Note: The text below is the transcript of the YouTube video above.
He left a secure corporate life to spend the rest of his life chasing one colour.
And when I stepped into his workshop, I began to understand why.
In Ohara, in the mountains of Kyoto, I saw a colour that quietly stayed with me.
A piece of fabric came out of the vat a brownish green—then turned a deep, beautiful blue.
Watching the way he had committed himself to this one colour, I started thinking about the life changes we’re often too afraid to make.
Hi, I’m Satomi Takayama, a Japanese artist based in London. On this channel, I document my journey of collecting inspiration through craft, design, and the people I meet along the way.
This is Shimomura-san, an indigo dye craftsman based in the mountains of Kyoto.
He wasn’t born into an indigo dyeing family.
During his university years, he studied both architecture and law. After graduating, he worked in sales at NEC, a Japanese electronics company.
But when he was a teenager, he encountered indigo-dyeing at a kimono exhibition—and its beauty stayed with him.
Eventually, he quit his company job and apprenticed under a master.
It must not have been easy. Leaving behind stability, a predictable future. But I imagine he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was meant to do something else.
In the traditional crafts world in Japan, it’s normal to work as an apprentice for many years. But he said, “I was stubborn, so I asked to return after a year,” and came back after that short period.
Then, he opened his own workshop here in Ohara, Kyoto.
He told me himself: “I might not be what people imagine when they think of a craftsman.”
The way he works is really interesting.
He says that he’s not good at drawing patterns, so he leaves that to designers. He leaves the actual clothing production to specialist craftspeople, too.
But his dedication to the dyeing itself—that’s where his passion really shows. And it surprised me.
Shimomura-san: “Typical indigo dyeing tends to be more… flat, you know? Look around—everything here is indigo. And we’re in a traditional Japanese room, not very bright. So the colour should feel much darker, right? But it doesn’t feel that dark, does it? Even with all this indigo everywhere. That’s the characteristic of Japanese indigo.”
In Japan, the finest indigo comes from Tokushima. And Shimomura-san works directly with farmers there—the ones he believes grow the best indigo plants. That’s one of the reasons why his work sets itself apart, even though it’s all called the same “indigo.”
But working that way isn’t easy.
It would be much easier to compromise by mixing in chemical or other types of indigo. But he doesn’t. He keeps pursuing the colour he believes in.
Shimomura-san: the dye has a lifespan. When it’s done, we take everything out, clean it completely, and start fresh. But with other indigo methods, when the vat stops dyeing well,
they can just keep adding to the old batch, add chemicals, and bring it back to life right away.
If we did that with our method, the sediment would just keep building up.
People often ask me, “Why don’t you just keep adding to the old batch?”
But think about it like people— if you mix teenagers’ energy with middle-aged guys like us, it gets messy.
At the workshop, he let me try indigo dyeing myself.
Slowly lowering the fabric into the indigo vat.
“Slowly, gently. Try not to disturb the surface unnecessarily.”
Following his guidance, I dyed the fabric.
You can’t rush it.
Carefully, taking time.
When I lifted it from the vat, the fabric was brown at first. As it met the air, it turned green. Then, when he rinsed it with water, it transformed into blue.
Watching that transformation, I felt something settle inside me
Shimomura-san:People say they like my work—they say it’s because of the colour.
Satomi: I guess people who’ve seen a lot of the real thing—they can tell yours is completely different, right?
Shimomura-san: Well, “real” or not… people who’ve seen a lot of different work, they can’t always say what it is, but they feel it. “Something’s different here.” That’s why I have to be the one doing it.
After leaving his corporate job, he’s spent years cultivating that sensitivity.
His hands were stained a beautiful indigo blue—even deep beneath his fingernails.
Satomi: I don’t know why, but indigo just calms you down when you look at it. I wonder what makes this colour so special.
Shimomura-san: A long time ago, I saw a show on TV. A scholar said indigo puts your brain into relaxation mode.
Satomi: This particular blue—not just any blue— it has some kind of power, doesn’t it?
Shimomura-san: Yeah, it’s said to put you in relaxation mode. So for places that need fast turnover—cheap food, get people in and out quickly—indigo’s not ideal, because customers stay too long. But for living rooms, or traditional dining spaces where you want people to relax—it’s perfect. It’s not a colour meant to energize or speed things up.
He also made one strategic decision: he chose Kyoto.
Shimomura-san: When I say it’s made in Kyoto, people say that’s wonderful. That definitely happens. There’s brand power.
If you’re not familiar with Japan, this might be hard to picture, but Kyoto was the capital for about 1,100 years. And that history means the culture here has deeper roots than in many other places.
And in Japan, people are often influenced by visible signals of credibility—
whether something comes from Kyoto, whether it comes from a long-established family, or whether the maker has won awards.
Of course, the quality of his indigo work is the foundation of everything.
But for someone like him, who entered this path later and wasn’t born into a craft lineage, choosing where to base himself was also a very important decision.
It got me thinking — maybe it also matters where your work can truly be understood and valued.
Satomi: Lately, I’ve been thinking I might prefer being surrounded by nature like this.
When I’m creating, or when I need some quiet. But cities have their own appeal too, so I’ve been trying to decide. But if there’s an opportunity like this, you can still be in nature and…
Shimomura-san: But I think it’s because it’s Kyoto. For example, drive five minutes, and you’re in Shiga Prefecture. An indigo dyer in Shiga versus an indigo dyer in Kyoto? They’re completely different.
Watching him quietly continue his work in the mountains, I felt as if his life was telling me that it’s never too late to choose your own path.
I’m sure his years as a company employee still live on in his work now, in one form or another.
I carry a corporate background too, so his story stayed with me—which is why I wanted to share it with you today.
If there’s something you’ve wanted to do for a long time, but have been hesitating over, I hope this story might become a small trigger for you. Even if it’s scary. Even if no one else understands.
This is as much a reminder to myself as it is to you.
If you’d like to know more about Shimomura-san and his work, I’ve included details in the description below.
In the next video, I’ll take you to Hong Kong, where I spent three weeks exploring the city. I’ll share how I find inspiration when I’m travelling—how I move through a place, and what stays with me. Stay tuned.
By the way, I’m currently thinking of gathering all of these Japanese stories—not just on YouTube, but as something like a journal. Because what I’ve been experiencing here is very precious, and I want to share it with more people. When it’s ready, I’ll share it first through my newsletter. So if you’d like to stay connected, please do subscribe.
Have a beautiful day and take care.
