Snow was falling and the cold was sharp that morning.
I spent a long time by the window at the ryokan, unable to step outside because the view kept pulling me in.
It felt as if I was waiting for the snow to fall even harder.
I spent the end of the year in a small village in Nagano, and from there I drove a little over an hour to reach Matsumoto, a city that turned out to be far more beautiful than I expected.
Matsumoto is a city where the mountains draw the first line of the landscape.
The snow peaks rise behind the streets with a kind of assurance that makes everything else feel small.
Walking among the low country houses, I kept thinking that the city holds an older way of living without forcing anything.
The atmosphere stays close to the ground and makes you notice things you usually pass by.
At the centre of this experience is the Matsumoto Mingeikan.
For anyone who loves mingei (민예, 民藝)or folk art, this place works as a clear example of how beauty grows out of daily use.
Founded in the 1930s, the museum gathers objects from across Japan: pottery, textiles, woodwork, metal pieces, and tools shaped by function rather than presentation.
Whilst walking through the collection, I kept encountering pieces that felt familiar.
Moments when I thought, “this must be Korean,” and it always was.
Many items from the Joseon period carry a kind of warmth that stays close to the hand.
They are modest, direct, and deeply human, and seeing them in this setting created an unexpected pull, almost like recognising a first love in a crowd.
As I mentioned in a previous letter, the Tokyo Mingeikan is one of my personal favourites.
It stands in the middle of a dense city and shows mingei through a more urban frame.
The experience there is shaped by the pace of Tokyo and the way the city absorbs everything into its structure.
Matsumoto is completely different.
The museum sits within a landscape where daily life and traditional forms already stand side by side.
The city itself becomes part of the viewing experience.
You step outside and the objects inside the museum connect with the houses, the tools, and the mountain line without effort.
Everything feels linked by use rather than theory.
For anyone interested in folk art, the city offers a perspective that major institutions rarely provide.
There is no performance built for effect and no spectacle arranged for attention.
What remains is a form of honesty that comes through objects shaped for use rather than display.
Matsumoto is worth considering for this reason alone.
