Conversation Series - A Dialogue around ‘Flames with Moisture: Candle Object’

In this new conversation series of maison tombo Journal, the founder of maison tombo, Mathilde Okuda, and the Taiwanese designer Chialing Chang are exchanging thoughts about the creative process, the role of objects and the poetic frontier between the visible and the invisible.

flames with moisture: candle object - photography ©2023 Yuhao chang

Mathilde: contemplating Flames with Moisture: Candle Object that you created back in 2023, a gentle feeling of care and protection arises. The upper structure, almost like a roof, seems to shelter the flame, guarding it so that it may continue to give light. Meanwhile, the object’s shadows shift throughout the day, responding to changes in its surroundings. It feels as though the candle and the ambient light engage in a gentle dialogue: the object generates light for the viewer or seer, while the surrounding light, in turn, casts and transforms its shadows.

Through this interplay of illumination and obscurity, something emerges where the visible and the invisible meet, where what can be seen and what remains hidden coexist in a delicate balance. Within this experience, something ineffable happens, a perception that resists articulation. As Maurice Merleau-Ponty writes in the Visible and the Invisible, the invisible is not a separate, spectral realm, but the very depth, sense, and latent structure that are folded within what is seen. How then, might we approach describing this depth? And should we even try?

Chialing: it is interesting you brought this up. I recently revisited a passage in Merleau-Ponty’s Eye and Mind, where he reflects on how we perceive the depth of water. Depth, he suggests, does not arrive through reasoning, but through the way our bodies inhabit the world. What appears to us is a subtle vibration between the visible and the not-yet-visible. The surface of the water, the shifting light, and the quiet patterns beneath it fold into one another, letting depth reveal itself as something continuously coming into being.

I am still taking in these ideas. Yet when I think about my own work, I notice how little begins with concepts. The process is almost always intuitive. With the tealight from 2023, I often found myself simply watching the flame—sometimes for a long while. In that gentle, trance-like attention, I sensed a kind of fluidity inside the movement of the flame. Its flicker felt like a vertical stream of water. Through this piece, I wanted to share that experience, that moment of association.

The roof-like element you mentioned was originally imagined as a reflector. I hoped it would catch the trembling light and send it outward, extending the presence of the flame into the viewer’s perception—the shifting brightness, the faint movements of air, the subtle changes in the environment.

Your interpretation of the piece is fascinating to me. Each viewer brings their own history and sensibilities to what they see, and meaning arises in that meeting. I feel that a work needs a certain openness—a space that invites others to complete it with their imagination. But that openness must still resonate with lived experience, so that perception itself becomes part of the encounter. Only then can such a space hold a kind of poetic intensity.

Mathilde: this question of our relationship with objects is fascinating, and it is one of the core ideas that led me to found maison tombo, it is a pillar of its concept. The objects we choose, or that unexpectedly question us, ignite the lived experience you describe, provided there is a certain openness, a space that suddenly collides with our senses and perceptions.​

It begins with the way objects are created: the intention, intuition, and skills of the maker or  creator. This is the essence of art or craftsmanship, where the creation carries a kind of soul, transmuted through energy, which meets the spectator and gives rise to that invisible yet palpable something you beautifully call poetic intensity, and which I described as a silent dialogue in the maison tombo’s concept.​

It is almost as if two souls were meeting in a space that becomes intimate, allowing us to touch our deepest selves. The beauty of this is that the experience is intemporelle, or timeless in English. An object created a hundred years ago can continue to speak to us for centuries. It becomes sacred.

This could be one of the reasons we choose the objects we do, and why we visit museums or art galleries. These are spaces, often white, open, and devoid of anything that might distract from the encounter, that allow us to connect to our senses and our own intimacy almost secretly, to find a sense of belonging, and to seek an understanding of humanity and its origins through artifacts and art installations created by both our ancestors and contemporaries.​

It is also tempting to say that this poetic intensity or silent dialogue might be one manifestation of what is called essence, as opposed to existence, which resonates with the concept of transcendental idealism developed by the philosopher Kant. According to this view, what can be known are objects as they appear (phenomena), shaped by our forms of intuition (space and time) and the categories of understanding, not things as they are in themselves.

poetic intensity and silent dialogue - photography © 2023 Yuhao chang

Chialing: you are touching on things that are very difficult for me to put into words, yet they resonate deeply with my way of making. I often wonder what allows a work to endure over time. Perhaps it begins with a certain way of observing, thinking, or experiencing the world, and eventually takes on a form that can be sensed. This form does not need to be concrete or fixed. It may remain as an object, but it can also exist as a fleeting emotional vibration.

When I was developing Flames with Moistures candle object, I was thinking about a site-specific work by the Portuguese artist André Uerba, Burn Time. In this performance, cotton threads were suspended from a rotating circular structure and set on fire, one by one or simultaneously. Standing in the darkness, watching these small points of light slowly rise—like fireflies or floating dust—and then quietly disappear, I felt immersed in a situation that was constantly changing and fading.

That encounter stayed with me. It made me reflect on how many different ways there are to make, and how a designer’s or artist’s intention and approach may take very different paths toward something essential.

The experience was powerful, but what stayed with me most came afterward. When the performance ended and the lights returned, the work the artist had spent so much time and care creating had completely burned away. At that moment, I became aware of a difference between his practice and mine. Through my work, I try to give form to an experience I once had, allowing it to remain in a physical object. What he sought to create was the experience itself.

Mathilde: the inspiration you drew from André Uerba’s performance and the creative process that led to the Flames with Moisture: Candle Object feels deeply perceptive. You describe it beautifully, and yet, as I read it, I sense a feeling that’s hard to articulate. And so, yes, objects invite experiences or phenomena, at a particular moment, during their making, in their use or even in their destruction. Through our senses, they materialize and dematerialize in the flow of that experience. As philosopher Edmund Husserl suggests, things gain their meaning only through our experience of them. To feel and appreciate that experience, the cultivation of awareness is necessary, and that is where the beauty of life resides.

Consider, for instance, the simple act of drinking tea. Preparing it with intention, pouring it into a cup crafted from earthy materials that enhance its flavor, feeling the warmth and the texture of the cup when lifting it, and savoring each sip, this transforms a routine action into a small daily ceremony, rich in awareness and care. I am curious about creating such an experience by bringing the Flames with Moisture: Candle Object together with the maison tombo Clouds and Water teapot.

Chialing: I can share a bit more about my process here. Often, it is only after I encounter certain qualities or phenomena that I decide on the form a work will take. When I discovered the textures that emerge from hammered brass, and how they reflect light in wave-like patterns when paired with a light source, I felt the need to design a lamp or a candle object. From this perspective, I sometimes think about the function of an object only at the very end, because for me, practical use is not always the first priority in making.

What I return to more often is space: the atmosphere within a space, a particular sense of time or state of duration, and the metaphors that arise when these elements come together. When I read your description of bringing Flames with Moisture: Candle Object together with maison tombo’s Clouds and Water teapot, the image that came to mind was indeed ritual-like, much as you described. Each step unfolds slowly. These gestures remain closely tied to everyday life, yet through use, the objects move beyond the ordinary and become something more abstract, something that does not ask to be explained.

When I imagine the candle object alongside a tea setting, their meaning lies in their ability to open the senses of those who take part. I am drawn to objects not only for their metaphysical function, but for their capacity to open multiple layers of association within the person living with them.

Mathilde: thank you Chialing, for sharing your insights and for this poetic dialogue!

Indigo Blue, Insights of a Pigment History

Indigo blue is not just a pigment or a color. It  has a very long history that has shaped civilizations.

indigofera plant

Few years ago, the Smithsonian and the Scientific American journal reported that scraps of indigo-dyed fabric had been found at the Huaca Prieta, a pre-colombian site of the late Preceramic period (c. 3500–1800 BCE), located in today’s North of Peru. This artifact has been dated as 6,200 years old. Prior to this discovery, the oldest found indigo-dyed fabric was in Egypt dated 2,400 BC. Such discoveries indicate a long continuity across civilizations in the use of indigo dye. In many regions, people today still use Indigofera tinctoria and related species to dye textile, employing similar techniques. This speaks to the long-standing and geographically widespread nature of shared human practices.

Even more ancient, an international research team led by Professor Karen Hardy from the University of Glasgow, found the “earliest evidence of the use of blue dye in the archaeological record, dating back over 34,000 years. Prehistoric people in Georgia were using stone pebbles to grind the leaves of Isatis tinctoria, also known as dyers woad, a plant known today for producing indigo dye.” According to the researchers, these recent discoveries illustrate the complexity of the interaction between humans and plants, not only for food but also for dye-making and medicine. In the past, resources were used out of necessity, and objects or services were created to fulfill basic needs. Humans have been ingenious on how to use resources at our disposal to develop and sustain life, contributing to shaping cultures and traditions and leading to the development of ‘craftsmanship’ as we know it today. Indigo is one example: it has inspired not just centuries but millennia of craft techniques including the traditional Japanese tie-dye called shibori and aizome, the Japanese art of indigo dyeing. It also served as the coloring agent in Maya Blue, a durable pigment used in pre-Columbian Mesoamerican art.

Large ikat from indonesia, naturally dyed in indigo

Indigo is also referred to as being the ‘blue gold’. It has been one of the most important commodities traded in the 18th and 19th centuries fueling slavery and colonialism. Indigo was traded on the Silk Road, from India, Central America, and the southern United States to textile markets in Europe. Indigo facilitated international investment and the development of new organizational forms such as trading companies, and early globalization by creating interconnected commodity chains around the world.​ Profits from the indigo trade, especially in India, supported the development of the British economy and helped fund Britain’s Industrial Revolution. In the American colonies, indigo exports supported both the local economy and projects like the Revolutionary War. Later, the Indigo Revolt of 1859–60 in India started an early, significant peasant movement that exposed colonial exploitation and influenced later agrarian and anti‑colonial mobilizations.

Indigofera, probably native to Southeast Asia, is a genus of 750 species growing in tropical and subtropical regions. Indigo tinctoria known as “true indigo” yields the richest dye. Indigofera suffruticosa (Guatemalan indigo) and Persicaria tinctoria (Japanese Indigo) are also used to create the magical blue. Today, chemical dyes are available in a wide range of colours simplifying dye processes (William Henry Perkin, an English chemist, is credited with inventing the first synthetic dye in 1856) but in many parts of the world, we continue to use the indigo pigment to dye textiles, in the same way that humans did more than 6,000 years ago. Indigo dye is distinct from other dyes due to the fact that it is chemically bonded by the fiber only after the reduced indigo is exposed to oxygen in the air. Indigo-dye provides much depth of colour and the process creates a depth and range of color coming from natural impurities. Indigo also does not require harsh chemicals and can produce a beautiful patina on textiles over time. It is the only natural dye that can achieve a permanent blue.

Across civilisations, indigo remains a symbol of tradition, power and resistance. The indigo color resonates with depth, sophistication, introspection, and spirituality. Indigo purple was the color of nobility during the Edo Period in Japan, it was also the color of the late singer, Prince. It is the color of the denim jeans that we wear today. It is a pigment that has inspired painters like Mark Rothko and Kandinsky. It is the color of the roof of the Shakespeare Globe Theater in London, symbolizing heaven.

The Indonesian Baduy Tribe: Weaving as a Connection to the Land

One fundamental principle of indigenous populations is that land is sacred. The land is a source of life, a provider of nourishment and a connection to ancestors. As such, indigenous people have a deep respect for the land: they do not extract more resources than what is needed to sustain life and in ways that do not harm the ecosystem. Respecting land preserves interconnectedness and harmony between human beings and nature.

Kanekes village, Java. home of the baduy tribe © Fadhlurrohman, 2023

The Kendeng Mountains in the Indonesian Island of Java (province of Banten), located only a few hours from Jakarta, are home to the Sundanese Baduy tribe. They believe that land is a divine gift ‘entrusted’ to them, and it is their duty to preserve and care for it. Mountains must not be destroyed, forests must be preserved as well as rivers and valleys. This small population of 11,700 individuals (as of 2025) living within the Kanekes village is self-reliant and lives in complete harmony with nature. In their Sundanese dialect, the word for land is Taneuh Titipan, which literally means Entrusted land. To preserve their ancestral customs and beliefs, the Baduy protect themselves from the outside world; they are one of the rare people today to live intentionally in isolation. 

The Baduy tribe's way of life follows traditional customs and spiritual beliefs based on the Sudan Wiwitan, a faith which is rooted in animism and which has been influenced by Islam, Buddhism and Hinduism over the centuries. They are divided into two groups. The Inner Baduy (Baduy Dalam) live deep in the forest in houses made of bamboo with palm leaf roofs, facing South. As the interface between the external world and the Inner Baduy, the Outer Baduy (Baduy Luar) have a way of life that is more open to the outside world. They live closer to the boundaries of the village, and are increasingly exposed and influenced by the outside world. 

Besides traditional farming which provides food, weaving is one of the ways to maintain the connection with land.  The requirement to weave is written in the Baduy code of conduct (Pikukuh) and which can be translated as follows: “Birds live by their wings / Fish live by their fins / Humans live by their intellect / Reason, work, and speech / If you cannot weave words / You must be able to weave skills.” Weaving is an activity performed exclusively by women following ancestral principles and cultural inheritance occurs via enculturation and socialization. Parents teach their children values and skills. Children learn by doing from peers on porches, a process called Sosompang. Transmission starts at three years old, using simple bamboo tools, with learning progressing from play to full weaving mastering.

baduy woman weawing a tenun lumbung. © Fadhlurrohman, 2023

Every household built its own loom called Tenun Gendong. Made of wood and bamboo, they follow a manual hand-weaving technique and use non-mechanical looms, called Pakara Tinun. The process involves stringing the warp and tying it to the loom or making tubular cloth. The weaving process includes lifting the shuttle, sliding it back and forth, locking the weave, and inserting the weft, combing the result, and repeating.

Traditionally, in the Inner Baduy community, the yarn is produced from young Pelah leaves, resembling the salak tree, whose fibers were boiled and spun. As agriculture progressed, they began cultivating cotton. Yarn is boiled with rice water before use to ease spinning. The Outer Baduy weavers sometimes use factory-made thread. Motifs are inspired by nature and plants including Tajur Pinang, Suat Kembang Gedang, Poleng Kacang Herang Carang for men, and Kacang Herang Kerep for women. The Inner Baduy motifs are exclusively plain black and white reflecting a philosophy about purity and concentration. Black is primary and white represents inner purity coming from light. The Outer Baduy use mostly blue, black and white.They are gradually including more colors reflecting nature’s diversity. Textiles are made for daily clothing needs, and are also used as sashes, veils, breast cloths, headbands, and baby carriers. Textiles also play an important role as ritual complements during traditional ceremonies like Kawalu, Ngalaksa, Seba, rice planting and birth events.

The Language of Things: How Objects Speak of Human Identity

Objects are a central part of daily life. What we use and how we use it shape our routines, beliefs, and shared values. In Japan, handcrafted items are created with care and purpose, reflecting respect for materials and an appreciation for crafstmanship. By looking closely at these objects, we can reflect how traditions and identity are preserved making material culture personal and collective.

interior of a japanese ryokan

The relationship between humans and objects is a fundamental aspect of human existence. From the moment of birth, we engage with the objects that surround us, shaping our perceptions, beliefs, and behaviors. Across the globe, diverse cultures exhibit unique ways of interacting with objects, reflecting their values, traditions, and historical contexts.

Material culture encompasses the physical objects and artifacts produced, used, and exchanged within a society. Looking deeper into these objects offers valuable insight into how communities function, communicate, and express their values. Its significance differs across cultures but often plays a key role in shaping collective identity, preserving traditions, and conveying beliefs.

Japanese culture emphasises minimalism and simplicity, deeply rooted in traditional philosophies like Zen Buddhism. The Japanese aesthetic values the beauty of simplicity, natural materials, and the appreciation of imperfections. Objects such as tea bowls, bonsai trees, and traditional wooden furniture exemplify this profound connection between Japanese culture and its material artefacts. These objects hold great significance within Japanese ceremonies and rituals, representing an approach to life that cherishes simplicity and harmony.

In Ikebana, the vase as an object is part of the harmony

Jun'ichiro Tanizaki's "In Praise of Shadows" beautifully delves into the concept of minimalism and simplicity in Japanese culture. The book explores how the appreciation of shadows, darkness, and imperfections is deeply embedded in traditional Japanese aesthetics, particularly in their architecture and interior design. Tanizaki celebrates the muted and subdued qualities of Japanese culture, which prioritize the subtle beauty of objects and spaces over overt opulence.

In Japanese aesthetics, craftsmanship holds paramount significance, embodying the essence of meticulous attention to detail and dedication to excellence. The concept of "shokunin" (craftsman) carries great reverence in Japanese culture, emphasizing the artisan's commitment to honing their skills over years of training and practice. Japanese artisans approach their work as a form of spiritual expression. This devotion to craftsmanship not only produces objects of exceptional beauty and quality but also instills a sense of mindfulness and harmony between the creator, the material, and the eventual user. The deep respect for craftsmanship in Japanese aesthetics reflects the belief that every object has a soul and embodies the essence of the craftsperson's spirit, making each creation a work of art imbued with a profound sense of cultural heritage and artistic legacy.

The relationships between humans and objects in different cultures offer a rich tapestry for understanding human behavior and society. Whether through consumerism, minimalism, spirituality, or craftsmanship, material culture profoundly influences the way we perceive ourselves, others, and the world around us. Studying these diverse relationships can lead to a deeper appreciation of cultural diversity and a more profound understanding of our shared humanity.

Onta-Yaki: A Gem From Japan

“Made for a purpose, made to do work. Sold to be used in everyday life.”

— Yanagi Soetsu

Take yourself to Onta, a 300-year-old hamlet nestled between mountains outside the city of Hita, Japan. A small community of potters purify, shape and fire local earth to produce pottery referred to as ‘Onta-yaki’ using techniques and methods passed down from generation to generation.

set of plates crafted using the kushime technique, from Onta village

A winding road runs through the village alongside a river, houses and kilns sit backing onto the river. Here watermills crush the turmeric-coloured earth collected from the mountains into a fine powder, the thump of the millstones echo through the valley as the sound of the passing river settles into the background. During the several annual firings, the smell of the kilns fills the air, and smoke slowly rises from the staggered roofs, cantilevering over the river. 

The village has carefully preserved traditional methods, mindfully harvesting local materials and energy from the earth to produce long-lasting earthenware. The clay is collected from the mountains, purified using the power of the river, and then fired and glazed using wood-fired kilns. Each aspect of this production is unique to Onta, including patterns such as "hakeme" (brush marks), "tobikana" (distinct patterns), finger drawings, and "kushigaki" (combed lines), adding to the unique identity of every piece.

Map of Onta Village, Japan

There is a strong sense of community in the village of Onta, with families playing a crucial role in the creation of every piece, each one inscribed with the mark of “Onta (小鹿田), the production is the work of the community, not that of an individual. In touch with the Mingei art movement, founded in Japan in the mid-1920s by Yanagi Sōetsu,  Onta-yaki is a rejection of the perfect.  The Mingei art movement relates to  the conceptualisation of national identity in terms of the common people  and focuses on simplicity and utility. Onta-yaki was designated by the national government as an Intangible Cultural Property of Japan  in 1970, and upgraded to Important Intangible Cultural Property of Japan  in 1995 demonstrating the historic, cultural and artistic prowess of this small community.

Made solely using the power of humans and nature, Onta’s potters are creating objects that symbolise the timelessness of our relationship with the earth and a mastery of the elements. We can feel the warmth of the earth as we hold each piece in our hands, making it feel as if it has absorbed the energy of the people and the nature that has created it. Onta-yaki is designed to be used daily, becoming a part of the rituals we perform and the spaces we inhabit.