“The Design of Love” Written by Futoshi Hoshino

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· PDF (Japanese, 296 kb)

The Design of Love
Futoshi Hoshino

As far as I know, Goshi Uhira is one of the most promising designers in Japan. This essay is written in response to his first public exhibition as an artist, a series called Skin. However, to introduce this, it seems inevitable that I mention his past work of design.
Uhira started working as a designer around 2011, shortly after he graduated from Tokyo Metropolitan University. Since then, in a career spanning less than a decade, the young designer has produced extraordinary works that are unparalleled by his generation. It includes large-scale commission work for companies, but I will focus here on printed materials.
You can get a glimpse of that diverse work on his website. For someone like me who works in the field of art and humanities, the first thing that comes to mind is his book design including Akira Lippitt-Mizuta’s Atomic Light (Shadow Optics) (Getsuyosha, 2013), Bernd Stiegler’s Bilder der Photographie (Getsuyosha, 2015), and Toru Arakawa’s Donald Judd (Suiseisha, 2019). Uhira’s designs can also be found in a variety of scenes in Japanese contemporary art in the 2010s, including the logo for the gallery Aoyama Meguro (2013), the design of magazine Art Critique (2013–14), and the leaflet for AICA JAPAN’s annual symposium “Rights of Things, Lives of Art Objects” (2018).
The common denominator of all these works is the exquisite monochrome design. Famous designers usually have a style that is easily recognizable at a glance. On the other hand, few people, apart from a few other enthusiasts, would notice Uhira’s work in an instant. The designer’s work does not involve the consistent use of any particular typeface, nor does it include an exaggerated embellishment. There are only a few minor signs to be found there, apart from the almost total exclusion of non-grayscale colors.
In a word, Uhira’s design is “modest.” However, it does not mean that his work lacks any distinguishing features. Instead, the more one looks into the details, the more the designer’s deliberate choices can be found there. Regardless of the form, the basics are the same. The sensible reader must perceive that this is the result of handwork full of delicacy.
Therefore, at least for me, Skin did not come as a surprise. Perhaps there is no more appropriate subject for projecting such a delicacy than human skin. As the title suggests, Skin uses the surface of human bodies, including the artist’s own as its subjects. The textures presented in various gradations give us a glimpse of a world much larger than the scale of the human body. It is because the individual subjects are magnified to such an extent that it is impossible to tell which part of the human body they correspond to. It would be safe to say that we rarely get a chance to stare at others’ skin. At the same time, no object would be so finely textured, once you have gazed into it. The skin is always present as a surface that envelops each one of us, yet we forget about its existence in our daily lives.
In that sense, the skin is an analogy of design. It is only the enthusiasts who usually gaze at the design of books and leaflets. In many cases, the design does not explicitly claim to be itself. Of course, some designs try to attract consumers’ attention, but they are nothing more than false skin coated with an undercoat.
Uhira’s Skin is a perfect continuation of his previous work of design. One thing I don’t understand, however, is the content of the artist’s statement inserted in the Folio Edition of Skin (2019). This is a poetic interlude in two languages, Japanese and English, that did not exist in the book made public the year before (2018). What strikes me most is the frequent use of the word “love” in the passage, which is inserted somewhat abruptly into the work. What are we to make of this?
Of course, just because the subject here is human skin, it would be premature to derive the theme of sexuality from it. It is evident from the overall tone of the text that what the author is spelling out is a more universal “love.” Although it is not my taste to speculate about the intention, I believe that the reader almost has to respond in some way to these words.
Love is what delicacy is all about. More bluntly, love is as something to be designed. Make no mistake, “design” here does not mean making up something false, nor does it mean deceiving people by skillful means. It is nothing less than dismantling (de-signing) the stereotype and giving it a new form of what it should be. Of course, it will not be an easy task. The only thing that makes it possible is to give it the shape it deserves, with the utmost delicacy.
The artist says that “we are forever in pursuit of the visible,” but “love exists in the empty spaces. Where nothing can be seen, there is love” (Goshi Uhira, Skin, Folio Edition, 2019). It is probably true. However, we all know that when “love” lacks the corresponding reality, it degenerates into a hollow notion. Therefore, love must be designed—but in the most delicate way.