If you want something, just make it. ~Crafting a picture frame in Ho Chi Minh~

Living in Ho Chi Minh City, I often find myself deeply struck by the differences from Japan. In this city, there are people who make just about anything. People who mend clothes. People who make furniture. People who make signboards. And there are even people who make picture frames. The other day, at a general goods shop, I came across a lovely poster along with some notebooks.

A design that expresses the districts of Ho Chi Minh City through colors and patterns—the more you look at it, the more fun it becomes. When I bought one for our home, my husband loved it too. "I'd like to display one at the office as well." With just those words, we ended up buying a second one. Now, if this were Japan... First you'd measure the size, then search for a frame at a variety store or home center. If you couldn't find one that fit, you'd order it online. For a piece you truly cherish, you'd head to a specialty frame shop, knowing full well it would be expensive. That's the usual flow, I think. But in Vietnam, things are a little different. "Just take it to the frame shop~" Where we headed was a small shop bursting with local character.

Framed paintings and photographs at the storefront

There's a workshop in the back. Scraps of wood are piled up, a cutting machine sits there, and dozens of different picture frame samples line the walls.

A dazzling gold. A calm wood-grain finish. A modern black. Everything from slender ones to weighty, imposing ones — truly all sorts. Which one should I go with? I gaze at this and that. It's a little different from the feeling of choosing clothes. Rather than choosing a picture frame, perhaps it's the feeling of choosing how to present the artwork. And then there's the color of the wall where it'll be displayed. The color of the lighting. The color and size of the other decorations, and so on. I wanted to make the most of the poster's colors, so in the end I settled on a simple frame based on a deep navy. It gives a crisp, tightened look. The craftsman measured the size with a practiced hand and said, "Come pick it up tomorrow.

Custom-made, yet ready by tomorrow. This sense of speed feels very Vietnamese, too. When I visited the next day, it really was finished. The glass was in, the backing board was attached, and even the hanging hardware had been fitted. The moment it went into the frame, a poster that had been nothing but paper became a work of art. It's a curious thing. The contents are exactly the same, yet the way it looks is completely different. It makes you want to hang it in your room, and to show it to others. A picture frame, it seems, holds that kind of power.

And what surprised me was the price. This framing cost about 60,000 dong. In Japanese yen, that's around 350 yen. Of course it varies depending on the size and frame, but even so, it's a surprisingly affordable price. This ease and casualness. In Vietnam, rather than walking around searching for a ready-made product, sometimes it's faster to have something made for you. The same goes for clothes. The same goes for cushions. The same goes for furniture. And the same goes for picture frames. Artisans are right there beside daily life. I think that's what makes this country so fascinating. When you're surrounded by mass-produced goods, it's easy to forget, but things are originally made by human hands. In the back alleys of Ho Chi Minh City, workshops like these are still alive and breathing today. There's the sound of wood being cut, the sound of glass being fitted, and someone's "I want to display this" gradually takes shape.

Every time I see the poster, I think about it. In this town, the things you want aren't just for buying. The option to have something made for you still genuinely remains. Relocation Life Ranking