Sometimes I feel like telling a lie when I work on industrial design.

It feels like something is strongly urging me to do so.

What I’m talking about is not the kind of lies that can make someone else unhappy for one’s own benefits. It’s more like when children blurt out harmless lies as they act on the spur of the moment.

In more concrete terms, I sometimes feel the urge to propose designs tinged with some kind of lie. For example, I am tempted to introduce an intake for a motorcycle that looks like the one used for a fighter jet despite its lack of functional necessity. In working on car design, I feel the temptation to introduce a low-observable shape though cars are in no need of preparing to avoid the enemy’s radar system.

It’s up to each person to forgive someone telling a lie.

Can you accept a design for a mirrorless digital camera that appears as if it’s equipped with a pentaprism? How about a design for a water-cooled motorcycle that carries false cooling fins with it to make it look like the one with an air-cooled engine?

When I am tempted to tell a lie in designing, I always remember the theory of fiction and reality proposed by Japanese playwright Monzaemon Chikamatsu (1653-1724). It says the ultimate essence of human art lies in the extremely delicate border of fact and fiction like the one between the inside and outside of a soap bubble. Blatant lies aside, lies are sometimes useful in giving sophistication to life. I hope I will be able to get to the essence of the delicate border between fact and fiction.

Satoshi Yoshida

Product Design Dept.

Master Designer