Squirrel

Squirrel

by Tokuhiko Kise

 

I often pick things up from the street. Now and then I come across something that makes me think, “This is good.”
It could be near my house, along a sidewalk, or in an empty lot.
Objects that most people don’t even notice, passing by without a second thought, suddenly strike me as deeply appealing. I stop, I pick them up, and—if I can—I want to take them home.

Once, while cycling along the Shimanami Kaidō, I spotted a bundle of dried lilies on the slope by the road. They were nearly two meters long. What to do? Of course, bring them back. I improvised with what I had, tied them carefully to my bicycle, and carried them home like something precious. Those lilies are now displayed in the S.T,N.E. showroom.

Another time, walking through Silver Lake in Los Angeles, I found a huge leaf—at least two meters long. My only transport was an Uber. The driver turned around, astonished: “No way, that won’t fit!” But I didn’t give up. Smiling, I said, “If we try, it’ll work, right?” Somehow, I squeezed in with my oversized find. The leaf stretched past the driver’s head toward the windshield, but in the end it fit. I made it home safely, and thanked the driver sincerely.

Things like that happen often. Basically, I don’t give up. With a little ingenuity—and a smile—I always find a way.

The piece of wood in this photo was also something I picked up in Los Angeles. At first I placed it on top of a speaker, and later hung it on the wall with a string. In August 2024, when I decided to give up the loft, I held a studio sale to clear out the furniture. The next day, a woman who had bought a few chairs—an interior designer—sent me a message: “If you’re leaving behind that piece of wood hanging on the wall, I’d love to have it.” I was surprised, but also happy that someone else could see its beauty. I wasn’t sure whether to keep it or let it go, until my friend Stephen said, “You should take it with you.” So I did.

Stephen had often watched me collecting these “treasures,” and with a warm smile, he started calling me “Squirrel”—like a little animal with its cheeks full of nuts.

Months later, when my things finally arrived in Osaka from Los Angeles, the wood was there too. It looked just as striking as ever. I took it straight to the S.T,N.E. showroom, leaned it against the wall, and it looked even better.
“All right, this is the spot,” I thought. Wanting to mount it properly, I asked someone I consider my mentor in craftsmanship to make a brass base. Once it was fixed to the wall, I was completely satisfied.

The wood and stones in the S.T,N.E. showroom are all “treasures” I’ve come across in just this way. To finish the space, I gathered pieces I had once kept in my office—what I call the “Kise room.” Which is why, after the opening, that room was left empty. But I know before long I’ll be out again, finding something new, and bringing it back home.