Amy Katoh

Celebrating Japan's art of the everyday

by Robert Cameron
Photos by Daisuke Ito

Amy Sylvester Katoh, businesswoman, collector and author of three (soon to be four)popular books on Japanese crafts and design, has for three decades been studying, collecting and spreading the word around the world about the aesthetics of everyday Japanese goods.

Her efforts have met with enthusiasm overseas. Her book "Japan, the Art of Living: A Sourcebook of Japanese Style for the Western Home," written in 1990, is now in its 15th edition, and "Japan Country Living: Spirit Tradition" is in its 6th edition. "Blue and White Japan" followed in 1996. Her upcoming book is on Otafuku, the laughing goddess of mirth and down-to-earth goodness.

Born and educated in Boston, Ms. Katoh first came to Japan in 1962, and opened her shop, Blue and White, in Azabu Juban, Tokyo, in 1975.

"When we started the shop 30 years ago, the three of us, we felt even then that Japan was losing its traditional craftsmanship, its craftsmen were not making things people were using in everyday life. We wanted to connect the craftspeople and the users. And it has worked -- Japanese have become interested in things Japanese and are more aware now of the beautiful heritage that they have. So it has been very rewarding."

"We called the shop Blue and White because, first of all, it's a small shop and we had to narrow it down, so we thought that would be a good focus. It was serendipity, I guess, but I eventually realized that the cosmos is blue and white. Skies are blue, clouds are white; oceans are blue, waves are white. The whole cosmic message is blue and white, all over the world. There are very few countries that don't have a blue and white tradition. It was terribly lucky, because we didn't know what we were doing at the time."

The two colors are everywhere in Japan, the blue coming from indigo, an ancient and basic color that Japanese have been extracting from the "ai" plant for centuries.

"Indigo is such an important part of Japan. It really is 'Japan blue.' Most of the traditional textiles here are indigo or indigo-based."

"Look around and you see that blue everywhere in Japan -- road signs, trucks, trains, even the new shinkansen is blue. I've been collecting old textiles for some time, and I realized that traditionally, textiles have been used for messages, whether they were banners, or advertisements etc, it was textiles on which they were written, and these were invariably blue."

Even as she has popularized what she calls "Japanache" elsewhere, she has taken great pleasure in adapting Japanese everyday things to her own ends, taking traditional items, reworking them, and making them relevant to modern lifestyles. A good example is the exterior of her shop -- stuck on the stucco exterior are shards of traditional pottery, which on closer examination turn out to be not sharp broken bits and pieces, but rounded and smooth. "I've been collecting those from beaches all over Japan for years," she said. "When I first came here they were a common sight, though you don't see them much now."

The Japanese insistence on using everything for its intended purpose, can get in the way of their own Japanache. "You have to be aware of when it's ok and when it crosses that line into the bad taste department." Katoh has in her shop some old "benki," old-style squat toilets, which she reimagined by setting them vertical and using one for a washing-up station, the other for an umbrella stand. No doubt some Japanese customers have been shocked when they realized they were putting their umbrella in a toilet.

"But not using these things would be a real tragedy. Otherwise, they'll never be used again. They'll just disappear. Our children found them while playing in the woods. People are tolerant of this reworking. As long as it's not disrespectful of customs and religion and propriety. ... That's going about as far as you can go, though," she said.

For decades Katoh has been an avid collector of the ordinary tools and utensils of daily life, scouring flea markets and antique stores for traces of a lost time in Japan. Her passion for old knicknacks has often mystified her Japanese friends. "Japanese don't know why foreigners are interested in such things," she said.

In fact, "Japanese don't understand what it is that foreigners like about Japan. People here have been enticed by the things of the West for so long that they don't see the beauty in traditional Japanese culture. So it's disappearing fast. I think what is Japanese about Japan should be encouraged, the old traditional things, which are intelligent answers to the needs of everyday life. If they don't hurry up and do it, they're going to disappear, and that really concerns me."

"Country Living," which has been translated into Japanese and French, "is the one that comes from the deepest part of my heart. Preservation is to me very important. One has to take these traditions and not just pickle them in formaldehyde, but also rework and make them relevant to today. That is what Japan is faced with now. In many cases they are trying to preserve the old ways.

"You don't want to just throw that whole tradition away. These old utensils represent a level of craftsmanship and quality that is disappearing. Japan is losing its everyday craftsmanship, and it makes me sad."

One could argue that the essence of the Japanese home is alive and well. The modern Japanese house, for example, is modern in every way -- modern materials, comfortable and functional, often cramped and ugly in a modern way -- but it still retain an essential Japanese-ness. It retains the essential elements so important to a Japanese home -- the "genkan" (entranceway), which serves as both welcome mat and barrier against the outside; the "tokonoma" (alcove), which customarily contains a thoughtfully chosen hanging scroll or flower arrangement (usually the TV now); the functional and comfortable tatami room, which serves for both sleeping and living; the shoji, which divide and beautify a room; and of course the "ofuro," the lovely deep bathtub where Japanese go to soak their stress away at the end of a day.

"In country houses, in olden times at least, the center of the home was the "irori," or cooking fire in the house. It has been supplanted by the "kotatsu" nowadays, the square table with a heating element underneath, but the idea is the same -- it is a place where family and friends can gather and share warmth and conversation."

Katoh points to some telling differences between Japanese and Western sensibilities in living spaces. "The sense of space of Japanese and Westerners is different. In the West it's based on literal, physical space, open, without interruptions. For Japanese, it's more a psychological, spiritual space, created in the mind. It's formed by etiquette, by various ways of preserving one's own and others' space, and by the language itself."

The eye gives space too. "The Japanese have a gift for not seeing the unseemly. They see the beautiful flower, for instance, but not the ugly plastic bucket it's in. The lovely vista, but not the power lines and telephone poles transecting it. For a Westerner, the view would be ruined, made ugly, but the Japanese can block out the ugliness."

Of course, this can be a liability, as well, if it allows people to simply accept the destruction of their beautiful surroundings without complaint. Katoh bristles at the mention of developers and their depredations, and at the shocking waste as many beautiful old structures are demolished to be replaced by bland boring modern buildings. Many of the buildings in her books no longer exist.

"In these days of consumerism and 'muchness,' it's difficult to keep the purity of Japanese aesthetics and sensitivity, so very few people can do it," she says. "But I really find that those beautiful empty spaces are inspiring. And that's one beautiful answer that Japan can has for the world. Anyone who goes to the temples in Kyoto and sees some of the incredibly beautiful empty spaces, can't help but be inspired by it."