À la recherche du temps perdu ― The Count of Monte Cristo

The dissolving horizon of the Mediterranean Sea and the solitary fortress of Château d'if resting on the sleeve. A one-of-a-kind haute couture masterpiece, born from personal sketches and brought to life by the hands of a traditional Yuzen artisan.

When I lived in France, I did nothing but sketch. Day after day, intensely. Looking back now, it seems only natural. Picasso, who pioneered Cubism—when you look at his The Weeping Woman, it might look like a mere prankish doodle to some. But his sketches are breathtaking; they leave you awestruck. There is a foundation beneath them.

When I visited Marseille, I saw the Mediterranean for the very first time. How extraordinarily beautiful it appeared. Paris has no sea, so when the boundary between the sky and the ocean dissolved in Marseille, I just sat at the harbor, completely forgetting the passage of time.

In the distance, Château d'if came into view. Right in front of the harbor stood a café, and I took up a position on the terrace to sketch the sea. People around me began calling out.

"Where are you from?"

"What are you drawing? Let me see."

I didn't have the nerve to occupy a terrace seat just for a single cup of espresso, so I asked,

"Do you have anything sweet?"

"Tarte au citron. Highly recommended, absolutely perfect for summer."

Despite living in Paris, I had never known of this Tarte au citron. It was our very first encounter.

Sour, sweet, bitter, firm, yet melting away.

Because I couldn't pronounce the letter 'C' correctly, the waiter kindly gave me a pronunciation lesson.

Proust remembered his past through a madelaine.

For me, it is Tarte au citron. I remember reading The Iron Mask when I was in elementary school; my mother had borrowed it for me.

It was from here, Marseille, that the Count of Monte Cristo advanced toward Paris.

A blue Homongi.

A memory of Marseille.

Creating a one-of-a-kind Houmongi in the world, born from the sketches I drew myself.

Kimono is haute couture.

A drawing I sketched comes to life as a masterpiece, painted by the hands of a Yuzen artisan.

I feel an immense sense of pride that such garments, and such a culture, exist in this world.

The relentless lines of foundational training drawn during the academy years. This original sketch of Rue Mouffetard, Paris, is the very soul physically embedded into the chest of the blue Homongi.

You may never wear a kimono. But you can wear the art of Wasai. On ne porte pas forcément un kimono. Mais on peut porter l'art du Wasai. — PASSIONEER

Inquiry