Rie Tachikawa Interview Page

My father was an architect. I grew up looking at blueprints, not fashion magazines. To me, thread is just a line that forgot to be straight. When you weave enough of those lines, you get a plane. When you fold that plane, you get a room. Textiles are the softest form of architecture.

Break it. On purpose. The first thing I do with a new material is find its breaking point. Then I work just to the left of that line. Respect the material enough to know where it dies, then dance right next to that edge. rie tachikawa interview

In the world of Japanese textile art, fabric is rarely just fabric. For (1977–2019), it was architecture, cartography, and memory rolled into one. Before her untimely passing, Tachikawa was a rising star in the intersection of industrial design and fine art, known for turning woven structures into three-dimensional landscapes. My father was an architect

(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." When you weave enough of those lines, you get a plane