The Path of Makoto Koizumi

Industrial designer Makoto Koizumi and his works are well known in the world; however, when Steve from Nalata Nalata told me that his personality and the path he has taken are not familiar, I agreed. As a consumer rather than an insider in the design industry, I associate Koizumi-san with his distinct products such as wooden chairs, enamel kettles, and wall clocks—as well as the Sumire Aoi House, which is a small, cubic architecture build of only 9 tsubo (approximately 320 sq ft.) that he redesigned. I also met him before as a writer for an interview and had a glimpse of his cheerful personality. But, wait. Who is Koizumi-san anyway? Is he a multi-disciplinary designer who works on everything from kitchen tools to housing? Why is he based in Kunitachi, the western suburb of Tokyo? Various questions came to mind. Ok, let’s ask him directly. I visited Koizumi Douguten, where he runs a shop and studio about a 20-minute walk from Kunitachi station on the JR Chuo line.

Makoto Koizumi, a furniture designer, born in 1960.

His life began with his father, a national public servant, his mother and sister in a public housing complex in Tokyo. Back in the 1960s and 1970s when Koizumi-san spent his childhood, Japan was in the middle of a period of high economic growth. “There was construction everywhere. Roads and houses were built here and there. I used to watch them with interest. When I was an elementary school student, I asked a guy at a construction site to help, and he allowed me to knead cement. He praised me, ‘Good job!’ and gave me 10 yen as a reward. Looking back on it now, I think I must have liked making things. I would say it was sort of my origin.”

Speaking of his origin, Koizumi-san says spending time at his parents’ homes was part of it too. His father’s family house was a traditional Machiya (town house) in Osaka, and his mother’s was a house in the rice paddies of Nara. “The house in Osaka was what we call old Machiya style, with a courtyard in the back adjoining from the earthen floor and bathroom outside. The house in Nara was Shoin-zukuri (traditional Japanese residential architecture) with Engawa (wooden porches). I assume I was influenced in some way by experiencing such primitive Japanese landscapes as a child.”

Doma (earthen floors), wooden Hashira (pillars) and Hari (beams), tatami rooms, Fusuma (sliding doors), Shoji (sliding doors with wooden flames and translucent paper), Tokonoma (an alcove for art display), and so on. By touching them, feeling the materials and forms, and spending time in the living space originating from the Japanese climate and lifestyle must have become unintentionally foundational. The back-and-forth between living in the city and returning to the countryside also left “something” on the boy Koizumi. He says it’s related to his move to Kunitachi in later days. For now, I set that story aside—let’s get back to his life story in his student days.

At design school, Koizumi-san also had a significant encounter with a key person in his life. It was Yoshifumi Nakamura, an architect who was his teacher at that time. Koizumi-san says, “He’s my mentor, or rather an intimate presence for me.” Koizumi-san and the respected Nakamura-san became acquainted in and out of the school. Their relationship has continued to the present day.

After graduation, Koizumi-san desired to work as a furniture designer, but there were no job opportunities. Although he took a position at a subcontracting company, unsatisfying jobs made his heart heavy. Koizumi-san got advice from Nakamura-san to “better go work for someone you could respect” and decided to seek out designers. With the ulterior motive that furniture design is included in interior design, he set his sights on interior designers such as Shiro Kuramata, Shigeru Uchida, and Choei Hara. Koizumi-san visited the office of Choei and Narumitsu Hara first. Fateful or not, there was an opening for an assistant, and Koizumi-san was quickly hired. He ended up working at Joint Center, the Hara brother’s office.

In 1990, at the age of 30, Koizumi-san left the Joint Center after working five and a half years to found Koizumi Studio and became an independent furniture designer. At first, he made a living by helping Yoshifumi Nakamura at the rented space in his office and by doing a few commissioned works on his own. Working with Nakamura-san—who engaged in both architecture and furniture design— and helping with the detailed designs and site management of his residential projects, Koizumi-san came to a certain realization. “Furniture designers are not just supposed to make furniture as products. Furniture designers need to understand architecture. Furniture designers can’t design anything without appreciating everyday life. I recognized that clearly.”

For example, when a furniture designer designs a dining table, one should consider not only the shape and size but also the place where the table is placed and even the distance from the wall. One should be asking, “Is there enough space to go through between the table and wall,” and, “is it a space where people can eat comfortably?” Ultimately, Koizumi-san discovered that comprehensive insight about the living space and stepping into the emotional aspects of the users are a must in a furniture designer’s process. This conclusion led Koizumi-san to realize his own philosophy: a house is also a part of furniture.

Koizumi-san’s lifestyle also transformed around the same time of his independence. When his relative vacated their public housing complex, he moved to Kunitachi in the western suburb of Tokyo.

In the early 1990s, designers had their offices in prestigious locations in central Tokyo. That was the status symbol. Some must have not imagined moving to Kunitachi, an hour’s train ride from Tokyo station. Some might have even ridiculed Koizumi-san as a failure. However, Koizumi-san did not care at all what others thought.

“I felt it was rather new. In those days, interior designers commonly worked in central Tokyo, so I expected that I may be doing something new. I saw myself positively. I admit I felt far from central Tokyo though (laughs).”

Koizumi-san also sympathizes with a place that is not in the city from the back-and-forth to his parents’ homes in his childhood.

“Once I started my life in Kunitachi, I realized that I belonged here. I even felt that central Tokyo was like a different country. From Kunitachi, I was able to observe various things objectively. I also could make my stance definite.”

After moving to Kunitachi, Koizumi-san established his “-ism” and pursued it, reaching the stage “Ri” of Shu-Ha-Ri. One great example was his unique, collaborative way of working with manufacturers.

The event that changed Koizumi-san’s life happened at the age of 38. One day, a furniture manufacturer, for which he had designed a product, went bankrupt.

“Although the bankruptcy wasn’t caused only by my products, I was partly responsible for their bankruptcy. I couldn’t help them as a designer. That was an indescribable shock to me. I started to wonder what I was designing for.”

Back then, manufacturing something new and unique was much preferred, and selling a lot of them was demanded. Such short-lived manufacturing was rampant. Designers were recognized as means to achieve manufacturers’ purpose (good sales). Once they finish production, that’s over—no more relationships. Koizumi-san began to have doubts about such irresponsible and unsustainable manufacturing. Just then, he came across the Miyazaki Chair Factory based in Tokushima.

It was 23 years ago, in the year 2000.

In those days, Miyazaki Chair Factory was a subcontractor for furniture manufacturers and “they were just forced to make things,” Koizumi-san says. Katsuhiro Miyazaki, the CEO of the company, tried to break out of the situation and launch their own brand. He then approached Koizumi-san.

“Ok, well, here is my design for you. Let’s make a nice chair!” Of course, Koizumi-san didn’t suggest so or handed over his designs. Koizumi-san believed that he should face a manufacturer first and decided to visit their factory every two months. “You know, it was like a marriage.” As Koizumi-san refers to it, he and Miyazaki-san started manufacturing by spending time getting acquainted and talking a lot in person in order to build a relationship.

Such manufacturing also brought unexpected results. “Miyazaki-san changed. The direction of the company changed. The mindset of staff changed. Young, new employees came to join and the company got energetic. I could see everyone’s complexion changed.”

From that successful experience, Koizumi-san began to pursue slow yet diligent manufacturing with other manufacturers. He has gotten positive results like the case of Miyazaki Chair Factory, one after another.

In a world where rationality, efficiency, and productivity are prioritized, Koizumi-san is moving forward impulsively in the very opposite direction. And yet, there’s something fresh about the trail he leaves that intrigues us, like when he moved to Kunitachi in the past.

“I believe that it’s important to do unnecessary things,” Koizumi-san also says.

During the pursuit of efficiency, we overlooked, omitted, or neglected a lot of things. “Working on such things sincerely will have to become more important for us from now on.”

For some people, this may sound like a fantasy by an idealist, but I took his words as a positive prediction. I felt it as the indubitable light Koizumi-san shines on our near future. Well, then, let’s move toward the light. I would be happy if you could think so and if you could be motivated, encouraged, or excited somehow. I believe that is what makes the Makoto Koizumi life story worthwhile.

 

Archive images courtesy of Koizumi Studio.