Maiko Kurogouchi’s collections are a sort of crash course on ancient, sadly disappearing Japanese crafting traditions, that she patiently researches and tries to regenerate, artfully downloading century old textures, patterns and figurative motifs onto her serene creations. Passionate about ceramics, this season she traveled south of Japan to the mountainous Saga Prefecture, the cradle of karatsu, a kind of pottery said to have flourished at the end of the 16th century. What Kurogouchi wanted to do, she said, was to transform garments into “wearable ceramics.”
Spending months with the potters, Kurogouchi got acquainted with different karatsu variations; in mountain villages she found rare earthenware fragments, from which she drew the collection’s color scheme and the overall decorative inspiration. The predominantly gray tones recalled the raw soil used to create the simple pottery shapes typical of the region, while the fire of the kilns where ceramics are burned was an impactful chromatic reference that raised the collection’s otherwise temperate vibration of dark tones and lean, serene silhouettes.
Terracotta and warm orange hues graced a long one-shoulder fluid dress worn under a matching oversized shirt, printed in Kyoto by artisans applying mochi rice to the fabric, letting it dry and then pouring the dye over the cracks, achieving an imperfect, haphazard pattern similar to a fireworks display or volcanic eruptions. The auroral tones of an alpaca cocoon coat were reprised from the delicate glazed surfaces unique to the madara karatsu technique, while the graphic micro-floral stamps on Jacquard draped dresses and on fitted knitted pieces were drawn from the delicately ornamental mishima karatsu ceramics.
Held (as last season) at the Paris outpost of Ogata, the sanctuary of Japanese haute cuisine, the collection exuded the enigmatic grace of a Japanese haiku; the amazing textural work was handled with subtlety, making it visually intense while keeping the pieces eminently wearable. The atmospheric soundtrack by Japanese artist Yuko Mohri hinted at a mille-feuille of sound textures, where a piano was programmed to trace the ambient sound of the kiln fires burning. It felt magical—as if an ethereal golden dust of cracking notes were enveloping the space.
