Reflections on S.T,N.E. #1 Mitsuharu Yamamura (BOOKLUCK)

What I Had Wrong

Text and Photography: Mitsuharu Yamamura

There I was, chewing on the corner of my cotton handkerchief until it was soaking wet, overcome by a vague sense of melancholy. In my mind, you had been painted over by the bright colors of the city, someone I could only admire from afar. At least, that’s the story I had convinced myself was true.

I first met Tokuhiko Kise about thirty years ago during an interview for Olive magazine, shortly after TRUCK FURNITURE had opened its original space in Tamatsukuri. With the bright, trusting eyes of a young puppy, he said, “We built the furniture, the shop, and even the apartment upstairs ourselves,” then happily showed me everything—from the bathroom to the bedroom.

He was so completely openhearted, like that same puppy rolling over onto its back without the slightest hesitation. I, on the other hand, have always kept my heart under lock and key. I was flustered, but it didn’t take long before I was utterly charmed by them.

Thankfully, our paths continued to cross over the years, and eventually I was given the chance to make a book with them: MAKING TRUCK — Building Furniture, Building a Home, Building a Life. I immersed myself in their daily lives, listened to countless stories, and shaped them into something almost like a modern fable.

Throughout that process, one thing became increasingly clear to me: good taste is never something people are simply born with. It grows from curiosity—and from refusing to give up.

They paid close attention to everything they saw, heard, and touched. They allowed every experience to affect them, absorbing it completely until it became part of who they were. That is how they developed such an unmistakable sense of what truly felt right and what simply wasn’t good enough. Rather than chasing established ideas of value or prestige, they trusted their own judgment completely and charged forward without hesitation. Watching them do that never failed to move me.

I knew I could never do what they did. I could never match them. But I believed we shared the same foundation—the same conviction, the same burning passion at the root of everything we made. I thought, in our own different ways, we were walking the same road.

Or so I believed.

As the years passed, TRUCK became increasingly well known. More and more celebrities and public figures surrounded them. Every time I saw another photo of them together on social media, I felt happy for them—and yet, I couldn’t shake a strange feeling I couldn’t quite explain. Little by little, we drifted apart, and before long, we stopped seeing each other altogether.




Then, after many years, one day my phone chimed.

Then, after many years, one day my phone chimed. It was a short text from Tok. He had happened to pick up a book with my name in the credits and simply wanted to say hello. Nothing dramatic. Just a casual message. After exchanging a few texts, we decided to meet again.

Returning to TRUCK after more than a decade, I was astonished by how much everything had grown.

New buildings had been added. There was now a private gym filled with serious training machines upholstered in beautifully crafted leather. The workshop had expanded dramatically. Even his office—what he jokingly calls “Kise’s Room”—had become even cooler than before.

The showroom itself hadn’t fundamentally changed, but time had given it an extraordinary richness. The years had settled beautifully into the space.

And then came the true highlight of my visit: S.T,N.E.

To be honest, I had already heard about the new brand. I’d caught a glimpse of it in a magazine article, along with a small photograph of the furniture. Looking at that single image, I quietly thought to myself,

“So Tok has finally crossed over into that world. Farewell.”

This isn’t about good or bad. But there is undeniably a style that many so-called celebrities seem to gravitate toward: shimmering materials, attention-grabbing forms, impossibly polished finishes—the kind of furniture you might imagine inside the luxurious home of the Park family in Parasite.

I assumed Tok had naturally absorbed that “celebrity aesthetic” through all the glamorous people surrounding him. Well, I thought, that’s understandable. Spend enough time around something, and eventually it rubs off.

But the moment I saw S.T,N.E. with my own eyes, my assumptions turned completely upside down.

The furniture looked more refined, more distilled—but without question, it was the same TRUCK I had always known.






It existed beyond trends, beyond countries, beyond time itself. Status meant nothing to it. It possessed the same boldness, generosity, and unmistakable presence it always had.

More than that, it had evolved.

Years of experience. Endless curiosity. Constant observation. Feeling everything deeply. Digging further. Refusing to give up until each idea found its proper form. The unmistakable “TRUCK sensibility” had quietly matured. Everything unnecessary had fallen away, leaving only the essential—standing there with complete naturalness, as though it had always belonged.

Seeing it, I was overwhelmed with happiness.

I almost cried.

No—I did cry.

And through my tears, only one thought remained.

“I had you all wrong.

I’m truly sorry.”