I met Yoko Mitsuhashi the day I moved into our apartment on East 27th Street in the spring of 1965. She was very sweet and gentle young woman with a lot of artistic talent, and we quickly became friends. She was the first person to make a connection for me with Japan. I can’t remember the first person she brought to meet me – it might have been Awazu, or Ikko Tanaka, but eventually there was a regular, welcome, stream of visiting Japaneese artisits and designers. Later, I was invited to be in the ‘Persona’ exhibition, and met Tadanori Yokoo, and Katzumie-Sensei from Idea Magazine. After a while Yoko and I had a lot of friends in common. Over the years I marveled at how she never changed. She was always energetic and enthusiastic, and she never lost her gentleness or innocence. I miss her.

- Paul Davis, Artist and Graphic Designer

I would like to add that Yoko had great style, and very witty style at that. She would always be wearing something wonderful, usually made by her sister Ayako in those days, and her hair would be in adorable braids, and she would have funny shoes, or belts, or hats. Every time I saw her she was a visual surprise and delight. Once, in the 70’s, when I splurged on a light blue linen suit from Ayako’s shop, she lectured me that I had to “let go’ and get some ‘interesting’ shoes, something ‘fun.’ I went to Henri Bendel and found very daring red suede sandals with big black leather heels and black platforms. She was right, they were fun and just what the suit, and I, needed. And I still have them. They’re back in style, and still comfortable, although I’ll probably give them away now to someone who is as young as I was then. But I kept them in my museum closet all these years, because they’re astonishing artifacts of that time, and because they always remind me of the first time I shoed a little fashion courage, thanks to Yoko. I am very glad to have known her.

- Myran Davis, marketing and editorial consultant and past executive director of the Art Directors Club

When I asked my husband George what stood out in his mind about Yoko, he said “ She fluttered into our lives like a butterfly.”

The year was 1966, and a Japanese advertising colleague, whom we had invited to a party at our house, asked if he could bring a friend. The friend turned out to be an utterly enchanting delicate Japanese girl in a fluttery hip-length chiffon dress. Both George and I instantly fell in love with the girl and with the dress – a design by her sister Ayako. I ordered a dress just like it, and followed it up with many other Ayako creations after seeing them modeled by Yoko.

Yoko became a frequent visitor. She enchanted everybody she met at our house – down-to-earth engineers and sophisticated advertising people, old aunts and young children. Our friendship widened to include Yoko’s family, Ayako, Murray, her brother Suetarda, Tomiko and when her mother visited from Japan, Yoko brought her along as a matter of course. It didn’t seem to matter that we could not communicate with the gracious, dignified, elderly Mrs. Mitsuhashi. She was Yoko’s mother and that was enough.

During Yoko’s last few months of life, her generosity never failed. Even though she was ailing of cancer, she made us a present of one of the posters for “New Yoko.” Her one-woman show in Japan. The poster depicts Yoko exactly as George and I remember her in life – an enchanting, fanciful creature straight out of a fairy-tale of her own creation. We are richer for having known her.

- Lore Parker