed my pencil and started my musical adventure: I drew circles, triangles, and squares, one by one, and filled them in colors. Then, I made them sing with all the intensity I could to create a perfect visual harmony...

My dear readers, this is the creative process of this poster design that I pay homage to Kandinsky. Before you leave let me ask you. Do you hear my design?

Color of the Moment 剎那時光的色彩

One afternoon when I was writing the ‘color’ essay in my silver Mac power book in my New York apartment, it started raining like cats and dogs. The thunderstorm made the room so pitch black. Getting up from my black chair to turn on the yellow light, off-guardedly, I saw the colorful window… Looking out of the brown wooden-framed window, I was struck by the beautiful color abstract scene. I couldn’t see my neighbor’s red brick wall and the green trees in the back yard any more. The silver heavy rain was making the brick wall and the trees almost invisible in a blur of forest green and burgundy. What I was used to see is not what I was seeing. The rhythm of the falling rain is the sound of Ryuichi Sakamoto’s piano. The color vibration of my window is the color palette of Kandinsky.

Design with a Japanese Mind - A Conversation with Takeshi Wakabayashi 若林剛之

My name is Takeshi Wakabayashi
I owe a great deal to the nature of Kyoto.

When I need to be alone, I often take a stroll in Tadasu no Mori (糺の森), “the forest of truth”. I am happy and at peace with myself in this forest. It is natural, not pruned or planted by human beings. I also enjoy the late afternoon breeze in the spring. A kind of breeze is just like what the eccentric Zen Buddhist priest and poet Ikkyu Sojun (一休宗純, 1394-1481) described: “Break open a cherry tree and there are no flowers, but the spring breeze brings forth myriad blossoms”. The breeze carries away the day’s grievances of mine and puts me at ease.

From ancient times to the present, the Japanese people have celebrated the beauty of nature and the poignancy of its seasonal rhythm of the moon, the sakura blossom, the river and the forest. Inspired by nature impulses, they created meditations on the fleeting seasons of life and, through them, expressed essential truths about the nature of human experience.

Iki, the Japanese aesthetic ideal
The patterns of human experience forms culture, and the critical reflection on culture, art, and nature shapes aesthetics. Zen was formalized in China. Chan, as it is known in China, took root in Japan in the thirteenth century. Zen Buddhism’s emphasis on simplicity, emptiness, and the impermanence of the natural world generated a distinctive Japanese aesthetic. Therefore, the appreciation of nature has been fundamental to many Japanese aesthetic ideals, artistic expressions, and other cultural elements.

But the highly refined Japanese aesthetic sensibility is not only about the sensual appeal of elements of the natural world, but also about the human emotions it imbues them with. The main theme in Japanese aesthetics is that objects are alive and should be in harmony. Iki (いき, often written 粋), a traditional aesthetic ideal in Japan, illustrates this value of Japanese aesthetic.

Iki is not simply “Japanese things”. It can be used for almost anything, but especially for people. Iki is not found in nature itself, but can be found in the human act of appreciating the beauty of nature. Iki is associated with a thing or situation that is simple, improvised, straight, restrained, temporary, romantic, ephemeral, original, refined, inconspicuous, etc.; it can also be related to a person who is audacious, chic, pert, tacit, sassy, unselfconscious, calm, indifferent, unintentionally coquettish, open-minded, and restrained.

Satou Toshi-san, the owner of Tawaraya Ryokan in Kyoto, is the perfect example of Iki to me. I'm not only impressed by her personal style, but also influenced by her sense of fashion, architecture, taste, and hospitality. She is truly a pioneer in creating a new style inspired by Kyoto tradition!

Design with a Japanese mind
In my 20s, I used to be called “the American boy”, owing my obsession with Ralph Lauren's collection. But soon after turning 30, I started to question my running after Western fashion as a Japanese designer. Moreover, what is the “modern” Japanese style? Just like you, Della-san. Becuase you are educated in America, with roots in Asia, I don’t see you viewing art and literature only with the Western eyes, right?

The aesthetic system of Japan is significantly different from that of the West. For example:
• Contrary to the precise geometrical values in the Western world, Japanese use diagonal, rather than a centrally placed horizontal or vertical line when dividing a rectangle symmetrically.
• In the West, the pictorial quality is based on realm; in contrast, Japanese characterize the elements drawn from the natural world in an abstract from.
• The West worships a permanent beauty and a complex context; Japanese praise the beauty of nature and its harmonious simplicity.

As a designer, I am open to anything. But things that take full concentration and excessive training attract me the most, such as calligraphy, tea ceremony, and traditional craftsmanship. Therefore, inspired as I am by the sublime Japanese aesthetics, I see no need to adopt Western ideals. And as an upholder of the need to rediscover and appreciate Japanese traditional values, albeit in an apparently revolutionary guise, I established the “Made In Japan” brand – Sou • Sou.

Sou • Sou, pronounced as so – so in English, expresses the ultimate statement of Japanese lifestyle. It is a typical Japanese way to say the word when we make a nod to maintain a friendly and harmonious atmosphere during a conversation. Although the word doesn’t convey a meaning of “yes”, it implies “I agree with you” and “I understand you”.

Sou • Sou has always made the point: discovering and interpreting avant-garde art in Japan, and the roots that bind it to the cultural and aesthetic values of the country’s own tradition. It doesn’t matter if the design is for Jika-Tabi (split-toe shoes, 地下足袋) or textile; all of Sou • Sou’s works derive their aesthetic merit from the fact that it cannot be fully achieved without perfect execution!

Tradition is present
When I walked in the courtyard of Shimogamo Jinja, I saw the glow of sunset deepening and hanging on the torii gate . Even though Kyoto is a modern city of more than a million, the weight of history and the force of tradition have given the streets of the city an undeniable unified and harmonious atmosphere, beyond the well-known image of temples and geishas.

Tradition lives in the present, and it is our key to the past.

All Children Are Poets 所有的小孩都是詩人

"Things," said film director Robert Bresson, "are made more visible not by more light, but by the fresh angle at which I regard them." It doesn't matter if those are created by Albert Einstein, written by James Joyce, or fashioned by Alberto Giacometti, things are merely alternative versions of the same hologram. Thus, altering our particular personal construct requires a substantial leap of imagination as we need to see things from a new angle.

We have been told that all children are poets, and through the children's bright eyes, the world throbs with life and is inhabited by all manner of beautiful, powerful folk. Ever since I started documenting the sublime beauty of Kyoto through my Cannon camera, I have been wondering what this city would look like to its children.

Children drawings are the poetic recording of the facts of childhood. Miho, a seven-year-old Kyotoite girl, presented to me her art project using nothing but colored pencils. In her manga-styled drawing, Miho's Kyoto story goes like this –

The little Miho: Let's go. Guys.
The boy in the middle who is leaning over a pond: Ah. Look at the Koi fishes. Are they friends?
The boy on the right who just fell from his bike: Oooouuugh! it hurts.
The Koi on the left: W-A-I-T.
The Koi on the right: Here. Here.

*The tower on the upper left corner is Toji temple.

Picasso says, "Every child is an artist. It's a challenge to remain an artist when you grow up". I am not sure if I am an artist to Picasso's standard, but I believe that even when I turn 100 years old, there will always be a child in me who will believe in the wonders and magic of life and of living, who will marvel at the unknown and yearn to satisfy my curiosity, who will still dream and look at the world with child-like innocence....

Aimai (曖昧), the Ambiguous Mind

Ambiguity is the hallmark of Kenzaburo Oe (大江 健三郎), Japan's second Nobel Laureate in Literature. He defines ambiguity as “vague, obscure, equivocal, dubious, doubtful, questionable, shady, noncommittal, indefinite, hazy, double, tow-edged”. In Japan, aimai (Japanese: ambiguity) permeates art, culture, literature and even the language.

The Japanese consider ambiguity a virtue; however, it can cause a great many problems in cross-cultural communication. Unlike Western people strive for certainty and clarity of understanding in everything, the Japanese think that it is impolite to speak openly on the assumption that the party knows nothing; therefore, it is unnecessary to speak clearly as long as the other is knowledgeable.

In Japan, life often has the quality of compromise, and people use many roundabout expressions to decline offers. They take care to maintain a friendly atmosphere and express themselves indirectly. Ambiguity is part of being polite, of maintaining a harmonious ambiance. Saying “no” is considered impolite, so saying “yes” doesn’t really mean “yes”. That is the essence of “aimai na gengo” (Japanese: ambiguous language).

Linguistic ambiguity is the source of friction and misunderstanding, but also a trigger for the creative mind. Unveiling the metaphor of a piece of poetry or of a movie requires a lot creative effort. Interpreting the artist’s mind through the lens of personal thoughts and experiences gives rise to new ideas that were never intended by the original author.

Della Chuang -

Della Chuang - "KyotEau: Bottled Memories" - Nathan Branch

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Kyoto in Colors

In Kyoto, I noticed that I associated colors with some of the things I think about:

To wash my hair, take my bath, and put on a scented yukata is lavender purple in a sunny field.

To take a stroll around Kennin-ji at midnight is hazelnut brown with an enchanting quietude.

To wait under the latticed roof for the sun shower to stop is gold mixed with a rainbow color.

To sleep in a tatami room where some pure and clean incense has been burnt is sage green in the moonlight.

To listen to the sound of cicada on the veranda in the temple where I lodged is white of nothingness.

What Makes For a Bad Cover Design? 是啥弄壞了書本封面設計？

I like to hang out alone at the Strand Bookstore in lower Manhattan. Although Strand is well known as one of the busiest bookstores to entice the crowd of book bargainer hunters, I find that loitering around the congested passageways between its imposing shelves is peaceful and quiet. I appreciate the chance of being away from computers and conversation, and taking pleasure in a single activity – browsing the shelves for good book cover designs. As Strand call themselves the home of 18 miles of books, there are sure to be some hidden treasures.

A good cover design not only requires a smart title that delivers a purposeful message, but also an appealing visual that catches the reader’s attention. Once the reader lays eyes on the cover, there must be something to make him want to pick up the book, such as a clean distinctive typeface, a stunning image, an interesting texture, or contrasting colors on the cover. A good cover hooks the reader, but a bad cover makes him think twice.

But what makes for a bad cover design? In my humble opinion, the following are some crucial ingredients:
1. Too literal: I dislike an excessively descriptive graphic element alluding to its plot or character. For instance, using an image of a white tower for a book called “The White Tower”.
2. Too cliché: My heart sinks when I see a graphic element such as women with painted faces in traditional East Asian dress, Asian women with long straight black hair, dragon, lotus, chopsticks, and Buddha heads, on many Asian-themed book covers.
3. Trying too hard: I don’t like a book cover laden with too many images, types and colors to explain the details of the book. I'm drawn to the design principle of “less is more”.
4. Not approachable: Adding frills like a flap, elastic band, or button might convey a more “designed” or “artsy” look, but it can be a turn-off if the reader has to make too much of an effort to open the book and flip through it.

In the reality of the publishing world, an author has little say about the cover of his creation. Therefore, I was thankful for the constructive exchange with my own publisher and their in-house designer, and to be able to defend my book “KyotEau: Bottled Memories” against the above temptations. After all, we do judge a book by its cover.

Smell

We think about each other, and when we are apart we remember each other’s smell.

When I’m away, he misses the smell of my hair.

When he’s not with me, I like to smell the pillow that he sleeps on.

I love you, my Bjoern. As you know, I never think of you as just my teddy bear…

Simplicity – An Extract from "KyotEau: Bottled Memories"

What is simplicity?

For the Italian scientist, engineer, painter, and polymath Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519), “simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”

The Polish musician Fredric Chopin (1810-1849): “Simplicity is the final achievement. After one has played a vast quantity of notes and more notes, it is simplicity that emerges as the crowning reward of art.”

The Japanese architect of botanical gardens Koich Kawana (1930-1990): “Simplicity is the achievement of maximum effect with minimum means."

And to the Japanese tea master, Sen no Rikyu (1522-1591), the simplicity of the tea ceremony comes through in his poem:

Tea is naught but this;
First you heat the water,
Then you make the tea.
Then you drink it properly.
That is all you need to know.

In the Japanese tea ceremony, many objects made from bamboo are used, and the mystery associated with the material contributes to the inner meaning of the proceedings. The shape of the bamboo flower holder, cylindrical in shape, is often nothing more than a chopped-off piece of stalk. Such simplicity is an important element of Japanese design. The concentration of perfect workmanship in a simple object is a design principal that has influenced many Japanese craftsmen and can become an article of faith.

This Japanese simplicity is the appreciation of a single flower, exquisitely arranged and presented, as opposed to a large bouquet, where it is quantity that counts. It might value the importance ascribed to the act of creation rather than to the object manufactured. It might focus on the intimate, organic qualities of structures built on a human scale, in contrast to those emphasizing the façade.

Simplicity seems natural, almost obvious, in its final form, but getting there takes experience, talent, and patience. Design for simplicity cannot be successful unless it is supported by perfect execution.

Simplicity isn’t simple.

* Photo by Manfred Koh

Surely Ideas Love You, Monsieur Maurice Roucel – An Extract from "KyotEau: Bottled Memories".

The French master perfumer Maurice Roucel says, “Though it is never clear where ideas exactly come from and how they announce themselves is unpredictable, I get ideas from everywhere, all the time. I can’t go through life anymore without allowing myself to be constantly inspired by anything. Just walking around can be enough – being open to different things, people and surroundings…” To Monsieur Roucel, what appears to be a spontaneous thought may well have been a long time cooking in the unconscious, just like a baby learns to walk and an adult learns to drive. As John Cage declared, “I have nothing to say and I am saying it.”

However, when it comes down to how creativity operates, Monsieur Roucel believes that a designer sketches in order to create the beautiful shape of perfume bottle; a musician writes musical notations to compose the greatest piece of harmonious music; a perfumer formulates ingredients to create the most memorable fragrances. For when it’s all said and done, Monsieur Roucel sees that ideas can sometimes be conjured up with practice, intuition, and new prospective.

Andy Warhol once explained: "I just paint things I always thought were beautiful - things you use every day and never think about." Ideas are subversive and they come in various guises. If you pay attention to them, they come to you. The angel of inspiration seems to favor those who have a promiscuous curiosity and enthusiasm.

The Life of the Perfumer Christophe Laudamiel – An Extract from "KyotEau: Bottled Memories".

How about the work life of a perfumer? The confidentiality of perfume formulas pulls a blanket of mystery over the perfume industry. However, Christophe Laudamiel is willing to shed a bit of light.

In his words:

“Half of his life is spent writing fragrance formulas to surprise and to create all kinds of envies and wonderful sensations for the happy few: clients, friends, and family.
Another half of his life is spent filling up trashcans with rejected fragrances from people who cannot smell or cannot judge but who think they belong to the happy few! The other half of the trashcans is what it takes to create a magic fragrance: a lot of expertise and a lot of trials and errors because not even perfumers can predict a scent in their minds just by looking at its formula.
A further half of his life is spent running around the lab looking for the suitable material in a jungle of 2,000 bottles or so to determine the correct next ingredient for his recipe of more than 80 ingredients.
Half of his life is spent thinking of how he can be more clever than nature by trying to tame ingredients and making them smell like what they don’t want to smell like.
Half of his life is spent thinking of how he should be shrewder than certain people sitting across a meeting table with different agendas.
Half of his life is spent thinking of how he can translate into a scent what someone cannot describe with words, but only with faces and emphatic gestures.
Half of his life is spent traveling either across Manhattan or across oceans, because the ingredients, the scent palettes, the fragrance collections and atmospheres won’t travel in the Internet in a zip file.
Indeed, there are many halves in a perfumer’s job, but they constitute the many facets to create the magic formula.”

The Life of A Graphic Designer – An Extract From "KyotEau: Bottled Memories"

To explain, I'm paraphrasing an entry from my diary, written on a day of frustration with our daily grind:

A graphic designer is a person who has to show up at countless meetings to listen to everyone’s critique of her work. She sketches first with pen and paper, then uses a Mac to design a digital representation of the initial ideas, and the design ends up as a two-dimensional print (such as a poster or advertisement), or a three-dimensional shape (such as a perfume bottle or package).

While she designs, she may drink green tea or soy lattes, or do some deep breathing, trying to stay calm while waiting for the computer to reboot, or the always-delayed meeting to start. From time to time she raises her head from the monitor to see if any of her co-workers are still around, even though it is 8:30 pm already, and if she is lucky, she doesn’t have to work on the weekends to meet the ever-tighter deadline. Nevertheless, she sometimes manages to step out for lunch and enjoy a quiet moment by herself on the eternally-crowded Fifth Avenue.

She continues to explore the spirit of design in its many guises, hoping that at least one of her clients or readers may understand her passion for and dedication to art and design. And what keeps her going is the thrill of seeing, some day in the future, shelves full of her perfume bottles, all identical and aligned like soldiers.

Eeny — Meeny — Miney — Mo 意尼 — 咪尼 — 蜜尼 — 眸

EENY — MEENY — MINEY — MO
A happy hum from a Sami hunter.

意尼 — 咪尼 — 蜜尼 — 眸*
一位北歐沙米獵鹿人愛哼的數數兒韻律。

*「倆者取其一」的兒童數數兒遊戲韻律

Going With The Flow 順其自然

GOING WITH THE FLOW
On the rainy day I do nothing but watch the rain.

順其自然
下雨天時就賞雨囉。

TYPOGRAPHY 文字造型

TYPOGRAPHY
Being beautiful is more important than being meaningful.

文字造型
字形美感大於內容含意。

I Am Not Deaf Yet. 我可還沒聾呢。

In Finnish Lakeland

I kept shouting:

Be quite, Mosquitoes!

I am not deaf yet.


在芬蘭的湖區

我不斷吶喊著：

閉嘴，饒舌的蚊子,

我可還沒聾呢。