I have loved gazing at colors since I was a child.
It all started with a set of 50 colored pencils that my aunt gave me. I admired the delicate gradations lined up inside the tin.
Among all the colors, the one that captivated me most was blue—the blue of Dick Bruna, the blue of Henri Matisse’s ‘Icarus’, and the Klein Blue of Yves Klein. When I encountered that vivid yet mysterious blue, I became so enchanted that I even bottled the pigment in little vials and handed them out to my friends.
After that, through several coincidences, I started plant dyeing, and began to encounter, day by day, colors in between shades that do not even have names, as well as colors with depth that cannot be expressed in color charts.
I feel that freshly dyed cloth is filled not only with colors that we can sense visually, but also with something like invisible vitality.
Only when the untouched plant is slightly touched by human hands we can glimpse the depth of color hidden within it. From the process of colors gradually fading over time and eventually disappearing, we can also feel the universality of life, such as birth and death, generation and decomposition.
The act of dyeing with plants is an activity that moves between humans and nature.
As I approached plants and colors with such a simple mindset, it gradually became my livelihood, and now 20 years have passed.
If someone asks me, “What is your favorite color?”, I would immediately answer, “The deep indigo blue dyed with Ryukyu indigo”.
There are a lot of vegetable dyes around the world that contain indigo pigments, like Chinese indigo, Indian indigo, and woad, and then we found Ryukyu indigo in Okinawa. Even though they are all called ‘indigo’, they each have their own features, and the blue color they produce is a bit different.
Ryukyu indigo has a slight reddish tint in the blue, and when it is dyed on shiny fabric, that reddish tint makes it look like a purplish blue.
The deep blue, holding the shades of nature, is reminiscent of the color at the beginning of night that comes after the sun sets and the sky turns red. A veil of blue light descends from the endless sky, turning everything blue. Since childhood, every time I saw that landscape, I felt something expand deep within my heart. Yves Klein described blue as “the physical manifestation of cosmic energy that, otherwise invisible, floats freely in the air”. A fleeting moment of transition within eternity and infinite space.
I still cannot describe in words the feeling I get when I am surrounded by that color.