Upon entering the first gallery at the Setagaya show, however, one's own eyes may well glaze over, as mine did, at the row upon row of small objects covering a vast expanse of tables. Categorized by the manufacturing concerns that commissioned the designs (most of them household names in Japan like office equipment and stationery makers Plus and Askul), these arrays at first glance exude all the charm of a garage sale, and seem just as randomly laid out. At the first table, for example, we encounter several models of the Fujica camera that was one of Miyagi's earliest projects, followed by a lineup of fairly nondescript cooking bowls, strainers and salad spinners. Later, however, an image of the same vessels stacked into what can only be described as a space-age art object (see the photo here) reveals that they form a handsome and compact nested set of "allround bowls" commissioned by the Cherry Terrace company.

As one progresses deeper into the exhibit, the eye begins to zero in on items that look very familiar indeed. Here you will find the tissue-paper boxes and toilet paper rolls at your house, the "prescription memo" booklet you receive from your neighborhood doctor, and EVERYTHING at your office: air cleaners, desk lamps, glue sticks, document files, copy paper packaging, you name it. And then there are the mini-staplers -- those tiny bug-like devices in pastel colors that occupy every desk drawer in Japan. Judging by the selection at the Setagaya show, Miyagi was the nation's stapler king, designing countless models in a dizzying parade of styles (all, it seems, for the Plus company, which appears to have cornered the stapler market). Lined up together, they resemble the industrial equivalent of a butterfly collection.

In another gallery, certain products are singled out for special attention, and this allows us to appreciate more fully the creative flair Miyagi brought to his craft. A set of multicolored plastic toothbrushes in its own vitrine testifies to the beauty he could instill in the mundanest of household items. Perhaps his most sublime creation is "Tsun Tsun," a translucent plastic soap dish that could hold its own in an exhibition of contemporary sculpture.

A number of text panels on the gallery walls offer quotations (unfortunately only in Japanese) from Miyagi that articulate his philosophy of design. Above all he was concerned with serving users' needs, and believed that one could design an attractive, even inspiring product as a natural outcome of this priority -- an attitude encapsulated in the concept yo no bi, or "beauty of function," espoused by founders of the Mingei folk-craft movement. Modest about his own prodigious output, Miyagi demurred that "You don't have to think too hard about a design if you know what the product requires."

Miyagi was already suffering from terminal cancer when he wrote a brief memo to his students in a university class he taught on product design theory. In it he called on designers to focus on "the true value of things" and to work "for the sake of human happiness." He also admonished them to keep in mind the larger implications of living in an information-saturated society. The paramount issue we face today, he declared, is how to process the incessant flood of incoming information and convert it not just to "knowledge" but to "wisdom." These prescient words, a valedictory of sorts, are laid out in a terse, outline-like format on a single page. Even in his writings, Miyagi pursued the virtues of brevity and efficacy in the service of a profoundly humanistic approach to design. Those same qualities make his works as fresh and appealing today as they were when he created them.

The Setagaya Art Museum is a modernist structure with banks of picture windows facing Kinuta Park, one of Tokyo's largest green spaces. Complementing a look at this exhibition with a leisurely stroll among the trees is an excellent way to spend an autumn afternoon.