In conjunction with the exhibition Nakajo Sings, Nakajo Dances—Letters, Pictures, and Shiseido, currently on view at the Shiseido Gallery, this interview series invites people who knew Masayoshi Nakajo well to reflect on his work and perspective.

Through shared memories, conversations, and recollections from the field, what emerges is not only Nakajo the designer, but Nakajo the person.

For this third installment, we welcome art producer and editor Shigeo Goto. Having long been involved with Hanatsubaki, he reflects on Nakajo’s design through the lens of “honka-dori”—a classical Japanese aesthetic practice of transforming an existing motif into something new.

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People often speak of Japan as a culture of wakon-yōsai—Japanese spirit combined with Western learning. But Japan has long excelled at hybrid methods. Not simple quotation or plagiarism, but something closer to honka-dori, the poetic technique perfected by Fujiwara no Teika in the Shin Kokin Wakashū: sampling an earlier “original poem” and transforming it into a new aesthetic expression. You can see this sensibility in the way Japan takes symmetrical aesthetics—whether from China’s Tang-style traditions or the Western grid system—and subtly disrupts them. The word suki refers to the aesthetics of collecting one’s tastes, but it also affirms something slightly off-centre—an acceptance of what might be called a “biased” or eccentric beauty. Ōsugi Sakae once said it brilliantly: “Beauty lies in irregular rhythm.”

I started thinking about all this because Nakajo’s design was exactly that.

I had the honour of running a conversation series in Hanatsubaki for fourteen years. Beyond that, I was also involved in projects such as the Hanatsubaki 500th-issue exhibition at The Ginza Art Space and editing Nakajo’s book Hanatsubaki to Nakajo. For an editor, it was an extraordinary privilege. This was during the golden era of editors-in-chief Keiko Hirayama and Chigi Omata. I wasn’t directly involved in editing the magazine itself, but from the outside I was able to observe closely the ecosystem through which Hanatsubaki was produced. Even before the conversation series began, I frequently commissioned Nakajo for other projects, so I was often hanging around his studio. Nakajo had graduated from the design department at Tokyo University of the Arts, so his background began firmly within modern design. Yet from my perspective, he stood apart from the generation of his seniors—figures such as Yusaku Kamekura and Takashi Kono. If I may put it bluntly, Nakajo had already entered a kind of postmodernity. He possessed a traditional, almost artisanal aesthetic, yet at the same time there was something deeply postmodern about him—something that resonated with Ettore Sottsass. I myself belong to what might be called the YMO generation of editors—raised on techno and sampling. There was a generational gap between us, but somehow we got along well. Nakajo’s approach to honka-dori influenced me greatly. I remember once visiting his studio and finding him sketching layouts for an upcoming Hanatsubaki feature. He always worked in pencil on rough, inexpensive paper. Nakajo constantly looked through overseas fashion magazines. This was before the era of social media. Printed magazines carried the immediacy of global trends and creative culture. Hanatsubaki was edited in a moment when everything was rapidly being reduced to “information.” Nakajo’s work, I think, was to regenerate that information into expression. One thing I learned from him was how carefully he examined magazines from abroad. He would check every page—from the cover to the advertisements on the back cover, even the smallest photographs. Around that time he noticed a small image of a rose in a fashion article—perhaps about Christian Lacroix, if I remember correctly. Looking at it, Nakajo said, “Why don’t we do a feature on roses?” He sketched an idea on that rough paper. Eventually the photographer Cindy Palmano shot it in London, and it became a magnificent spread. It was a perfect example of honka-dori. At first glance it might look like quotation. But the key lies in transformation—the aesthetics of turning something into something else. Something that will not simply be consumed by trends or by its time.

Nakajo always carried a small bag. Inside were things like paperback books he read on the train during his commute. One day I noticed a copy of The Complete Works of Aoyama Jiro (Chikuma Bunko) on his desk. At the time I had not yet read Aoyama Jiro—the great connoisseur who shaped Shirasu Masako’s aesthetic sensibility—so I was surprised and immediately went out to buy the book. Ah, I see. That explained a lot.

I grew up looking at Nakajo’s design for Hanatsubaki as a student. Later, by good fortune, I was able to work with him and learn many of his secrets.

Masayoshi Nakajo— there’s real depth there.

Shigeo Goto

Born in Osaka in 1954. Art producer, editor, and Professor Emeritus at Kyoto University of the Arts. He has edited numerous artist books and photography collections for figures such as Ryuichi Sakamoto and Kishin Shinoyama, and has authored several books on contemporary art. He has also produced major museum exhibitions, including large-scale shows featuring Kishin Shinoyama and Mika Ninagawa. In recent years he has served as exhibition producer for the central atrium space at GINZA SIX and as director of the Hyper Museum Hanno. In 2009 he edited Hanatsubaki to Nakajo (Pie Books). His long-running conversation series in Hanatsubaki, which began in 1991, was later published as Dokutoku Taidan (Little More).