#25 Carina Fushimi's 3 objects
"They felt magical, like tiny evidence of the beauty of the world."
Welcome to Objectively #25! Living with Objects features people thinking out loud about their experiences through the objects they live with. The ways we relate to, interact with, and consume things can say a lot about us, and we hope that exploring these ideas gives us new understandings of ourselves.
This week we have Carina Fushimi, a designer and writer, sharing with us lessons she’s etched in found objects through her times living in San Francisco, Tokyo, and Istanbul. Read on for how they remind her of deep connection, intuitive learning, and trusting your inner voice.
Special thanks to Sherry (#17) for connecting me with Carina.
Carina Fushimi (she/her) is a designer and writer in Tokyo. A Taurus, tea student, tofu and TKG (Tamago Kake Gohan) lover. She shares film snaps and whatever’s on her mind on her newsletter, hey how are you.
Looking back, think about an object that you used to interact with often. Can you tell us more about it?
I have a long clear quartz that fits the palm of my hand. It supposedly signifies clarity.
I once lived in an intentional community of activists, AI ethicists, engineers, and physical therapists in San Francisco for a month. A few of my roommates were really into healing practices and working on themselves spiritually so that they could offer more energy to social causes that they cared about. Looking back, it’s hard to believe I only lived there for a month because we became very close so quickly. Time moved at a different speed. We talked about the things we wanted to change in the world, but also our sense of purpose, ideas of family and love. Anyway, they took me to a shop in the Haight, where I ended up buying this crystal.
You might think it’s new age, hippie stuff, but I didn’t see it that way. When I was younger, around 8 or 9, I used to collect tiny crystals. They felt magical, like tiny evidence of the beauty of the world.
I used to hold this crystal often. Now, it just sits in my bedroom, but it still reminds me of a time when I felt deep connection and community, and gives me hope that I might find it again when I least expect it.
What about an object that has in any way shaped or altered your relationship with someone you love?
When I started learning tea ceremony last summer, my mother gave me her old equipment. It’s a pouch that’s made of kimono fabric, which holds okaeshi paper for the desserts and a fan. She studied it briefly in her late twenties, and a few years ago, she started telling me that if there was one thing she’d want me to try while I’m in my twenties, it would be tea ceremony. When I’d ask her why, I would never get a very satisfying answer. She just said that it would help me understand more about Japanese culture.
Before I started, my image of the practice was that it was strict, stiff and antiquated. I also thought that tea ceremony was about drinking and making tea. Oh how I was wrong. There are so many elements to it, but so far, it’s been about social relationships, and about bringing attention and intention to every movement and object.
In self-help books, the lessons are codified, but the practices aren’t as clear. We read something, extract the idea and try to apply it in our thoughts and hopefully it will lead to actions.
In tea ceremony, there’s so much emphasis on the actions, the codified manners, rituals, and movements, but the lessons or purpose are less clear. It’s not an end in itself — it’s a way.
I guess I’m learning that there’s value in learning something slowly through experience, by moving our bodies without knowing what exactly you’re going to get out of it. Just like practicing yoga or playing piano can shift your world view in the long term. Slowly, very slowly, I might be able to read certain signals that I didn’t notice before: in patterns, flowers, architectural material, colors, bowls. And for me, it has also meant exploring and appreciating what my mother and traditions can teach me.
Lastly, what is an object that holds significant memories for you?
A pair of faded cotton electric blue trousers with a swirly, warped paisley pattern and leopard print intermixed. It has an elastic waist with a tie. The fabric is thin and delicate because they’ve been washed so many times. They’ve survived many closet purges.
I got them at a small market in Istanbul when I was nineteen. I was lucky enough to have spent a few months traveling and backpacking at that age, and it was such a big turning point for me. Navigating new places was challenging, exciting and invigorating in a way that I had never felt before.
I spent a lot of my teens wanting to belong, and these trousers felt like the embodiment of a newfound conviction that I didn’t need to mold myself to fit in. I wanted to make choices that felt true to me and focus on what I want to bring to the world. Since then, they’ve been many times when I’ve caught myself wanting to blend in or caring about what others think of me, but these trousers bring me back.
Follow Carina on Instagram and check out her newsletter hey how are you.
🔊 Some news! Some of you may know that I run a content studio and creative playground, PULSE/PULSE. It’s where I experiment with multiple projects, all focused on storytelling and amplifying creative voices.
Objectively has mostly sat separate to it, and I’d like to try tying them together a bit more. There will not be much change on here, but this means that I will start posting about Objectively on @pulsepulse.world!
If you’ve been enjoying the series, please follow along and take a minute to share about it with a friend who might be interested:
Thank you for reading! I’ll see you next Thursday for Object Talks with Aurial Lee, a miniatures maker.
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For now, catch up on past features:
#24 Top 5 from Marcus Mohan's home: Founder of Sandal Studios tells us how he inherits pre-loved objects
#23 Tia Dương's 3 objects - “It's a boundary, to the touch but not to the eyes.”