A Fumidai and 93 Years of Kyoto

When visiting a home in Kyoto, you may sometimes find a fumidai quietly placed somewhere in the house.

Who made it?

How long has it been there?

Who has used it over the years?

Even when asked about its history, the answer may simply be:

“It has been in the house for as long as I can remember.”

The person I visited this time was Hiroshi Nakatani, born and raised in Kyoto, now 93 years old.

There was a fumidai in Mr. Nakatani’s home as well.

Exactly when it came into the house is not known.

“It was just quietly there, somewhere in the house.”

He said this with a smile.

As I listened to the story of this fumidai, something began to emerge quietly within it: the wisdom of everyday life in Kyoto, the relationship between people and the things they live with, and the way of life Mr. Nakatani himself has built over the course of 93 years.

Born in Kyoto, Raised in a City of Commerce

Mr. Nakatani’s father had come to Kyoto from Fukui.

Mr. Nakatani himself was born and raised in Kyoto. As a child, rather than settling on one particular interest, he experienced many different things that caught his curiosity.

He was in his first year of middle school when the war ended.

Afterward, he entered the world of commerce.

In Kyoto at the time, there were places where young people could learn the skills needed to become merchants.

His father ran a clothing and general goods shop called “Nakaya Yohinten.”

In a neighborhood lined with kimono shops, he sold clothing and everyday goods to the proprietors of those shops.

Commerce was not simply about selling things.

It meant understanding what another person needed, and working through relationships between one person and another.

The sense of “person to person” that Mr. Nakatani still values today may have been something he learned from watching his father’s work from an early age.

“The instinct for business must be in my blood, inherited from my parents.”

Even in these words, one can sense how much he received from his father.

※An old shop booklet from Nakaya Yohinten

※Old woven labels and other materials from Nakaya Yohinten

The Things He Encountered at Takashimaya

In 1952, Mr. Nakatani joined Takashimaya.

He began in accounting, keeping ledgers of accounts receivable for the department store’s valued customers and its sales representatives.

Visitors connected to Ise Jingu and the Imperial Household, as well as people who came to Kyoto from all across Japan to shop.

He later worked with women’s accessories and other departments, spending 40 years at Takashimaya.

Through his work, he encountered all kinds of furniture, vessels, and works of art from Japan and abroad.

His father had also been fond of ceramics, and perhaps naturally, Mr. Nakatani found himself drawn to vessels, interiors, and old things as well.

“Things just seem to gather around me.”

This is how Mr. Nakatani describes it.

Yet it seems to be about more than simply “liking things.”

“I like people. I like human beings. Through those connections, things come to me as well.”

An encounter with a person leads to an encounter with an object.

Rather than looking only at the thing itself, he looks toward the person on the other side of it.

Perhaps these are words that can only come from someone who has spent so many years living alongside things.

The Fumidai That Was Simply There

When I asked about the fumidai in Mr. Nakatani’s home, an unexpected answer came back.

“It was just there in the house.”

There is no clear record of when it arrived, who bought it, or who made it.

Yet that does not mean it had no value.

Perhaps many of the tools of earlier times were like this.

They did not have special names.

There were no records of who made them.

They were not displayed in museums.

They were simply there because they were needed.

And when they were needed, someone used them.

There was no single prescribed way to use this fumidai, either.

Sometimes it was used as a seat.

Sometimes to reach something high up.

At times, it was even used like a table.

“It was kept in a three-tatami room, and it could be used as an kurakake or as a fumidai, depending on what was needed.”

Its purpose was not fixed.

People found ways to use it according to the circumstances.

Mr. Nakatani described this fumidai as having “a certain charm to it.”

Those words stayed with me.

※The fumidai in Mr. Nakatani’s home

“Making Do with What You Have”

Old nagaya row houses once had open spaces extending upward through the building.

But as people lived in them, they began to feel that the space was being wasted.

So they built a second floor.

When something was inconvenient in everyday life, people did not necessarily solve it by buying something new.

Instead, they found ways to make use of what they already had.

There was much wisdom like this in the way people once lived.

Perhaps the fumidai was one expression of that wisdom.

It was made because it was needed, and used because it was needed.

And as it was used, it acquired scratches, the touch of hands, and subtle changes in its form.

Yet it was not thrown away.

It continued to be used.

There is a relationship between people and objects here that cannot be fully explained by the modern idea of “purpose” alone.

Things Look Different Depending on Who Is Looking

Mr. Nakatani shared something with me about the act of looking at things.

Even when looking at the same object, what we see changes depending on how we receive it.

It is not only about looking at the object itself.

It is also about how we think about what is there.

The deeper that thought becomes, the more we begin to see.

Perhaps the same can be said when looking at an old tool.

Do we see it simply as an old fumidai?

Do we notice the texture of the wood?

The shape?

The scratches?

Do we imagine the years in which those scratches were made?

Do we wonder who once stood upon it?

When we do, a single fumidai begins to appear as something slightly different.

What Mingei has long valued is not only exceptional works, but the beauty found in things made by unnamed hands and used in everyday life.

In Mr. Nakatani’s fumidai, there remains something more than words can explain.

There remains life itself.

Eight Years Spent Preserving the Memory of Kyoto

After retiring from Takashimaya, Mr. Nakatani began devoting himself more deeply to activities within his community.

He became involved with the local school-district association and continued to take part in neighborhood activities.

Even today, he helps with things such as organizing Jizōbon, a traditional summer gathering held by local communities.

And there was another great undertaking he completed.

A reconstruction of an old map of the Ryūchi neighborhood.

(The Streets of Ryūchi in the Early Shōwa Period)

After retirement, he visited the area himself, spoke with people who remembered those times, gathered materials, and worked with the help of many others.

It took eight years to complete.

What is drawn there is not simply the location of roads and buildings.

It tells of what kinds of shops once stood there,

what kinds of people lived there,

and what kind of landscape once unfolded before them.

Things that have since disappeared are traced once again through memories and historical materials.

In this sense, the work is also an attempt to preserve the memory of Kyoto itself.

The fumidai feels somehow similar.

The fumidai itself does not tell us its history.

But someone once used it, and there was a life lived alongside it.

Because the object remains, we can begin to imagine something of the lives that came before us.

Perhaps things are vessels in which memories are kept.

※The “Streets of Ryūchi” that Mr. Nakatani spent eight years reconstructing

※An article about the project published in the Kyoto Shimbun

“Become a Fumidai for Someone Else”

At the end of the interview, I asked Mr. Nakatani about what it means to leave things behind.

His answer was unexpected.

“Become a fumidai for someone else.”

Perhaps the very word fumidai contains the idea of doing something for another person.

To become a fumidai oneself.

Someone stands upon it and reaches a little higher.

The result does not necessarily return to you immediately.

But what you do for another person may, in time, find its way back into your own heart.

“It isn’t profit. It is the feeling of having a settled heart. Perhaps that is the real profit.”

When I heard these words, the fumidai in front of me began to look slightly different.

Nothing Remains Without Action

Mr. Nakatani believes that neither preserving things nor improving the community has much meaning if it remains only in words.

“The difference between first-rate and second-rate is whether you can put it into practice.”

It is not about whether something costs money.

It is about doing what you can, with your own hands.

For example, taking a broom first thing in the morning and sweeping in front of your home.

Sprinkling water over the street.

On collection days, he places a handwritten sign at the neighborhood garbage collection point, expressing his gratitude to the people who come to collect it.

None of these things are grand.

They cost almost nothing.

Yet behind them is not the attitude of “someone else will do it,” but rather, “I will do it.”

“Rather than pretending not to notice when something is dirty, everyone’s small efforts can make it a little cleaner.”

Those small acts accumulate and are passed on to the next generation.

Not telling others what to do, but showing them through your own actions.

Perhaps this is what it means to pass something on to the next generation, Mr. Nakatani believes.

※A handmade sign by Mr. Nakatani placed at the neighborhood garbage collection point

Never Forget to Ask “Why?”

Even now, at the age of 93, Mr. Nakatani has never stopped learning.

One source of that drive is the simple feeling of “Why?” he had as a child.

Why is it this way?

Why do we do this?

What is this for?

The questions we all had as children are somehow forgotten as we grow older.

But if we continue to hold on to that sense of “Why?”, we can continue learning at any age.

The scenes and landscapes he once witnessed are filled with the wisdom of those who came before.

To discover that wisdom and pass it on to the next generation.

He is always thinking about what he himself can do to make that possible.

“There are many places where I can still be of use.”

There was a quiet strength in these words, one that made it difficult to think of him simply as a 93-year-old.

Preserving the “Thoughts” Held Within Things

Perhaps preserving old things is not simply about preserving the things themselves.

It is about preserving the thoughts held within them.

Remembering someone when we see an object.

Remembering a landscape from long ago.

Reflecting on the way we ourselves have lived.

It becomes a memory.

And sometimes, a reminder of how we should live.

Mr. Nakatani said that he does not want to return to the difficult times of the past.

And yet, he also spoke of how there are things from those days that allow him to remember, “There was a certain openness to life back then.”

It is not about longing for everything in the past.

The good and the difficult alike can be remembered through things.

And from those memories, something can be learned and carried forward.

From a Single Fumidai

The fumidai in Mr. Nakatani’s home has no elaborate decoration.

The name of its maker has not been preserved.

No one knows exactly when it came to be there.

And yet, for decades, it has remained alongside someone’s everyday life.

To sit upon.

To reach something high.

To place something on.

And sometimes, to serve another purpose entirely.

People found ways to use it according to what they needed, giving it a role in their lives.

And now, through Mr. Nakatani’s words, this single fumidai has taken on another meaning.

“Become a fumidai for someone else.”

By supporting someone, we may help them move a little further forward.

And that act may not return to us as something tangible, but instead enrich something within ourselves.

It is a way of living that overlaps with the fumidai not only as a tool, but as a way of being.

※The fumidai that Mr. Nakatani cherishes for its quiet charm

To preserve something is not simply to preserve the past.

It is to receive something from the past, put it into practice in the present, and pass it on to someone who comes next.

Just as Mr. Nakatani spent eight years preserving the map of Ryūchi.

Just as he sweeps in front of his home with a broom every morning.

Just as he leaves a handwritten “Thank you” for those who come to collect the neighborhood’s garbage.

And just as he has continued to carefully use the fumidai that was, at some point, simply there in his home.

There is no need to do something great.

Not “I cannot,” but “I will try.”

To do something oneself.

To experience it.

To think about it.

A small action may one day reach someone else.

From person to person.

From object to object.

From memory to memory.

Perhaps, at the end of that quiet chain, a landscape for the next generation remains.

The journey of visiting the fumidai of Kyoto has only just begun.