Creativity begins with meeting in person. | Kyushu Exchange Meeting '26 supported by iDID Report

Hi, I'm Tom Ishikawa.

On the night of Friday, June 5th, I was in Hakata for some reason.

Just a 3-minute walk from Hakata Station, on the 12th floor of the JRJP Hakata Building. The LINE Yahoo Communications venue was filled with approximately 200 creators. And there I was, my legs trembling like a fawn. A camera with a 45mm prime lens in my hand. An iDID happi coat on my body. What on earth was going on?

I was asked by iDID to write a report on the event. As someone who fully experienced the energy of Kyushu and the venue, I am writing this article.

On Friday night, approximately 200 creators gathered from all over the country. When you think about it calmly, that's quite impressive.

The atmosphere was incredibly hot. I want to believe it wasn't due to the air conditioning. The venue was huge, but with 200 people gathered, it was genuinely hot. "I need to take this energy home with me," I thought, sweating slightly.

This year's theme is "BEYOND PIXELS".

When I first saw this phrase, I understood it to mean something like, "Okay, so it means we should go beyond industries and fields."

After listening to all six sessions, I realized that the words held a much deeper meaning. Printing, packaging, branding, AI, words, editing. What the speakers were talking about was not just something that could be seen on a screen. The words spoken in each session, and the energy of the communication exchanged in the venue, gradually melted my understanding and revealed the true meaning.

What exactly does "BEYOND PIXELS" mean?

The 6th Kyushu Exchange Meeting was the first event jointly organized by iDID and Kyushu ADC. I was there as an official reporter for this important event. Of course, I wanted to do a decent job. I was contributing an article, so I thought I'd try to put together a pretty good report.

Actually, the first draft, in which I wore a nice suit, was predictably seen through by Mr. Kato from iDID (lol).

So, in order to preserve the excitement of that night, I, Tom Ishikawa in my everyday clothes, wandering around the area with my camera, would like to record the entire atmosphere of that day.

Session 01 | imprint / Ryuki Inoue (mazeru) × Eiichiro Takayama (Takayama Printing Company)

From creator to communicator: "imprint," a new brand launched by a printing company in Oita.

A session between Mazeru's Inoue, who came all the way from Oita, and Takayama from Takayama Printing Company.

To be honest, at first I thought it was a story about a printing company launching a new brand. And of course, that's not entirely wrong. However, as I listened, I realized that this wasn't simply a story about launching a brand, but rather a story about creators retelling their work in their own words.

I'm a sucker for stories like this.

Takayama Letterpress Printing Company was founded in 1910 and is celebrating its 116th year in business this year. Starting with letterpress printing, it is a nine-person company that still handles three types of printing: offset, on-demand, and letterpress. It is agile, and has both technology and history. However, in the wave of digitalization, the work of "printing and delivering predetermined items" has definitely been decreasing.

In 2021, Mr. Inoue became involved. It started with working together on the subsidy application, then he revised the company's statement, and renovated an unused conference room through self-building. He stripped the floor and painted the ceiling and walls, sweating profusely the whole time.

Nevertheless, challenges remained.I had no contact with creators.

Starting from a point where they wondered, "Where can I find people like that?", they held exhibition events to attract people and gradually built connections. Ultimately, they had no choice but to go and meet people. The new brand "imprint" was born from that accumulation of efforts.

The previous structure was simple: a designer would place an order, we'd print it, and deliver it. Takayama Letterpress had always been in the background. The distance from the end users was great, and it was difficult to see how their work was being used.

Imprint's goal was to change that structure. They create products in collaboration with designers and deliver them directly to end users through stores. Printing companies take a proactive approach. Instead of simply waiting for orders, they create and deliver products themselves.

Inoue described it as a "subtle business model." I liked the word "subtle." It's a business model, yet it's not pushy or overly ambitious. But there's room for continuity. It's not just a one-off project, but a word that suggests the potential for it to grow into a lasting culture.

The name "imprint" itself has a hidden meaning. In English, "imprint" means "a mark made by pressing," "a trace," or "an impression." The footsteps of the Takayama family, who have continued printing for 116 years, are imprints themselves, and the offset printing process, where colors are layered one by one, is also an imprint. We ourselves today are merely one layer on the surface of that accumulation. The word "imprint" resonates with this as well.

Furthermore, the name "imprint" includes "I am." It embodies the hope that through this initiative, designers, printing companies, and users will all be able to "talk about printing as their own."

The explanation of the name was excellent. It almost seemed too perfect, but not in an offensive way. It was rooted in 116 years of history and the genuine feelings of the people currently working on it. The name itself embodied a stance of each party being involved as a stakeholder, rather than division.

I also remember the words Mr. Takayama said to me when I saw the actual product at his booth at the venue.

"To refine the colors"

It's not just a digital output; a person is involved in the color process with intention. The moment I heard those words, I realized that printing isn't just output, it's a physical entity. Something you touch with your hands, see with your eyes, layer, and verify.

With just one word, the brand imprint became something attainable and closer to my own life.

The technology and history are there. Yet, there are still many values ​​in the creative industry that haven't fully reached society and people. When design and branding are introduced, those dormant things come alive.

That was the possibility this session demonstrated.

At this point, I began to think that BEYOND PIXELS might mean more than just "going beyond the industry." It was about stepping outside the screen, experiencing places, meeting people, and handing over the accumulated time once again. That feeling was already emerging from the very first session.

Session 02 | Outer and Inner / Junichi Hayama (DEJIMAGRAPH) × Yuko Iwasaki (Iwasaki Paper Products)

Reconnecting the outside and inside of the box. A new challenge for Iwasaki Paper Products in Nagasaki.

A session between Mr. Iwasaki of Iwasaki Paper Products, who came from Hasami Town, Nagasaki, and Mr. Hayama of DEJIMAGRAPH.

At first, I thought it was a story about boxes. And of course, it is a story about boxes. But as I listened, I realized that it wasn't just about "how to make a box," but also about "where the box goes, whose hands it ends up in, and what it is remembered with."

The box is memory.

Iwasaki Paper Products is a packaging specialist manufacturer with 70 years of history. Originally, they only made boxes for Hasami ware, but 15 years ago, when the production of pottery began to decline, they started to cater to a variety of industries, including apparel, jewelry, and confectionery, and now ship boxes nationwide.

Their specialty is "laminate boxes." This method involves applying decorative paper to a thick core material, allowing them to create various shapes other than squares. Much of the work is done by hand, and the precision is high. Just listening to the explanation, I got the impression that it's a job where every detail, from the edges to the corners of the paper, is meticulously crafted.

However, there was something that was difficult for the company, which had continued to operate primarily in the B2B sector, to see.

"Once we made the boxes, we shipped them out and that was the end of it. We didn't know how they were being used along with the contents."

Iwasaki's words were the heart of this session.

We make the products. But we can't see where they're being used. We can't see what kind of products the boxes that leave our hands encounter, who they're handed to, or what kind of expressions they have when they open them. I think that's something that has always bothered any manufacturing company.

The "Sotogawa to Nakami" complex, which opened in Hasami Town in September 2025, is the answer to that question. Composed of a shop, box lab, gallery, Nakami Cafe, and box museum, it is designed as a place where the general public can interact with boxes and paper.

What's particularly interesting is the shop's concept. They sell local products in boxes made by Iwasaki Paper Products. Mr. Iwasaki said that the idea is that the boxes are "returning home" to their local area.

The box is going home, huh?

That expression resonated with me in a strange way. The boxes that had previously been shipped nationwide now contained local products and were once again in the hands of local people and visitors. They were not just relying on the existing distribution channels, but redefining their own value and taking a step forward.

Hayama of DEJIMAGRAPH, who was in charge of graphic design, has a long-standing relationship with Iwasaki Paper Products. He was involved from the corporate logo stage, and the "Iwasaki Paper Products Font" that he created 15 years ago is being used as is for this facility. It's the culmination of 15 years of work to match the brand's tone.

The name "Sotogawa to Nakami" (Outside and Inside) has a dual structure: the outside represents the box itself, and the inside represents the mindset of Iwasaki Paper Products. The logo is based on the unfolded diagram of the box, with a design where "Sotogawa" and "Nakami" intersect. The aim was to create a design that can be intuitively grasped at a glance.

I really liked this name too. The outside of the box and its contents. The product and its packaging. The maker and the user. What is visible and what is invisible. Many different boundaries are subtly interwoven within this word.

I was particularly impressed by the anecdote about how, when designing the facility's signage, they created a full-scale cardboard mock-up and brought it to the construction site to confirm the size.

"Seeing something on a computer is completely different from actually seeing it there."

Hayama's words perfectly embodied the production process of BEYOND PIXELS.

I understand that intellectually. But how many people actually create a full-scale version and take it to the site? Even if it looks fine on screen, the impression changes the moment it's placed in space. Height, thickness, distance, shadows, people's movements. There are things you can only understand by going there, by placing it there. They said the sign blended into the space once it was finished, but that too is a feeling that could only be obtained by actually going to the site.

Value is accumulated in the products that are created, and they end up in the hands of consumers. Creativity is re-weaving historical techniques with the present.

If Session 01's "imprint" was a story about a printing company setting out towards its destination, then "Sotogawa to Nakami" was a story about a box reuniting with its contents.

It doesn't end with just creating. We go and see where the product is delivered. That's where the next relationship begins.

The theme of the evening was slowly beginning to take shape.

Session 03 | Survival Strategies for Local Production Companies in the AI ​​Era / Shinichi Shimomura (5ive) × Hokuto Chihara (stans)

AI says, "You should stop." Yet, two companies continue on—how they survive.

A talk session was held between Mr. Shimomura from 5ive and Mr. Tomohara from stans, both based in Fukuoka. The theme was "Survival strategies for local production companies in the age of AI."

It's not about paper or boxes. It's about AI. This unavoidable topic has finally arrived.

However, listening to these two companies, the word "strategy" feels a little distant. It's not about the know-how of how to utilize generative AI or which tools to use. It's about what will be eliminated by AI, and what will remain. To put it in more personal terms, it's about "how to survive."

The conversation began with how AI is changing work processes. First, the way engineers work has changed dramatically. At stans, they say they "talk about nothing but AI every day." On the other hand, designers are still only using AI "when creating materials," and the company is still in the process of establishing rules for its use. Currently, it's in the experimental stage. Both companies agreed on this point.

This difference in perspective felt strangely real. Depending on one's role and job, the view is completely different. Some people feel like the ground is moving at an incredible speed, while others feel like they've just added one new tool to their toolbox.

So, what values ​​have increased and decreased due to AI?

The ones Mr. Shimomura mentioned were:Curiosity, passion, and apologywas.

...An apology?!

I thought an apology would follow. But after hearing it, it made a lot of sense.

Even if an AI apologizes, people won't be easily convinced. Who is apologizing is important, and only humans can do that. This perspective suggests that the value of humans is increasing as beings who take responsibility.

Conversely, they cited production skills, efficiency, and know-how as things whose value had decreased. Their recognition that "the value of the act of making things itself has decreased" was frank and very honest.

For anyone involved in creative work, these are rather frightening words. AI will mercilessly flatten efficiency, know-how, and creative ability. Yet, precisely because of this, the question becomes what we will leave behind for humanity. That's the point.

Chihara offered a different perspective, stating that "the value of people who can make decisions even when there are uncertainties is increasing." AI calculates risks and probabilistically suggests what seems like the correct answer. However, making judgments in highly uncertain situations is something only humans can do.

Even with lingering anxieties, someone has to make the decision. They say, "Let's do it." If it fails, they have to take full responsibility. That's where the human element remains.

Stans's involvement in the restaurant business is also within that context.

The survival strategies of the two companies appear completely different at first glance.

Mr. Shimomura invests in "succession." He shifts from production capabilities to relationships, making long-term relationships with clients his greatest value. He also shared an example of a client who requested another renovation from a client he had worked with seven years ago.

They are strategically promoting generational change by handing over projects to younger staff. "There is value in continuing," and "Only humans can pass things on." These were not flashy words, but quiet and full of conviction.

This may seem like a defensive strategy, but it's actually quite offensive. It's about designing for continuity. It's about passing on relationships to the next generation. In an era where AI is shortening everything, this is a strategy that deliberately uses time to its advantage.

Meanwhile, Chihara is "betting everything on the potential of creators." While continuing to take on commissioned work, he will also develop his own restaurant, retail, and spatial design businesses.

"I only joined because there were people who wanted to do it," he said.

The way he says it sounds casual. But to be able to say it so casually, he's probably, no, definitely, thought about a lot of things.

If you ask ChatGPT, they'll tell you to stop. But you still do it. Behind those words was a calm assessment of the risk hedging against changes in the demand for commissioned work.

AI will give you answers that seem safe. It can come up with countless reasons why you shouldn't do something. But human desire, the excitement of the moment, and the urge to act now before it disappears cannot be measured solely by probabilities drawn from a massive database.

Responding to someone's strong desire and running together generates energy and momentum. That conviction was what drove this company.

Although the two companies appear to be polar opposites, they share the same core values.Invest in people. Invest in passion. Build a solid history and forge a path to an uncertain future.

It's easy to say that humans are important in the age of AI. But the "humans" these two companies were talking about weren't a pretty concept.

Apologize. Make a decision. Inherit. Take a gamble. Meet. Involve others. He was the kind of person who was prepared for troublesome things and would take on responsibility.

Finding value in the illogical and irrational in the age of AI—that was the answer these two companies came up with.

This night's BEYOND PIXELS took a slightly different angle. It wasn't just about stepping outside the screen. It was about stepping outside what seemed like the right answer. Taking responsibility for stepping outside of what seemed like a safe answer.

That, too, will lead to going beyond the pixel.

Session 04 | Continuing to create logos for all kinds of Kyushu / Michio Kajiwara (Kajiwara Branding)

"Kyushu is a relationship economy," Kajiwara said.

A session with Mr. Kajiwara of Kajiwara Branding in Fukuoka.

At first, I thought it was going to be about logos. And of course, it is about logos. But by the time I finished listening, I realized that it wasn't about "creating a shape," but rather about "designing the reasons why people will choose your product."

He's the person who has designed a vast number of logos for various companies and industries, including the Fukuoka World Aquatics Championships, TeleQ, Pork Tamago Onigiri Main Store, and Fukuoka City Zoo.

Kajiwara doesn't define himself as "a logo designer."

"A person who designs the reasons why those who need it will choose it first."

This single statement permeated the entire session.

At this point, it's no longer just about creating a logo. Instead of creating a mark, we're designing the reason why people will choose us. While it may seem like a matter of appearance, it's actually quite close to business management.

If we were to formalize Mr. Kajiwara's logo philosophy, it would look like this.

Logo = Value × Compression × Resonance

A seemingly crucial formula suddenly appears. But it's actually quite easy to understand.

Value is about clearly defining a company's strengths, its unique characteristics, and why it should be chosen. Compression is about condensing the company's appeal, which can be conveyed at a glance, into a form that is easily understood. And resonance is about eliciting reactions such as, "That's good," "They seem trustworthy," and "That's typical of this company."

"Bringing the value that lies within to the outside world. People within a company know themselves well. However, that doesn't come across to people looking from the outside. Bridging this gap is the job of a brand and logo," Kajiwara said.

This is a rather painful truth to hear. No matter how good your work is, if it's not communicated effectively, you won't be chosen. Conversely, if your value is clearly defined and communicated, you'll remain a candidate in the minds of those who need it.

Creating something amazing and effectively communicating that amazingness are two different things.

Among the examples, the one that particularly impressed me was the story of Fukuoka Toyota. They faced the challenge of customers thinking that all dealerships were the same. To coincide with their 75th anniversary, they created a sub-brand called "FT" and gradually expanded it over two years while building its brand recognition.

The logo functioned as a reason for people to choose this company, resulting in increased brand awareness and improved performance.

The story of Hokuyo Construction was also interesting. They unearthed the origin of their company name, which means "aiming north," and created a logo with a compass and arrow as motifs. When the president explained it to the employees, it was readily accepted.

The logo is no longer just a visual representation for the outside world. It has become a language that shares "why we are in this company." What we communicate to the outside world also becomes the backbone for those working inside.

Perhaps that's what makes a good logo.

And the words spoken at the end of the session have stayed with me quite strongly throughout that night.

"Kyushu is a relationship economy."

According to Kajiwara's analysis, Tokyo has a strong aspect of a transaction economy where prices, quality, and conditions are compared. On the other hand, Kyushu is a relationship economy where people choose based on who is making the product, what kind of attitude the producer has, and what kind of relationship they have with the producer.

Those words really struck a chord with me.

This feeling is probably present to a considerable extent in regional projects, not just in Kyushu. It's not just about what you can create, but who you create it with. It's not just about the conditions, but also the attitude and the sense of distance. It's not about specifications, but about relationships.

Therefore, a logo doesn't function simply by being "eye-catching." It needs to function as something that represents the relationship between ourselves and the other party.

This statement complemented, from a different perspective, the "investment in people and passion" that 5ive and stans had discussed in the previous session.

In the age of AI, what will remain for humans? Why are local companies chosen? How can we communicate what cannot be conveyed through technology and achievements alone?

One of the answers was relationships.

And these words quietly lead into the subsequent sessions. The relationship economy, in essence, is about going to meet people. Talking. Eating together. Trying to get to know the other person.

In the next session, the temperature will rise dramatically.

Session 05 | Au Pan & coffee / Takenori Sugimura (Elliptical) × Azusa Fukunaga

When did you go to meet with the client?

That night, the one who stirred things up the most, made everyone laugh, and ultimately delivered the final blow was, by all accounts, the man from Kumamoto—no, a true man—Dallop-shaped Sugimura Takenori.

Sugimura's loud voice echoed through the venue, which had previously had a somewhat well-behaved atmosphere. From that point on, it was a whirlwind. His gestures were exaggerated. His voice was loud. His way of leading the story was incredibly forceful. The audience, initially overwhelmed, gradually began to smile as they realized, "Ah, this is something we can laugh at...!!" and the volume of their laughter steadily increased. Before they knew it, everyone was leaning forward.

Is this the passion of Kumamoto? No, probably, without a doubt, this is Mr. Sugimura's passion.

Azusa Fukunaga, the copywriter sitting next to Sugimura, looked away from him, seemingly a little embarrassed. I think there was more to it than just looking at the screen, but I liked that feeling too. I felt that the closeness they had developed from working together on many projects and understanding each other deeply was reflected in their small gestures.

"Au Pan & coffee," created by Ms. Sugimura, is a bakery that opened in September 2024 within "Au Kurokawa," a food hub in Kurokawa Onsen. However, it's not simply "branding a bakery." Rather, it was a challenge to the structural problems faced by tourist destinations.

The aging of the chefs and waitstaff, and the limitations of the fixed format of "one night with two meals included"—starting with the question of why this restaurant is necessary, they created a mechanism to pique interest in the region itself by separating "staying" and "eating."

The name "Au" embodies three meanings: to meet, to encounter, and to find something that suits you. It opens up new formats for accommodation and dining, and designs relationships based on them.

I was laughing as I listened to his boisterous presentation style and words, but what he was doing and what he was talking about was quite fundamental.

One week before the logo proposal, Sugimura impulsively asked copywriter Fukunaga and a photographer to accompany him to Kamiyama in Tokushima. Their goal was to convince Taichi Manabe, the project leader, who was known as "Manly Manabe" during the session.

I'm going to the site a week before the proposal is made. What does that even mean? In a good way, what exactly does that mean? (laughs)

But as you listen to them, you realize something is missing. Simply bringing in a design conceived at your desk isn't enough. You need to understand what the client values, how Manabe expresses it, what kind of people work there, and what kind of food culture they're in. You can't create a logo without directly experiencing all of that.

So, I'm going to go see you.

In Kamiyama, I met with farmers, learned about the history of their food culture, and ate bread made through a local project. I thought I would be treated to dinner at a famous local restaurant, but instead, I ended up wrapping dumpling wrappers with them in a test kitchen.

Wrap the dumplings in the wrappers.

This turn of events is amazing. I went there to talk about the logo, but before I knew it, we were making dumplings together. But apparently, that was the best form of hospitality in the local way.

Cooking together, sharing meals, talking face-to-face—titles and client-client relationships gradually begin to unravel. Perhaps there are things that can only be seen by spending time together like that.

The logo concept I proposed after returning from Kamiyama was "a local bakery." It featured four paper bags in four colors representing the four seasons of Aso, and all the menus were handwritten. In the end, Ms. Manabe nodded with a big smile and said, "GO!"

"When you eat together, the boundaries between you just melt away."

That night in Kamiyama. At the dinner table where we all gathered, Manabe-san said these words to Sugimura-san and Fukunaga-san. Those words have stayed with me ever since.

The boundaries may not dissolve in the conference room. They probably don't dissolve even when you're just exchanging documents. Of course, chat and email are convenient, and I use them a lot every day. But eating together. Working together. Being in the same place, breathing the same air. Those moments are what slowly dissolve the boundaries.

Then, using his large body to its fullest extent, Sugimura addressed the audience.

"Is everyone busy typing away on Slack?"

"Let's meet more people."

"Let's talk to more and more people."

At that moment, the venue was filled with the greatest laughter and excitement of the night. It was funny, yet it really hit home. It seemed like a joke, but it wasn't a joke at all. Rather, it was the most straightforward statement of the night's theme.

When did you go to meet with the client?

I felt like I was being asked that question.

I think those were the most passionate words of the night. And at the same time, they were also the words that gave me the most encouragement.

Session 06 | Websites about words and editing / Kyoji Takeda (Montblanc) × Azusa Fukunaga

As I kept writing the character for "strange," it started to look like the character for "love."

A session between Mr. Takeda from Montblanc, a web production company in Kumamoto, and Mr. Fukunaga, a copywriter and editor.

After Mr. Sugimura had been shaking the venue with laughter just moments ago, it was time for a slow, deliberate attack using words.

The two of them work in a very simple way: they conduct interviews, craft words, and propose words and expressions together. However, the simpler a job seems, the deeper it is. The more I listened, the more I realized this wasn't about "creating good copy," but about how to look at the person in front of you, and how to come to like them.

"This isn't a hearing; it's an interview."

Mr. Fukunaga stated this emphatically.

It's not about conducting interviews to gather information, but about starting by genuinely liking the person in front of you. How did they end up here? Why are they doing this? What kind of person are they? The interview begins with the urge to know more.

"We can't afford to miss a single word that's been spoken."

That's the mindset I'll approach it with. Takeda feels the same way. "I ask a lot of questions about why they like me," he says. From their upbringing to their personal worries. For a project in Hokkaido, he went there for three days and two nights, and while having a meal, he drew out the president's true feelings.

The phrase "to fall in love" sounds a bit intuitive at first glance. But after listening to their conversation, I realized it's actually a very important skill in the workplace.

Listen in order to fall in love with the other person. Search for reasons to love them. Make sure you don't miss a single word they speak. Only then do the words truly become theirs.

The website of "Uomi Children's Garden," which won the Grand Prix at the Kyushu ADC Awards 2025, is an example of how that attitude directly translated into its expression.

The headmistress's only request was, "I don't want a typical nursery school website." She was a bit of an eccentric person; the exterior was completely black, and she spent two years designing it herself.

But when Fukunaga dug deeper into the essence of that "strangeness," he realized it was all about "love."

Furthermore, he noticed that after repeatedly writing the character for "strange" (変), it resembled the character for "love" (愛).

What kind of discovery is that? That's amazing, Fukunaga-san.

"A little strange" can transform into "lovable." That discovery gave birth to the copy.

The design is almost entirely black. All the characters are ghosts. The underlying theme was "there are things only children can see." Because the exterior is completely black, black was the only option.

The words come first, and the expression follows. That's the way Montblanc and Mr. Fukunaga work.

Finally, there was a brief introduction to Montblanc's own branding website.

They were asked to propose four different ways of expressing themselves, and instead of choosing one, they adopted all of them. These four approaches were designed to convey the message, "Being loved isn't difficult." They included a simple explanation of branding that even a first-grader could understand, navigation using their company character "Monboo," content showcasing their relationship with clients as a "branding bar," and interview content using photos of friends going to saunas and traveling.

But I think that's what makes Montblanc unique. Instead of neatly putting everything together into one thing, they've packed the richness of relationships themselves into the site. They show not only descriptions of their work, but also who they've interacted with and how. That's right, love isn't difficult. It's not difficult, but it comes in so many forms.

The website will not only capture words, but also the relationships themselves.

I realized that this was the work of Montblanc and Mr. Fukunaga.

I also value "listening" in my work as a career support professional. That's why the phrase "interview, not just a hearing" really resonated with me.

Instead of going to hear their requirements, go to get to know the person themselves. Go to find out what they like, what worries them, and why they are here right now. I feel that by doing so, the future will naturally begin to unfold.

However, it's not as easy as it sounds. If you only ask the questions you want to know, it ends up being just a brief interview. It becomes an interview when you wait for the other person to speak, imagine their background, and continue to search for reasons why you can like them.

When you think about it that way, web design, career support, and other jobs might all have the same roots.

To constantly think about what would be best for the other person. To not miss a word they say. To believe in their potential more than they believe in themselves.

It might sound idealistic, but I think that's probably the only place it all starts.

Final thoughts

Perhaps that's what BEYOND PIXELS was all about.

Throughout the six sessions, the speakers' discussions were by no means limited to the computers and tools in front of them.

Stories about mixing printing inks. Stories about creating full-scale models out of cardboard and checking them on-site. Stories about a company that chose to pass on its legacy to younger generations in order to continue its business. Stories about opening a restaurant even when an AI tells you to stop. Stories about continuing to think about the client more than the client themselves. Stories about designing a logo that explains why a company should be chosen. Stories about going all the way to Tokushima to make dumplings. Stories about getting the CEO to reveal his true feelings in a 2-night, 3-day trip. Stories about how the character for "strange" started to look like the character for "love" after writing it over and over again.

When you put them side by side, it's truly amazing. Or rather, it's a little strange. None of them can be contained within a screen; they all come about by going outside, meeting people, and having conversations.

The theme "BEYOND PIXELS" wasn't just about "going beyond the digital realm." I think it also encompassed the act of stepping outside the screen, meeting people, and reconnecting with them.

Going to meet someone. Eating together. Touching with your hands. Mixing colors. Not letting a word slip through your fingers. Carrying on a legacy. Apologizing. Making decisions. Taking a gamble.

The accumulation of such actions was at the root of all the words spoken that night.

The words Mr. Kajiwara said, "Kyushu is a relationship economy," have stayed with me ever since.

The venue itself that night seemed to embody those words. Students and veterans alike. Graphic designers and web designers. Printers and packaging designers. Various boundaries blended together, and while enjoying delicious drinks, relationships were already forming amongst everyone.

Laughter preceded the exchange of business cards. The person was there before the titles.

I remember that one line that Manabe-san sent me.

"When you eat together, the boundaries between you just melt away."

I really think it was that kind of night.

I've written quite a lot so far, but I feel like I haven't even come close to writing everything. There's still so much more to talk about: the six sessions, the countless conversations that took place in the venue, the live events and workshops, and the expressions I saw while taking photos.

But perhaps the fact that I can't write everything down is what gives me a reason to go see them again.

When I go to see you, the boundary between us melts a little. When we talk, it melts a bit more. When we eat together, it probably melts even more.

See you again next year at some venue.

I want to meet everyone again with my camera in hand.

See you next time 👋

・ ・

Here's a little glimpse of what happened that day 📷️