A Way of Living Is Design, Too

In composing a design, I consider the presence of formation (order) and chaos (disorder) important.

For instance, the rice planted at equal intervals, vertically and horizontally, in a paddy is a figure of proper order (formation). But if a single seedling within this paddy were bent, that becomes chaos (disorder), and the imagination—why did it bend?—is set to work, letting you enjoy a story beyond mere knowledge.

If, among the students standing bolt upright in the schoolyard at morning assembly, in perfect order (formation) without stirring an inch, there were just one student yawning and scratching his head (chaos), that child would catch your attention and turn into laughter.

In other words, a design of formation alone can carry the surprise and interest of being too precise—so well made, magnificently beautiful—but it feels to me that a gush of emotion beyond that is hard to bring forth.

When I create in the world of flower design and art, too, I take care that by putting a random flow of vining plants (chaos) into a fixed flower form (formation), an accent is added to the ordered shape, making it all the more appealing.

Now then, my next challenge is how to improve my own slovenly way of living—all chaos and no formation.