Rie Tachikawa Interview Official

And remember: The most important part of a woven thing is the hole. The light that passes through. The gap. Don't fill every gap. Let the air in. Rie Tachikawa passed away in 2019, but her pieces remain in the permanent collections of the Museum of Arts and Design (New York) and the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art (Kanazawa). Her students continue her seminar on "Critical Textiles," proving that even when the thread breaks, the pattern remains.

My father was an architect. I grew up looking at blueprints, not fashion magazines. To me, thread is just a line that forgot to be straight. When you weave enough of those lines, you get a plane. When you fold that plane, you get a room. Textiles are the softest form of architecture.

We spend so much time trying to control the thread. We forget that the thread has its own will to ravel. My last works were a conversation about mortality. You can weave a perfect basket, but entropy always wins. I wanted to make entropy beautiful. rie tachikawa interview

I would lock them in the material library. Literally. I told them: "For one hour, you cannot touch a loom. You can only touch the thread. Smell it. Stretch it until it breaks. Burn the end and watch the bead of plastic form."

By Megumi Saito, Art and Form Journal

The "violence" you see is the tension between the soft and the rigid. The felt wants to lay flat; the copper wants to spring back. That struggle is the art. In the end, the pieces looked like topographical maps of an earthquake. I think that is the truest map of Tokyo: a city always trying to hold itself together while the ground moves.

— This interview has been edited for length and clarity from a 2018 conversation. And remember: The most important part of a

That series was born from frustration. In Japan, we have this word "ma" (間)—the pause, the interval. I wanted to see if I could make the interval physical. I took industrial felt—something hard, used for machinery—and cut slits into it. Then I wove copper wire through the slits, pulling it tight until the felt buckled.