黒﨑輝男さんと自由の思い出

イデーの創業者の黒﨑輝男さんが亡くなって本当にさびしい。彼は、若い才能を発見する天才であり、僕の知る限り、日本で最高の目利きであった。「原稿を書いてくれませんか」というのが、彼からもらった最初の連絡だった。まったく無名だった僕に、彼が創刊する不思議な雑誌への寄稿を頼まれたのである。

なぜかわからないが、彼のまわりだけ、空気が自由に流れているようで、引きつけられた。それがきっかけで長い付き合いが始まり、いろいろなものを一緒に作ったり、考えたりした。おもしろいと思うものがなぜか重なることが多く、アメリカのポートランドがおもしろいと思っていたら、彼もすでにポートランドといろいろ遊び始めていた。

彼には才能を発見する特別な目がそなわっているようで、日本にオーストラリアから留学中のマーク・ニューソンに横断歩道で傘を貸してあげて友達になり、デザインを依頼して、それがひとつのきっかけとなってマークが世界一のプロダクトデザイナーになるエピソードは、最高に楽しい自慢話だった。後日、僕はマークとも一緒に日本酒ブランドIWAのしごとをした。

パリののみの市でゴミのように積まれていたガラクタの中から、セルジュ・ムーユの照明を発見して、それからムーユの世界的大評価が始まったというエピソードも痛快だった。

去年は、福井のESHIKOTOでソバ屋とパン屋を一緒に作って遊んだ。地元の青山で、若いデザイナーを育てるタリアセンみたいなものを作ろうというネタが、僕らの最近の酒のツマミだった。自由というものの価値を教えてくれた、かけがえのない先輩だった。

When we first arrived in Tokyo in the late 1980s, we were fortunate to work for Toyo Ito. But like many young architects starting out, there came a moment when we decided to establish our own practice. We had enthusiasm, ideas and very little else.

One of the first people to believe in us was Teruo Kurosaki.

In 1996, he commissioned us to design the IDÉE Workstation in Shimouma. It became our first completed project as Klein Dytham architecture. Looking back, I realise that what Teruo-san gave us was much more than a commission. He gave us confidence. He gave us trust. He gave us permission to experiment.

That was one of his remarkable gifts. He could see potential in people before they saw it in themselves.

Many people here will know Kurosaki-san through IDÉE. Others will know him through the designers he introduced, the businesses he started, the markets he created, or the countless conversations that led to new ideas and unexpected collaborations. His influence spread far beyond any single company or project.

What always impressed me was that he never seemed interested in creating a personal empire. He was interested in creating possibilities. He brought people together. He connected ideas. He opened doors.

The word often used to describe Kurosaki-san is visionary. And he certainly was. But vision alone is not enough. What made him special was that he acted on that vision. He took risks on young designers. He introduced new ways of thinking. He challenged accepted ideas about how design could be lived, experienced and shared.

For many of us, the design culture we enjoy in Tokyo today exists in part because of the foundations he helped create.

When we look back at our first project together, we realise that Kurosaki-san was never simply commissioning a building or a piece of furniture. He was building communities. He was creating opportunities. He was investing in people.

His legacy lives on not only in the places he created but in the many lives and careers he touched along the way.

We will remember many moments - moments we have all had - when he would simply wander off during a meeting. You had to be on your game to keep him engaged... and he loved chilled tapioca, I mean, loved chilled tapioca. He would literally go into a trance while he was eating it, at peace with the world.

We would like to thank him for his generosity, his curiosity, his courage and his friendship.

Kurosaki-san, thank you for believing in us.

We will miss you greatly.

I first met Kurosaki-san on my first trip to Japan in 1988. My husband Simon Conder had been invited to design a house in Tokyo and Teruo was at the reception. He didn’t look like anyone else there. He was very tall and not wearing a suit. He gave out leaves instead of business cards and whisked us off somewhere else. We clicked immediately.

He would visit us in London where we had a studio in Shoreditch long before it was remotely trendy. Kurosaki picked up on the creative vibe immediately and liked the fact that we both ran small studios full of young designers and did the design work ourselves. We spent many fun evenings at the Chelsea Arts Club, which he loved. The only problem was he was always accompanied by 12 other people so booking a table anywhere could be problematic.

I designed a small catalogue of Idée furniture for him from London, in the early days of computers, and eventually he took a gamble on sending me to Tokyo for two weeks to work on the first Idée mail order catalogue with Takuji Nomoto. It was relentless work as we had to produce page layouts as soon as the photographs came in. And my Japanese is non-existent, but we managed and out it came, on time.

On one cold December trip to London, Kurosaki came with his great friend Kaoro Watanabe. We all loved the music and spirit of the 60s and we took them to see Ronnie Spector and Joey Ramone at Dingwall’s, a venue in Camden Town. They both had dreadful colds but they seem to have disappeared after Ronnie had worked her charm, dressed as Santa Claus.

Another project I worked on in 1994 was The Idée Caffè Book. Kurosaki had hurt his knee snowballing in Hokkaido the previous weekend where he had taken 20 employees for a ski bash. This was typical of Kurosaki: to be able to pull people together for a common purpose, often a left-field purpose. For this project, as the timescale was short, I stayed in a small studio apartment Kurosaki owned in Château Toyo. On the wall behind the futon was written, ‘Philippe Starck slept here’. That certainly spurred you on to have a productive day.

There are so many places and foods I would not have discovered without Kurosaki. My first soba at Mamiana Soba, drinking in the Piano Lounge of the Park-Hyatt (as in Lost In Translation), countless tiny sushi and noodle bars in Tokyo and Kyoto which I would never have found, lovely people he introduced me to both in Japan and London. And the Radio Bar in Aoyama. He seemed to know everyone and everything. One of the most special places was the Forest of Wisdom which he had helped initiate near Komatsu. And we were fortunate enough to stay at Takigahara Farm and see what Kurosaki and the young helpers there were trying to do with the land and the café for the community in Western Japan.

The only problem with Kurosaki-san was there was never enough time. He was always looking towards the next project (great or small), boarding the next flight. There was no one like him.

My dearest Kurosaki-san,
The first time I stepped into your office at the IDEE shop in Aoyama in 1998, I was surprised to find several objects by Swedish designers, past and present — glass pieces by Erik Höglund and a pair of felt slippers by Pia Wallén among them. It was then that I learned of your fascination with Nordic design. That was the beginning of our friendship, which would last nearly thirty years.

We had just moved to Tokyo, my husband Krister Kumlin as the Swedish Ambassador to Japan, and I as the accompanying wife, trying to find my way into Tokyo’s contemporary cultural world. While exploring art galleries, I happened to meet the original character Johnnie Walker, who in turn introduced me to the young and upcoming architects Astrid Klein and Mark Dytham and their creative space, Deluxe. Mark told me that I simply had to meet the extraordinary design entrepreneur and visionary Teruo Kurosaki, for whom they had created the IDEE workstation a few years earlier. He also spoke of your impressive work with the IDEE concept store, Rojak, and Sputnik. You were, of course, a pioneer of these concepts — as always, one step ahead of the rest of us.

The rest is history.
Around the turn of the millennium, you started Tokyo Designers Block, and I, encouraged by the strong interest I felt in Japan for contemporary Swedish culture, created Swedish Style in Tokyo — a broad lifestyle platform bringing Swedish artists and designers to Japan. None of this would have been possible without your support and the help of many friends. You and I shared a passion for supporting and connecting new creative talents.

I will never forget one particular occasion. Your health problems had already begun, and I gave you a ride in our embassy car to the hospital. At the time, I was extremely worried about launching the second edition of Swedish Style in 2001, which was much larger than the first. I was missing a substantial amount of funding — at least for my pocket — and you simply said: “Just do it. You have to continue. If you cannot find the money, I will give it to you.”

Of course, I never had to ask you for money, but you gave me the courage and strength to continue a project that would go on for many years.

That was so typical of you.
I share this experience with many of the people you touched and encouraged around the world. You believed in us and gave us the courage to move forward. You planted so many seeds. I am sure many others have spoken of how you helped them grow in their own creative fields. Young international designers whom you brought to Japan are now world famous, thanks in part to your strong sense of quality and vision. Many of today’s successful Japanese designers and architects began in the “Kurosaki school,” guided by your quiet, elegant, and non-controlling manner — like the trunk of a tree extending into more and more branches over time.

We continued with Tokyo Style in Stockholm, where you created the pop-up restaurant “Rice People, Nice People,” and we collaborated on many other events where you invented slogans such as “Good Heart, Good Art.” Our collaboration was, to say the least, non-linear, intuitive, and deeply organic. There was never much structure or endless email conversations. You simply gave me your OK, and I realized the projects, all built on mutual trust and respect for our differences.

I quickly learned that there was no point in pushing you or trying to force you into anything. No formal embassy dinners, no long-term planning. Sometimes you wanted me to accompany you to official meetings with high-level dignitaries, and you would let me do the talking while you quietly fell asleep during the meeting.

Whenever you came to Stockholm, I organized home parties for you — and later, when I moved to Paris, there as well. You always arrived with some of your favorite boys and girls, lots of champagne, and everything was free-flowing and you could nap when you felt like it. You opened so many doors for me — introducing me to the best people and taking me to the most extraordinary places in Tokyo, Takigahara, Milan, Paris, Taipei, and even Stockholm.

We go way back. I jokingly called you my “Japanese boyfriend,” and you answered: “Swedish Style forEWAr.”

I could go on and on about your immense importance in the world of design — in Japan, internationally, and to countless individuals — but I choose to tell our story here, because this one belongs only to us. I know that everyone you touched carries their own unique story about you.

Very few people create such a special place in so many hearts. Tokyo will not be the same without you. You live on through countless people and projects. Above all, you were a connector.

And yet, you will always remain something of a mystery. Did anyone ever truly come to know all your many layers? You told me stories about your life, your studies, your journey, your ancestors, your mother, father, and brother… but very little about your private life in the present. In all these years, I never even saw your home.

I am deeply grateful for our friendship, and especially grateful that you made it to our country house in Sörmland this past summer for a few days, and that you were able to visit our international ceramic and food expedition at Reijmyre Glassworks — a project we had planned to bring to Japan together. I still wanted to welcome you once again to Dalarna, the region you loved so much and where you even looked for a cabin to buy. You once said: “Dalarna is a good place to die.”

The last time I saw you was in November 2025, some time after your stroke. Together with the Swedish architect Ola Rune of Claesson Koivisto Rune, I visited you at the Hatsudai Rehabilitation Center. You were working hard on your recovery, but mostly wanted to speak about your new ideas and future plans. There was a physical fragility, yes, but you still walked us all the way to the elevator and waved goodbye with a smile.

Teruo, you changed the meaning of my life at 25.

Thanks to your companionship, I discovered beauty and the quality of things and moments in Japan. Thanks to your generosity, I tasted, smelled, and saw more and more.

And I would have loved so much for it to last—to draw, to work on-site with the artisans you introduced me to, to build a tiny house in Takigahara…

So many dreams were possible with you! You were a visionnaire.

The origami collection in 1986; Une Forme One shape in 2004; TDB several years; London when I took you and your team in my red Mini cooper through the city; our 2023 trip with Léa, Jasper and Antoine. And Michel Roset who is so grateful to you and admires you so much.

I know your life was full and happy; rest in Peace. You did so much good for those around you. Elevating life to its best and most important.

Love always.

TERUO KUROSAKI - A True Legend

Teruo Kurosaki was one of those rare people whose influence extended far beyond the work he created. As the founder of IDÉE, he helped shape the landscape of contemporary design in Japan and inspired generations of designers, makers, and creative thinkers. His vision, curiosity, and commitment to design left an enduring mark on the international design community.

But what made Teruo truly exceptional was not only what he built, it was the way he brought people together. He had an extraordinary talent for connecting individuals, ideas, and cultures. He was open-minded, generous, and endlessly encouraging. He welcomed people without judgment, always seeing potential where others might not. His enthusiasm for design was contagious, and he had a remarkable ability to make everyone around him feel valued and inspired.

I will never forget 1995, when Teruo invited me to Japan for the very first time. He hosted the very first exhibition of Droog Design in Japan, opening doors that would have a lasting impact on many careers and on the dialogue between Japanese and European design. Teruo was constantly introducing new voices and emerging talents to Japan. Designers such as Michael Young, Jerszy Seymour, Karim Rashid, and many others found opportunities and audiences through his efforts. His contribution to international design exchange is difficult to measure because it touched so many lives in so many different ways.

Teruo showed us that making a difference is not only about ambition or success. It is about being kind, curious, supportive, and generous. He demonstrated that leadership can come from encouragement rather than authority, from bringing people together rather than standing at the center of attention. He understood that creativity flourishes when people feel welcomed, connected, and inspired.

His birthday celebrations during Milan Design Week became legendary in their own right. They were gatherings filled with energy, laughter, creativity, and friendship - a reflection of Teruo himself. Designers, friends, and collaborators from around the world would come together, creating moments and memories that many of us still cherish today.

Teruo's legacy lives on through the countless people he supported, encouraged, and connected throughout his life. The design world is richer because of his presence, and many of us are where we are today because he believed in us.

I miss him very much.

Rest in peace, my dear friend. Your generosity, spirit, and friendship will never be forgotten.