Rie Tachikawa Interview Fixed May 2026

Because nature is not my material. The city is my material. I live in Shinjuku. I see plastic banners, acoustic ceiling tiles, the mesh of a construction fence. Synthetic fibers are the skin of modern life.

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. rie tachikawa interview

(Laughs) That is very true. I was never interested in the body as a thing to be wrapped. I am interested in the negative space —the air between the body and the room. Most textile artists ask, "How does this feel on the skin?" I ask, "How does this define the air around the skin?" Because nature is not my material

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. I see plastic banners, acoustic ceiling tiles, the

(Pauses) Yes. In "Unwoven," I stopped pulling the threads tight. I let them hang. I created pieces that were literally falling apart—edges fraying, wefts gaping. My students asked, "Isn't that just damage?" I said, "No. That is honesty."

— This interview has been edited for length and clarity from a 2018 conversation.