"Protect your own sensitivity yourself, you fool."
These are the words of the poet Noriko Ibaragi.
Lately, this line has started to come to mind at unexpected moments.
In daily life, I find myself, without noticing, drifting toward the side that is being "asked of."
While responding to what is asked of me,
For example, the "personality" others see in me.
I can only receive the world through this body.
Protect your own sensitivity.
First, acknowledge it for yourself.
After all these years,
At the end of last year, I was chatting with a graphic designer I often work with at the atelier, combining a meeting with casual conversation.
While looking back over the year, our talk shifted from work to everyday life, and the word "imagination" suddenly came to the surface. After all, when people interact, isn't imagination the most important thing? Our thoughts naturally aligned around that idea. There are many ways to define it, but in our conversation that day we agreed that imagination might be "the ability to attend to another person's feelings."
That said, it's by no means easy. After all, "I" am not "someone else." Whether family or friends, there's no way to know exactly what someone else is thinking. No matter how much knowledge or experience you accumulate, that alone doesn't let you reach another person's feelings.
The other day, I was talking with a friend at a café. I glanced at my friend's hands and saw their glass was nearly empty. Just as I was about to call the server, someone quietly poured more water and said, "I'll refill that for you."
It wasn't a dramatic gesture. They observed the person's condition, read a small sign, and chose an action that was neither too much nor too little. It felt less like "kindness" and more like a quiet, intelligent process. From that small consideration there was a hint of beauty.
The accumulation of attitudes directed toward others becomes intelligence, which eventually takes on grace and quietly seeps outward. As we imagine how what we create sits beside someone, we will continue devoting ourselves to jewelry making this year.
I had business in Osaka's Tsuruhashi area.
It's a neighborhood I had rarely visited before. I had no sense of the place at all. With some time to kill, I wandered aimlessly and discovered a motsunabe (offal hotpot) restaurant lit up under the elevated tracks.
Peering through the glass, I saw people with drinks in hand, gathered around bowls of motsunabe, likely chatting about this and that. Even though it was still early after opening, the place was already lively.
It was just after sunset and the kind of solid winter chill had begun to settle in. Trusting my nose, I half let myself be drawn in and went inside.
Steaming motsunabe and a little makgeolli. Plump, fresh horumon and authentic Korean kimchi that looked to have been sourced from Tsuruhashi's shopping street. My chopsticks kept moving. At the end, they added carefully chosen Chinese noodles from a long-established noodle maker into the pot. Before I knew it, the pot was empty. Unexpectedly, it became a moment that satisfied both body and soul.
Of course, I could have checked restaurant review sites in advance and picked a highly rated place. A quick search would probably have found restaurants with higher ratings. But that feeling of "unexpectedly finding a great place" is hard to get from that kind of deliberate selection.
Relying less on others' words or ratings and following your own intuition and judgment—even if the choice isn't the "best" or "right" one—can yield rewards richer than you might expect.
Standing on your own senses can feel a little uncertain, and at the same time, I think it's a quiet kind of freedom.
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Relying on my own ears and eyes
Standing on my own two feet alone
what inconvenience could there be?
("Not Leaning On" by Noriko Ibaragi)
When the scent of osmanthus (kinmokusei) begins to appear, I recall the words of Yuta Orisaka.
When autumn comes, the phrase "the scent of osmanthus" catches the eye on social media. While the writer's emotions are quickly replayed, when you actually smell it, the genuine feeling that rises within you becomes ossified. (omission) What these expressions have in common is that the subject of the person speaking is hidden. Lacking confidence in words that come from within, they crush them with tools of empathy
(Yuta Orisaka, from "Yabu IN")
Everyone has a "moment when they feel autumn."
The chill of the wind, the colors of dusk, the smell of the air — these elements suddenly connect inside you, and the sensation of "ah, it's autumn" arises. Even if that feeling can't be shared with anyone else, it is undeniably your own shape of autumn living within you.
On the other hand, there are scenes and scents that "everyone would probably feel as autumn." Chief among these is the scent of osmanthus. Using this word (this sign) lets you easily share the "arrival of autumn" with everyone. But behind that convenience, the particular shape of autumn that "I" felt becomes hidden behind the word. I think the "hidden subject" he points out is precisely this.
In an age where anyone can be a broadcaster, for some reason the "subject" retreats. Words polished by AI and trend phrases tuned for view counts cover our screens and gradually move away from the sender's real feeling. We now live in a world where "whose words these are" is hard to see.
Not everyone needs to feel autumn through the scent of osmanthus. I hope for a world that values each person's "autumn with real feeling" within them. Restoring subjectivity requires accepting diversity. The brand cobaco, I often think, should be a place that affirms that small diversity.
And I also think this:
words born through someone's body, not through reasoning, carry a tangible warmth even if small. When we encounter such words, I believe we can quietly touch the "subject" that exists within others. This may underlie not only words but all works created by people.
Suddenly, a line from Gen Hoshino's song "In the Middle of the Ridiculous" comes to mind.
The nape smells like bread and we praise it, saying wow
In the ridiculous there's love, people live as if to laugh
Although I've never thought "the nape of the neck smells like bread," that metaphor slips easily into the body. And it makes me feel as if happiness is packed into that scene (at least for me). His words have a definite "warmth," and they resonate gently in the listener's heart.
Words and works that reach others may be those that, while making you think "perhaps I'm the only one who feels this," still touch the hearts of many.
"Today, I didn’t meet anyone or say a single word until you called me. The trees in the garden don’t talk to me."
When the early signs of dementia began to appear, my grandmother said this to me over the phone. After my grandfather passed away and the dog they had for many years also died, my grandmother lived alone in a quiet house. Although my parents visited frequently, an overwhelming sense of "being alone" surrounded her.
When people lose their connections with family and society, they may gradually lose sight of the meaning of their own existence. And the body tries to physiologically avoid that pain. Or perhaps the mind "wants" to fade those memories away. Listening to my grandmother’s voice over the phone, I found myself thinking about these things.
Then, this summer. On the day we went to visit the graves with my parents, my father, who was with me all day, never once called my name. My father, who always prefixed his words with the other person’s name like a kind of greeting, didn’t do so even once.
Seeing his back, which had become one or two sizes smaller than when he was active, I saw my grandmother’s figure reflected in it. It has finally come—. The reality I had somehow prepared myself for, when it actually appeared before me, felt oppressively heavy, clinging to my body, and left me with a deeply gloomy feeling.
My father, a typical member of the "baby boomer generation," who ran through the height of the economic boom and devoted his life to work. Even after retirement, he worked for a while, but a few years ago, after a fall at work that injured his legs and hips, he stepped back from the front lines and started spending more time at home. Perhaps it was around that time that I began to sense a faint discomfort in the edges of our conversations.
The loneliness of seeing someone else (my father) gradually lose the memories and time they have built up. Is it the pain of reliving that process by his side? Or is it my own sadness of being "forgotten" by my own parent? I still can’t sort it out.
Even so, the fading of memories may be both loneliness and kindness. I believe there is a loneliness that can only be endured by forgetting. Still, I hope the voice calling out that name will reach him until the very end.
I have made an effort to be a good person. If I can keep pretending to be a good person, then that is no different from actually being one── she murmurs quietly to herself, half convincing herself. This is a memorable panel from a certain manga.
There was a contrast between "natural" and "cultivated." The "natural" "good person" interacts with others in a genuine, unpretentious way, and their very presence soothes those around them. Witnessing this, the "cultivated" woman feels a painful awareness of her own clumsiness and artificiality. No matter how much effort she puts in, she feels she can never reach the purity of the "natural," and a sharp ache stirs deep in her chest.
However, she realizes in the end that no matter how distant her ideal self may seem, the fact remains that she has been taking steps toward that ideal one by one. It is precisely because she continues to take action every day that value is created in the "self who strives to become." The quality of effort does not matter, and talent is absolutely not an issue. It is the overwhelming amount accumulated over a long time that shapes a person.
A series of small trials and errors. Each one, like countless droplets of water, eventually forms a vast ocean, nurturing the existence called "me" into something beyond mere "cultivation." Over time, this accumulation breaks through the shell of "cultivation," becoming one's own individuality and the shades of one's way of life.
Of course, the “natural” sparkle is dazzling. However, both purity and artifice are expressions of humanity. It is through the journey to that point—through choices and trial and error—that each person’s unique story emerges. As a “cultivated” self, I somehow felt saved by the realization she came to in the manga.
There is a researcher who spends nearly half of the year in the mountains, observing the behavior of birds for many years. It is said that he can "understand" the language of the birds. This is likely due to a physical sense developed over many years of continuously listening to the birds' calls.
I suddenly remembered a story I once read about a boy with Indian blood. The boy, taken in by Cherokee grandparents, gradually learned to sense the breathing of the trees and the hearts of animals as he lived deep in the forest — a feeling of communicating with the world without relying on words eventually took root within him. It seems to me that the quiet conviction of researchers also harbors the same kind of "embodied understanding."
Entering the forest with nothing but his body, relying only on ordinary tools such as binoculars and a small recorder, he "translates" the birds' perspective through his own body. After accumulating thousands of hours, he discovers that bird calls have "words" and "sentences," and that changing the word order alters the meaning. This is a surprising discovery that shakes the conventional "common sense" that language is an ability unique to humans.
Without using cutting-edge technology or tools, he conducts research with just his own body and achieves results that rewrite global common sense—when you encounter his approach to work, the anxiety of "Is there really any idea that no one has touched in this era flooded with information?" suddenly falls away. Unnamed value still lurks within reachable radius. Such hope begins to sprout.
Ikutagawa River flows near the atelier. Before I knew it, spring had passed, and the row of cherry trees along the river is now completely wrapped in fresh green leaves. As I quietly watch the flowing river, I sometimes find myself so absorbed that I forget the passage of time. Where does this beauty come from?
By flowing quietly and without stagnation, water maintains its purity and nourishes the creatures living within it. However, if the flow slows and stagnation occurs, the water gradually becomes murky, the creatures disappear, and eventually even unpleasant odors begin to spread. It may be that the very act of continuing to flow creates beauty.
On the other hand, within our human bodies, cells are being replaced with brand new ones every day. After just a few days, you could say that, at the cellular level, we are essentially different people. Both rivers and humans exist within a "flow." It is easy to imagine that if this flow becomes stagnant or blocked, problems will arise.
In the manufacturing work we engage in daily, we always pay close attention to "stagnation." If we fear change and remain in the same place, our minds and thoughts gradually become rigid. Without new stimuli or values coming in, our perspective narrows, our sensitivity dulls, and our vitality fades. Before we know it, an indescribable awkwardness begins to linger among the people involved. Looking back, it seems that during times when things felt off, we usually had some form of stagnation to contend with.
Starting a new project. Considering a design with a different direction than before. Whenever I feel stagnation, I make a conscious effort to step out of my comfort zone to clear that stagnation.
Of course, it is not easy to keep moving constantly. There are naturally times when you get tired and want to take a short break. However, a brief rest is fundamentally different from stagnation. By pausing, you can recalibrate your direction and even cultivate the strength to move forward. But if you stay there too long, the water will eventually become murky.
Not fearing change and approaching each day with curiosity to make it new. Taking even small steps forward. As I ponder these things and gaze at the clear, untroubled flow of the river, I feel a strange sensation as if there is a will within it.
My grades in science subjects were terrible, but for some reason, I have always been interested in the second law of thermodynamics since my student days. Heat moves from hot objects to cold ones, and the reverse does not occur. Hot coffee cools down over time, and mixed milk does not return to its original state. Energy always flows from high to low. It is an extremely simple yet powerful physical law.
People gather around things with high energy. Without a heat source, there is no power generated. A person's enthusiasm and the power of the works created by it propagate to the surroundings. This law seems to apply not only to the world of physics but also to human activities. Perhaps that is why it has remained in the back of my mind all this time.
Artists, designers, craftsmen, musicians—those who create something from nothing invariably possess "heat." It may be skill, thought, or perhaps a pure passion of "liking." However, there is certainly a "high energy" present, and that temperature difference attracts people and becomes a driving force. People are drawn to those who "chase what they love, think, and continue to express." It is the same structure from which energy naturally flows out.
The brand cobaco does not necessarily have a worldview that conveys "heat," but we still want to always carry a quiet warmth as creators. And we hope that the items we design are not just decorations but serve as catalysts that draw out the energy of the person wearing them. That is our wish.
A small sticker that came with the magazine I purchased the other day. The message "I love making mistakes" caught my eye, and it reminded me of a certain episode written in the essay collection by the musician Masakatsu Takagi that I read sometime ago.
During his trip to Ethiopia, he had an interaction with a guide where there was one thing he simply couldn't tolerate. That was the constant explanations about each thing he saw, such as "This is a building constructed in this year, and this event happened." As he listened to the guide's repeated explanations, he felt that he wanted to first experience the fresh sensations of a new world with his own heart and body, rather than relying on information given by others. In other words, he wanted to be allowed to "misunderstand."
I felt that the message "I love making mistakes" carries a similar sentiment (though this might also be a misunderstanding).. A littleThere may be seeds of new ideas that have not yet existed in the world hidden within mistakes and misunderstandings. A small bug might accidentally lead to a significant discovery. For now, let's set aside whether it is right or wrong and listen to "how I feel." We always aspire to be a brand that can honestly embrace and find joy in what we feel and what emerges from it.
A small sticker that says "I love making mistakes" has found its place in the corner of my laptop.
The other day, I received a call that my grandmother had collapsed, so I headed to the hospital where she was taken. From the window of the hospital room on the second floor of a small hospital by the sea, I can see the ocean. Even though it's already September, the sky is a vibrant blue, and the sea sparkles as if it's still the height of summer. The scenery, filled with such vitality, made me suddenly recall a poem by Kenji Miyazawa.
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Say with your eyes
It won't do.
It won't stop, huh?
It's bubbling up vigorously.
I haven't slept since last night, and the bleeding continues.
There is a deep blue tranquility all around.
I feel like I'm about to die soon.
But what a nice breeze it is.
Since Seimei is approaching
Just like it rises and swells from such a blue sky
A beautiful breeze is coming.
The tender buds of the maple and flowers like fur
Like waves of autumn grass
The mat made of rush grass with burn marks is also blue.
I don't know if you are coming back from a medical conference or something.
Wearing a black frock coat
If I had been so serious and taken various measures...
Even if I die from this, I have no complaints.
Despite the bleeding
Such a carefree and painless feeling
Did the soul leave the body halfway?
Just for the sake of blood
It is terrible that I can't say that.
From your perspective, it must be quite a desolate scene.
What I can see is
The beautiful blue sky after all
There is only a thin, transparent wind.
(Original text: "Complete Works of Kenji Miyazawa Vol. 2" Chikuma Bunko, Chikuma Shobo)
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My grandmother, who was hospitalized, fortunately did not suffer any serious issues, and her complexion looked good as she seemed to have recovered quite a bit. The test results were also favorable, and she will be able to be discharged soon. I might someday remember the view of the blue sea that I peeked at from her hospital room.
Recently, I have been thinking more about "human character." I want to be "elegant" not only in myself but also in the brand cobaco, and I strive to operate with that in mind every day.
When we talk about "nobility," it's not necessarily something grand like "nobility" or "overflowing dignity," but rather a nuance of "pleasant demeanor." In the interactions between people, it's about "considering the other person." I feel that there is a sense of nobility in the demeanor that reflects this as a premise of communication.
Easier said than done. When I get busy, I tend to focus the arrow of my heart on myself, and even in situations where I should communicate with someone, I often overlook the other person's feelings and end up behaving carelessly.
The other day, I came across a refreshing essay that serves as a model of "pleasant demeanor." It is a study abroad memoir titled "Red and Blue Gown" by Princess Akiko. It seems to have become a topic of conversation again recently, coinciding with its paperback release in April.
The various episodes depicted during my study abroad at Oxford University always center around people (the other party). Each episode certainly relates to my own experiences, but there is always a close "other" in the line of sight, such as friends, professors, dorm mates, and family. The desire for the reader to truly feel their characters is subtly evident throughout. It feels like every episode is based on the premise of "considering others." I find myself likely to reread it whenever I feel busy and my perspective narrows.
We have four cats living in our home.
The eldest daughter is a beautiful cat full of grace, but she has a fierce side that comes out with just a little annoyance, quickly throwing punches. The second daughter is a spoiled one who tries to climb onto her owner's lap, side, or belly whenever there's a chance, 24/7. The third daughter, who firmly believes that "the center of the idol group is my position," radiates (or rather imposes) cuteness with a strong sense of self-esteem. The youngest son, while being smart enough to listen to his owner's words, also has a timid side that panics at the slightest change.
Living with them makes me realize that everyone is naturally unique without even trying to be individualistic. Moreover, the longer we live together and the closer we get, the more new sides they show us. Just the other day, the youngest son showcased a new sleeping pose (an acrobatic pose reminiscent of the Awa Odori dance).
Speaking of which, I haven't seen the eldest daughter at her favorite windowsill much lately. Although she has tried to jump to that slightly elevated windowsill a few times, she seems to have given up out of laziness. She might be losing confidence in her leg strength now that she is over 10 years old. I am considering installing a step on the wall by the windowsill soon, so that the usual scene of her sitting there can return.
Walking about 10 minutes from Kintetsu Nara Station towards Nara Park, the first torii gate, which marks the beginning of the approach to the main hall of Kasuga Taisha, comes into view. The path to the main hall is approximately 1.3 km. As you proceed, the number of worshippers thins out, the wind becomes cooler, and the silence deepens. This alone is enough to feel the spirituality of the place, but at the "Mikasayama Ukigumo-no-mine Yohaijo" located on the eastern outer side of the corridor that surrounds the main hall, you will find yourself gasping in awe.
There was a tense tranquility there that cannot be explained simply by being outside the corridor. The voices of worshippers who were just around a moment ago, and even their presence, suddenly disappear, leaving behind a mysterious place where only a "silence" akin to noise-canceling in the midst of city hustle and bustle remains.
Upon hearing, it is said that this space is dedicated to offering prayers towards "Mikasayama," the sacred mountain behind Kasuga Taisha, which has been a deep object of faith for about 1300 years. It is the closest place to Mikasayama, where general worshippers are not allowed to enter as it is a "forbidden area."
Perhaps because we are exposed to various noises daily, the serene time/space encountered in this sacred place felt like a very luxurious experience.
When visiting the workshop in Kofu, you can see a variety of metalworking tools lined up on the craftsmen's workbenches. While interacting with the craftsmen, it has become one of my pleasures to gaze at these tools. Hammers with handles carved to fit the hands of the craftsmen who use them, files that are used differently depending on their purpose and number... These tools, shaped by the craftsmen in pursuit of functionality, seem to possess a certain kind of beauty.
Coincidentally, in our new collection "Staple", we focused on one of the tools used by carpenters, the "Kasugai". It is a U-shaped nail driven in to join two pieces of wood together. This technique of fixing wood, brought from the Korean Peninsula, has been used domestically since the Kofun period. A tool that has been responsible for "joining together" since ancient times. This collection began by replacing the materials being joined from wood to natural stone and metal. The beauty of the tools used by craftsmen and our respect for their craftsmanship may have led us to encounter the "Kasugai".
![[ Note ] 春になると思い出す言葉｜cobaco](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0833/0353/0806/files/R0001560.webp?v=1711611653)
Heading to the bakery that I learned about from a customer during the recent atelier open day.
The sensation of the wind caressing my cheeks is sweet,
Lately, I've been swayed by "trivial everyday matters,"
![[ Note ] The 1mm World, Small Yet Large](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0833/0353/0806/files/sQGw3zRw.jpg?v=1708136814)
In a world like jewelry, the unit "1mm" is never small. Just a difference of 1mm can make something look delicate, feel elegant, or conversely, give a rough impression. It's fascinating how much the impression can change. By the way, many of cobaco's rings, including the "Gold Ring_plain(narrow)", are approximately 1mm in width. When the ring width reaches 2mm, it falls into the category of wedding rings in our brand.
As I mentioned earlier, we are currently preparing for a package renewal scheduled for this spring. While communicating with the designer we commissioned for the design, a discussion arose about whether "12mm" or "13mm" would be better for a certain part of the package. Here again is the "1mm difference." One feels sleek and tidy, while the other has a good balance and stability, even giving a sense of strength. We ultimately settled on "12mm."
As if delving into the folds of sensation, we focus on the small differences and observe them closely. Then, a world far richer than we imagined begins to unfold. If we hadn't immersed ourselves in this world, we might never have realized its joy. (Well, there are times when I feel like giving up...)
いつもお世話になっているloji flowerさんでお迎えした正月飾りを今年もアトリエの玄関口
The deity of abundant harvests, Toshigami-sama
Despite only being displayed for about two weeks,
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We express our deepest condolences to those who lost their lives in the recent Noto Peninsula earthquake.
Refined and elegant in both style and substance（ぶんしつひんぴん）
装いや立ち居振る舞い、
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As part of the online store renewal, a newBrand Concept CopyI met through a proposal from the copywriter I requested.
Critic Takami Yoshimoto discusses the "current self" and the "desired self."
あたらしいブランドコンセプトである"うつくしい日々の予感。」