Repeating innovation to carry Nishijin textiles into the next generation

From global fashion to architecture and even space. We spoke with Makoto Hosoo, who relentlessly pursues the potential of Nishijin textiles, never resting on tradition.

Tradition grows stronger with the amplitude of change

 

I am the 12th-generation head of the Nishijin-ori weaving house "Hoso," founded in 1688. Nishijin-ori flourished greatly during the Muromachi period, but the technique of weaving complex patterns with pre-dyed threads to create a sense of luxury originated in the Heian period, when it was supplied to the imperial court, giving it a history of over 1200 years.

Meanwhile, Nishijin-ori has continued to evolve like Darwin's theory of evolution, adapting to its environment. For example, when the Imperial family moved to Tokyo in the Meiji era, buyers for Nishijin-ori—which was expensive due to its hand-woven production—disappeared. So, three young artisans staked the fate of Nishijin-ori and traveled to Lyon, France, the cutting edge of textile technology at the time. Despite likely facing language barriers, and even losing one member during the voyage, they brought back the Jacquard technique—a system that automatically raises and lowers warp threads. Since then, Nishijin-ori became accessible to commoners and has survived to this day.

I believe traditional crafts can be broken down into three elements: technique, material, and story. By reconfiguring these elements to suit the market, diverse approaches to competition become possible. While standard obi sashes are 32 centimeters wide, at Hoshi, seven years ago, we developed a 150-centimeter-wide loom with the global market in mind. Had we stuck to 32 centimeters, we'd have been limited to tablecloths at best. Viewing Nishijin-ori as a material opened up new possibilities.

However, 150cm-wide fabrics exist worldwide, so this width alone isn't innovation—it merely granted us entry into the global market. What truly sets us apart is materials like "Haku"—gold or silver foil applied to washi paper and spun into thread—and the fabrics woven from it, which are unique globally. Only by achieving 150cm did the accumulated wisdom of our predecessors become a differentiating factor for global competition. In that sense, we've finally gained access to the world stage, and now we must actively seek further innovation.

When handling new overseas ventures and making various proposals, I'm often asked, "Can that truly be called Nishijin-ori?" But I believe tradition endures precisely because it absorbs foreign elements and continuously evolves. Trusting in its unbreakable strength, even when you try to break it, and challenging it with stress only makes it stronger by the very margin of that challenge. To endure for 100 or 200 years, I believe it's crucial to constantly renew ourselves and maintain a constitution capable of change at any time. It's like weight training.

My research project at MIT focused on computerizing textiles.

 

I returned to my family business, Hoshi, at the end of 2008, when I was 30. My twenties were spent living as a professional musician and also doing business in the fashion and jewelry industries. I feel that having multiple axes within oneself—rather than focusing solely on music or solely on the family business—leads to richer ideas.

Moreover, meeting many people from different fields—artists, scientists, media professionals—was significant. As a result of these connections, I, a pure liberal arts graduate, became a Director's Fellow at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) last July. It's surprising even to me. Fifteen years ago, through a collaboration with artist Suputniko!, we wove luminous silk by reprogramming jellyfish DNA into silkworms. That connection led me to meet Professor Joi Ito at MIT, which ultimately led to my fellowship appointment.

My research at MIT focuses on structuring textiles, computerizing them, and creating "mobile housing." Not long ago, I learned that the homes of nomadic peoples in the Middle East and Mongolia are made of textiles—wool, specifically. While their frames were wooden, I wondered: what if we wove structure directly into the textile itself? Couldn't that alone form a house? The world of fibers is rapidly evolving—think luminous silk or fibers that shrink when heated. By computerizing these with bio-centers, pressure sensors, and on/off switches, we could create homes that protect people even if crushed during disasters, or automatically assemble themselves using shape memory.

Transforming Traditional Crafts into Careers Children Aspire To

 

On the other hand, Nishijin-ori possesses techniques for weaving extremely complex structures and for weaving threads ranging from thick to fine. Much like an architect calculating structures while building a skyscraper, the complexity of designing three-dimensional forms by considering each individual thread is arguably the world's finest. Combined with technology, it should surely transform the very nature of housing.

Furthermore, I'm currently interested in space ventures. If housing protects humans, then the kimono—which Nishijin-ori has long produced—protects the skin. Why not make the kimono itself into a house? NASA is reportedly developing solar panels using origami principles. This concept of maximizing the smallest elements is the same as the flat-surface construction of kimono. Thus, the idea of applying kimono to space ventures might be surprisingly feasible.

While the conversation has expanded to the world and space, another thing on my mind right now is the timeline. Twelve years ago, I launched "GO ON," a project unit of six successors to traditional crafts. We weave textiles, work with wood, and craft bamboo—six distinct styles united as one. Moreover, Japan is the world's top craft nation. Kyoto alone has 3,600 traditional craft companies, with 12,000 nationwide. Add in the many tech firms, and greater collaboration could spark fascinating innovations.

Our goal is for us to lead not just Japanese but global craft, and to make traditional crafts a profession children aspire to. If we don't set the precedent, the next generation won't emerge. Starting from kimono, we want to spark diverse chemical reactions with various people and pass the baton to the next generation.