The dichotomies between particularity and universality, or between ease and difficulty, can become the gap in which design emerges as a language with which to engage the world. Foregoing classifications of form or function, embellishment or necessity, there’s a certain surreal quality to Japanese designer Takuto Ohta’s distinctive designs—be they furniture, lighting or product prototypes. Ohta’s vast portfolio of work appears to adhere to his philosophy of a “fluid and pluralistic approach” to design, as he notes on his website. And yet, there is a sense of particular groundedness to his works. While previously the furniture designer had explored elementary forms (such as in the modular designs of his Deku collection), he underscores an ongoing exploration of traditional Japanese culture in his recent works through abstract and thoroughly whimsical recontextualisations.

“Having spent most of my life in Japan, my sensibilities are formed under Japanese culture. As globalisation and information sharing through the Internet progress, what is needed is not the standardisation or ease of understanding of information, but valuing things that are more closed and difficult to understand,” the contemporary designer shares in conversation with STIR, highlighting the cultural influences that ground his practice. Yet, he disavows the label of nationality, finding it too prescriptive for the aesthetic quality of his artefacts. He notes, “I happened to have the desire and environment to make things, so I can only provide a world that I happened to see through the filter that is me. In that sense, I am not attached to the word Japan. The name Japan itself is a manifestation of modern nationalism.”

And it’s true. To call Ohta’s creative practice as offering a means to rethink Japanese culture might be too simplistic an explanation for the objects he creates. Apart from practicality, there’s at once the sense of the spiritual and mystical, in the references he alludes to in recent work. These are objects that exist in the real world, and they seemingly serve particular functions.

For instance, Convenience God (2024) draws inspiration from the traditional architecture of torii gates, with the product designer noting how these have a certain presence within their contexts. Typical of Shinto shrines, here, the gate’s silhouette is transformed into a three-legged, bright vermilion stand that can function as a table or a stool. By merging form, material and personal reflection, the piece offers an acute reimagination of something that would usually not be given a second thought.

Yamatano Orochi,  a sculpture meant to be a mirror, similarly reinterprets the sacred connotations of mirrors in Japanese culture. Named after a monster from Japanese folklore, the piece features eight ‘eyes’ (in the form of mirrors), serving as a commentary on looking past our self-indulgence, akin to the mythological creature’s arrogance getting the better of him. For Ohta, the act of design is not simply about creating functional objects, but also to question what having such objects reveal about ourselves. “The freshness of the appearance is a given, but at the same time, it is necessary to appeal to intuition and the senses,” he explains.

Elaborating on how often abstract or philosophical ideas become the linchpin of his formal language, he adds, “When I think about sculpture, I often think about how children will react to the shape. The complexity of the content is the depth that lies beyond, and I rely on a purer and more honest sensibility. That's because the keyword in my work is play.”

In Katakana, Ohta ruminates on the nature of language in Japan (particularly the syllabary script the modular sculpture is named after) by playing on how the script can generate furniture design. Under Ohta’s hands, the letters—that support the often, more complex Kanji script derived from Mandarin Chinese—transform into wooden cubes to be arranged at will. The work again stems from the designer’s quest to break down the things that seem evident, to offer a new meaning to what is taken for granted. “There was a time when I was writing poetry, I replaced all the letters with katakana, trying to break down words and meanings within myself. The lack of familiarity as a string created a moderate distance from the words, and there were various sensory discoveries,” he notes in an official release.

Breaking from the more obvious reinterpretations of everyday cultures, one of his latest collections, Asymptotic Wood, might be his most abstract work. For the collection, which comprises a series of sculptural designs that transcend the mundanity of function, Ohta was inspired by the material qualities of cedar. The designs aim to bring attention to local materials such as timber (readily available in Japan), which is widely disregarded in preference for engineered materials such as steel, plastic or laminated wood. “It all started when I bought the cheapest lumber that hadn't been used for years at a local lumber store. I was trying to figure out how to use natural objects that had already become standardised to free them from their form,” he says. Elucidating on the designs’ thorny appearance, he tells STIR, “Thorns were a big inspiration to me. I was walking through the forest and injured myself with a thorn that wrapped around my arm, and the smooth curve of the thorns remains in my memory.”

Memory being embedded into how design is conceptualised, thus allowing us to re-engage with how we look at the world, is a persistent theme in Ohta’s product design practice. He has previously spoken to STIR about the centrality of decomposition and production as material concepts in his work and notes in conversation, “The craftsmanship I aim for is how to materialise and convey the discomfort and doubts felt in daily life and the unverbalised sensations that exist there. Therefore, it starts with breaking down the symbols of events and objects.” The production of design is marked by decomposition, and in turn, the artefact is subject to the ruthlessness of time and decay.

In this vein, plumbing the distinctly Japanese nature of his oeuvre along with a concern for circular design was manifested in a collection in 2022 named Common Neglect Material (CNM). Comprising seating designs crafted from discarded fishing containers, these pieces displayed their labels as a way to bind them to their previous lives. The same treatment seems to have extended to a recent system of lighting designs, titled Hassan Sobutsu.

Modularity and an ad hoc approach give the product its unique look. On working and thinking with ‘trash’ in his material practice, Ohta notes in an official release, “It's not that I want to reduce waste, but that I want to know the motives and thoughts that lead me to sensibly wanting to discard things.” He elaborates in conversation, dubbing himself a bricoleur who makes things by gathering together what already exists, “From now on, it will be necessary to break down reality and produce perspectives that have not been seen before,” he says, underscoring how designers who have worked with recycled objects have been able to give these a new life.

Ohta’s practice is peppered with examples of taking what is fundamental, or what otherwise goes without notice and giving it a new life, a new perspective. “Design is just a process,” he notes. “However, there is a reason I like the word ‘design’. It is the power to see things positively and lead them in a positive direction. I try to find my answer to a pessimistic situation and devise ways to communicate it to others.”