With the recent launch of a brand new English website, they look set to expand their already blooming international presence. I talked to Takashi Murakami about Kaikai Kiki’s current activities, and plans for the future.
<img alt=" " src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/aya.jpg" width="300" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photos by miget - Kaikai Kiki artists Aya Takano (above) and Mr. (below)" />Kaikai Kiki consists of a studio and office, and so far it seems like you don’t have any sort of exhibition space for your artists. 
We’re building a gallery in the basement of the main Kaikai Kiki office, which is almost complete. However, I’m thinking of making this a private space limited to exclusive visitors and the press, rather than an open, public gallery. 
Why is this? 
Our biannual GEISAI art market already caters for the mass, public audience. So I wanted to make a contrast between the very public GEISAI versus the new, private exhibition space. Essentially, I only want people who truly understand and appreciate art to come to my gallery. 
You once suggested that anime and manga are the epitome of uniquely “Japanese” art. Kaikai Kiki’s artists also seem to strongly lean towards this anime taste. 
It just so happened that most of the aspiring artists who came to me made anime-inspired art, so it’s not like I strategically chose anime as the Kaikai Kiki flavour. It just naturally became that way. Also, I guess I’m not too interested in educating artists who make visually conceptual art. I guess when I pursued the essence of Japaneseness in my own way, this is what I came up with. 
<img alt=" " src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/mr_js_portrait.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatr" />Do you think that this sort of anime-influenced, pop aesthetic will still dominate the Japanese art scene in the future? 
Take the manga scene: The early 1990s was the height of shonen-manga (comics for boys), with Shonen Jump selling over 6 million copies and “Dragon Ball” influencing people’s world view. This movement completely overshadowed the presence of shojo-manga (comics for girls). But recently, shojo-manga like “Nana” and “Honey and Clover” are being made into films, and generally becoming a social phenomenon. In the same way, the art industry also experiences these shifts in trends, albeit on a smaller scale, so it’s difficult to predict the future. But I do hope that Kaikai Kiki can survive till the end with the style we have established for ourselves. 
Do you have any plans to adopt more artists at Kaikai Kiki?
Art is on the verge of becoming very big business right now, so if there we find artists who have potential to exploit, then naturally we will bring them aboard. Just like record labels have their own individual traits, our studio also has distinct characteristics. Rather than forcibly breaking away from this, we’d like to expand and operate in our own natural way. 
You also have a Kaikai Kiki branch in Long Island, New York. What sort of activities is this branch involved in? 
We have an office and studio in the same building. It’s a very large studio. Most of Kaikai Kiki’s business is based overseas. The staff at the NY Studio gather information, meets with key figures, and handles requests for immediate creation and repair of artworks. I also intend to show uniquely Japanese artworks in the gallery, like ceramics, or works by Japanese celebrities. 
Do you intend to promote Kaikai Kiki artists in the international market in the future? 
I attended the Basel art fair in Switzerland this June, and was very surprised to find that the art market has exploded. I mean, really exploded, like, BOOM! Everything and anything is selling like mad. As long as it’s considered “art”, the art fans lap it up, whatever it is. There were many different artists selling work of various mediums and tastes, but the attendees didn’t really seem to notice; they hoarded tons of works as if they were in a state of starvation. The first day’s sales totaled 40 billion yen, and over 140 patrons came on private jets. It really is becoming a massive industry. 
It made me wonder whether the boom of the music circa the Beatles was like this. Back then, the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan exploded, and things like making their own record label, going on world tours, and big festivals like Woodstock were just beginning. This also spawned an infrastructure of producers, managers and the like. In this light, I think the current explosion of the art market is fully armed with the infrastructure of mobility, where people and artworks can be moved safely and cheaply, or else luxuriously with the help of individual private jets. Through this, people can discover one-of-a-kind, unique works from the world market. In an age when the world is at our fingertips, I think that we’re now able to see art as a “commodity” that we can own for ourselves. Talented artists will be very much in demand from now on, for sure. 
So does this mean the Japanese art market will also explode? 
Wait till next year, then you’ll see for yourself. There’s no way of ignoring such an incredibly massive wave. Going back to my musical reference, when I was a kid, we used to buy EP records or taped songs off the radio. But then the CD was invented. Suddenly you were able to play high-quality sounds, and the music industry again exploded. And then came things like Napster, which was riddled with copyright issues but helped regain that same feeling of taping songs off the radio. I guess the legal answer to this is iTunes. In any case, the form might change but as long as you have an established infrastructure, industries can continue to expand. 
So will the art boom become a worldwide phenomenon? 
That’s right. Think about it – going to an art fair on a private jet and buying artworks is so cool. A couple of these people come to GEISAI too. And what they’ll do with the artwork is either give it to friends as a gift, or they might have a house party to boast their latest finds. Basically, art collections are an expression of your personality. I have no doubt that this sort of lifestyle will eventually infiltrate Japan too. 
Takashi Murakami, thank you for your interesting insights! 
 
 
Visit the Kaikai Kiki website <a href="http://www.kaikaikiki.co.jp">here</a> 
 
 
(Translation: Lena Oishi)

KAIKAI KIKI Interview with Takashi Murakami

In front of him is a 3.5 x 10m wall half-covered from the floor upwards in tiny, impossibly detailed illustrations of buildings, people and fantastical creatures, all meticulously drawn directly on the wall with a black marker.
Like the street artists of New York and Berlin who spray-paint in the city as a form of rebellion or self-expression, in “Japanese Graffiti” Takahashi aims to explore the concept of an entirely original Japanese-style graffiti, from an illustrator’s point of view. Japanese-style graffiti: Is it manga? Is it random scrawling? And more importantly, when does ‘graffiti’ become ‘Art’? Over the course of the month until February 18th when the whole thing will be painted over, Takamasa will gradually fill every single empty wall space with tightly packed illustrations, until the whole thing will look like a giant animated megalopolis.
The title of the piece is “Building”, fitting as most of it consists of various odd-shaped skyscrapers, office and apartment blocks, but also because of the nature of the process – Takamasa will add building by building, picture by picture every day based on requests made by the visitors of the exhibition.
Needless to say, my friend and I are itching to leave a little piece of ourselves in this illustrated utopia which is teeming with crazy pictures (obviously requested by visitors) of giant human-eating frogs, freak babies, UFOs and so on. After being informed by Takamasa’s assistant that we are to write our request on a bit of masking tape with our name and date, we promptly sit down at the table in the middle of the room with the other patrons and try to think of a brilliant and seemingly impossible-to-draw idea. We settle with “Girls eating a parfait full of insects”, hand the masking tape to the assistant who takes a polaroid of us and says that the picture will be done in an hour or so.
<img alt="Illustration by Nobumasa Takahashi." src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/Takahashi%20illustration.jpg" width="284" height="127" class="imgcaption"/> 
Sure enough, when we come back an hour later, Takamasa immediately takes us to the far left-hand side of the wall where he has drawn two girls (looking somewhat like myself and my friend) sitting, spoons in hand, in front of a king-sized parfait full of beetles, worms, ladybirds, and all sorts of other creepy crawlies. 
As we admire his handiwork, he reveals to us that he wasn’t sure whether the girls were supposed to be enjoying the parfait or not, but for some reason he ended up making them look a little bit happy (to which we nod approvingly). Our masking tape is displayed on the wall with myriad other requests made by the visitors. My friend and I write a message on the Polaroid they took earlier, which is also displayed on the wall with polaroids of other request-makers as proof of our participation. Everyone looks positively giddy.
The joy of Takamasa’s exhibition comes from its interactivity and immediacy. Visitors can not only watch Takamasa in action, but are encouraged to participate in his artwork. These spontaneous ideas from visitors are the driving force of this piece, and the temporality of it makes it all the more exciting. As well, Takamasa himself is very amicable and obviously loves the conversations. As we’re about to leave, he hands us a postcard of the exhibition with little illustrations of ourselves (which he probably drew very quickly!) and tells us that we should visit again on the 18th of February, when they will celebrate the piece for the last time before it is painted over. Needless to say, I will be there to see my insect-ridden parfait for the last time, and to see the illustrated city that the people of Tokyo have created together. A Japanese anime-city dreamed up by Japanese people, Japanese-style: now that’s Art.

Nobumasa Takahashi “Japanese Graffiti”

Seiichi Furuya’s photographs capture the ephemeral beauty of life, death, and nature. Flowers glowing in the harsh sunlight, a ripe watermelon infested with flies, a dead rabbit on the roadside with tire marks imprinted on its flattened body, and most of all Christine – Christine lying in the garden, bathing in water, smiling, breathing. Christine, whom Furuya married 3 months after meeting, and who tragically committed suicide in Berlin in 1985 leaving their young son and Furuya behind, is the very reason behind his artistic pursuits. 
In an artist’s talk given at Rathole Gallery in Aoyama which is hosting his latest exhibition “Im Fluss” (meaning “in the flow”), the 57 year old Furuya explained that he is by no means a “photographer”. Rather, he uses snapshots of moments of beauty taken in everyday life to create a narrative in a given space of curation, be it within gallery walls or on the pages of a photo book. Assembling and arranging random photos – mostly, if not all, taken before Christine’s death – is Furuya’s way of coming to terms with his wife’s sudden departure, allowing him to piece together the missing links and create meaning out of the 10 centimetres of blank space between each frame. He doesn’t have any new work, he says, because “new” to him means printing photographs taken 20, 30 years ago that have yet to be made public. In a sense, he is more a curator of memorabilia than active photographer. 
Upon seeing the exhibition knowing only minimal information – that Furuya has been living in Europe, mainly Austria, for over 2 decades, and that his wife Christine committed suicide at a young age – I was immediately taken by the gentle, colourful shots of European gardens, babies and nature. These rather effeminate subjects – a point the artist himself acknowledges – seemingly depict a happy life, although there is a looming pain of premature loss and grief that undermines each pretty landscape, and this sense of doom is accentuated in shots of rotting fruit or a piercing gaze.
As a package (Christine’s story, the photographs and him facing her death through his photographs), the exhibition is captivating and invites viewers to look beyond what is actually depicted in each photograph. Indeed, Furuya says himself that the individual photos themselves are not all that significant: it is the textual flow, the essay created by the selected photographs that tell the real story. If only I had left the gallery then. However, staying on for the artist’s talk, I quickly found that the artist himself reflects nothing of the delicacy of his artwork. 
From the beginning, he made it quite clear that would rather not explain his photographs, and taunted the two interviewers to ask him better questions after they struggled to get him talking. Yet once warmed up, he went on to talk openly about using Christine’s death as an inspiration of sorts for his artwork, and mentioned the fact that publishing Christine’s suicide note (excerpts of which he translated and printed in one of his photo books) shocked European audiences and feminists worldwide, sparking outrage that he is profiting from his wife’s death. When asked of his photographic techniques by a member of the audience, he belittled the artistic or formalistic process of photo-taking, saying that it is complete rubbish and he simply takes a shot when he “senses a beautiful moment,” as if to say that only those blessed with a magical artistic sensibility should bother even trying. 
Throughout the entire one hour talk (which was in fact cut short after the audience shied away from asking questions for fear of being ridiculed, and Furuya concluded that “there’s no point dragging on if there’s nothing to say”), his speech was peppered with condescension (“I’m not sure if any of you will understand but…”, “I guess you folks in Japan wouldn’t know…”), and climaxed with an outburst of “Do you Japanese people even think with those brains of yours?! If this was Europe, there will be too many questions and we’ll be running out of time!” This, coupled with random comments such as “My son looks Japanese but doesn’t speak Japanese, you know” and “I’m aiming to speak 3 years worth of Japanese while I’m visiting Japan, since I never use it back home in Austria” confirmed my suspicion that he is merely a Japanophobic Japanese returnee trying to make his point heard.
Furuya’s antics might have given the impression to some that he is an aggressive, quirky, spirited photographer who is just loud-mouthed, which of course is not a crime in an art industry full of eccentrics. However, I left the building feeling as if someone tore a hole in my new shirt, robbing me of the pleasure that I was promised. As much as I kept telling myself that artwork can be appreciated independently of the creator and their intentions, I still can’t help but wish that I had never seen him talk that afternoon.

To See or Not To See – Cursing the Artist’s Presence at Seiichi Furuya’s “Im Fluss”

Seeing Risaku Suzuki’s “Kumano, Yuki, Sakura” is a truly visceral experience. With the exhibition divided into three parts, you are first treated to photographs of forests and waterfalls in Kumano, lit up on panels and displayed in a black room, the light emitted from the photographs silently glowing and sucking in your gaze. Next, black and red photographs of men gathered around a fire during a “shinji” (Shinto ceremony), and pictures of (what looks like) snow falling from the sky adorn a small corridor which gradually takes you from darkness into light as you walk closer to the next room. The final room is almost completely white, with photographs of snow and white cherry blossom trees mounted on white walls. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/risakusuzuki01.jpg" alt="Risaku Suzuki, 'Between the Sea and the Mountain' (2005)" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="Collection of the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography © Risaku Suzuki" />
The effects of colour and lighting in the three sections force you to interact on a deeper sensory level beyond visual perception. The photos of green forests and waterfalls enwrap the viewer in the tranquilities of mother nature in the first black room. Yet their eerie, artificial glow – like computer interfaces in the dark – simultaneously draws you into having a closer squint at the details, which look less and less “natural” the longer you look. Water running down the fountains looks like white string, and the vivid green branches seem too clean, almost digital. 
Your senses are quickly jolted upon entering the corridor, as the viewer is confronted by fierce images of the rawness of human life. Men huddle around a huge fire in pitch darkness, their flesh bright red against the blaze, faces taut, as though bordering on insanity. Amidst an exhibition predominantly featuring the beauties of nature, these few photos offer a poignant contrast and are the only things close to any form of commentary that Suzuki reveals. With their intense darkness, they also serve as a brief climactic moment in the three part progression, before light slowly pours into the walkway and abstract photos of white specks on black – most probably snow falling from the sky – ease you into the visuals of the next room, which takes snow as its theme. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/risakusuzuki02.jpg" alt="Risaku Suzuki, 'White' (2007)" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="© Risaku Suzuki; Collection of the artist" />
Stepping into the final room, you are temporarily blinded by the sheer whiteness of it all. Photos of the largely white snow mounds and white cherry blossoms interspersed on the white walls seem to overflow from their frames, filling the entire room. The sudden transition from dark to light plays tricks on your eyes, and you become consumed in the space. In contrast to the black room where the photos draw you in, these white photos explode beyond the frame, and the effect is exhilarating. The final photograph of the exhibition – the only picture in the room depicting pink cherry blossoms against blue skies – offers a sort of cathartic relief from the whiteness. The pastel pinks and blues look stunning, as if you are seeing colour for the first time in your life. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/risakusuzuki03.jpg" alt="Risaku Suzuki, 'Sakura' (2002)" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="© Risaku Suzuki; Courtesy of Gallery Koyanagi" />
While Suzuki’s photos do not particularly stand out when seen individually, the presentation of “Kumano, Yuki, Sakura” – the separation of each series, the lighting, colour and so on – make his photographs a joy to experience. When more than often ‘important’ works by prominent artists are merely framed and placed on white walls at eye-level, this unusual and bold presentation is a welcome change, providing dynamism to what might otherwise end up being another exhibition of merely ‘pretty’ imagery.

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Black Box, White Box: Setting Foot in Risaku Suzuki’s Nature Photography

Tomoko Yoneda’s photographs rely heavily on the camera’s ability to capture things beyond the physical scenes and objects that lie in front of the lens at that particular moment in time. Her major solo exhibition being held at Hara Museum of Contemporary Art features a selection from her representative series “Scene”, “Between Visible and Invisible”, and her latest series of work “The Parallel Lives of Others”, all of which are seemingly nondescript photographs of places (beaches, urban scenes etc) or objects (a pair of glasses, textbooks), but upon reading their titles they reveal histories or stories that are undeniably etched within the portrayed subjects. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/tomokoyoneda1.jpg" alt="Tomoko Yoneda, 'Wedding — View of the wedding party on the river that divides North Korea and China, Dandong, China' (2007) C-type print, 76.0 x 96.0cm (from 'Scene')" title="© Tomoko Yoneda. Courtesy ShugoArts" width="518" height="410" class="imgcaption" />
The first floor of the museum features Yoneda’s earliest series “Topographical Analogy” as well as the newer series “Between Visible and Invisible”. “Topographical Analogy”, which in a sense reflects the essential concept that runs through her later works, consists of photographs showing walls and furniture scorched by fire. The violently burnt wallpaper conveys the heat of the fire that was present before the picture was taken — a “physical memory” of a past event. Meanwhile, “Between Visible and Invisible” shows pages of books seen through the reading glasses of key historical figures who might have read and been influenced by those particular texts: Walter Benjamin through Brecht’s glasses, Jung through Freud’s glasses, and so on. Only the words shown within the lens are in focus, and everything else outside it is blurry; the text only makes sense through the subjective “eyes” of the owner of the glasses, and in turn, the audience is only allowed to “see” the text through this subjectivity — of the glasses, or of the camera lens itself and the photographer behind it.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/tomokoyoneda2.jpg" alt="Tomoko Yoneda, 'Lovers, Dunaujvaros (formerly Stalin City) Hungary' (2004)
C-type print, 65.0 x 83.0cm (from 'After the Thaw')" title="© Tomoko Yoneda. Courtesy ShugoArts" width="518" height="416" class="imgcaption" />
The filter through which Yoneda presents her photographs is not necessarily her own personal vision, but rather the collective memory of humankind, as is evident in “Scene”, and the related series “After the Thaw” and “The Parallel Lives of Others” featured on the second floor. Locations that were once battlefields (the site of Bloody Sunday in Northern Ireland, the forest where the Battle of Somme occurred in France, etc) and sites of national and political trauma are photographed as they are now, in crisp contemporary colors and often showing children or couples standing nonchalantly, apparently unaware of the implicit significance of those places. Without reading the titles, the scenes are banal; yet in becoming aware of “where” these places are, or more precisely, of the events that happened there years ago, they begin to take on a strangely unsettling quality, as if there is a silent turmoil bubbling underneath their tranquility. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/tomokoyoneda3.jpg" alt="Tomoko Yoneda, 'Birthday Treat, Londonderry (Site of Bloody Sunday incident), Northern Ireland' (2007) C-type print, 65.0 x 83.0cm (from 'One plus One')" title="© Tomoko Yoneda. Courtesy ShugoArts" width="518" height="417" class="imgcaption" />
The way in which Yoneda attempts to capture a certain aura or atmosphere that might exist in such key locations through the lens is similar to another Japanese photographer Shozo Agata’s series “Hanzai no Keshiki” (“Scenes of Crime”), which specifically focuses on locations of famous crimes in Japan, such as the school where the teenage murderer Seito Sakakibara left the head of his 11 year old victim at the school gates. <img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/tomokoyoneda4.jpg" alt="Tomoko Yoneda, 'Heian Shrine II, Kyoto (Sorge & Ozaki)' (2008) gelatin silver print, 9.5 x 9.5cm (from 'Parallel Lives of Others — Encounter with Sorge Spy Ring')" title="© Tomoko Yoneda. Courtesy ShugoArts" width="257" height="252" class="imgcaption floatr" />Obviously the scenes are not remarkable in themselves, but given knowledge of their histories, it is up to the viewer to access the collective memory associated with those incidents, and identify the sadness and trauma that are supposedly imbedded there. Thus, these photographs both challenge the notion that the camera can capture the intangible — mood, atmosphere, karma — that supposedly exist in a scene or a subject, while simultaneously suggesting that it is not necessarily the picture portrayed, but the subjective knowledge or interpretation of the viewer that determines the significance of a photograph. 
Yoneda’s latest series “The Parallel Lives of Others” moves more into the realm of the latter. The series consists of photographs showing numerous locations where members of the Sorge Spy Ring apparently met in secret, such as Kyoto’s Heian Shrine and Ueno Park in Tokyo. Each photo is small and hazy, where the nondescript locations are depicted in blurred black and white shapes; indeed, unlike the “official” historical locations featured in “Scene”, these are portrayals of fleeting, unofficial “non-events” that were for a long time merely fragments of a spy member’s personal memory. The exhibition’s shifting from such personal memories (“Parallel Lives…” and “Between Visible and Invisible”) and collective social memories (“Scene”, “After the Thaw”), as well as the shifting of subjectivities between the camera, the photographer, and the audience, make this a compelling and important re-questioning of the dual roles of photography as a recording tool, and as an expressive medium that projects and reflects an individual’s subjectivity.

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Photographing the Invisible

Contrary to expectations of oozing sculptures and meticulously convoluted drawings, Matthew Barney’s exhibition in the Yokohama Triennale consists of a single video installation on a small monitor placed high up on the wall of a small, darkened alcove. Titled Guardian of the Veil (2007), this collaboration between Barney and composer Jonathan Bepler (who also composed some of scores in Barney’s video art opus The Cremaster Cycle) is a recording of a live performance that was held at an unspecified theater in New York. The performance in question centers around a series of rituals, the focal point of which is the dismantling of a crashed Chrysler placed center stage, and a young female who is carried into the auditorium on a stretcher, in a sort of funeral procession. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/matthewbarneya1.jpg" alt="Matthew Barney and Jonathan Bepler, 'The Guardian of the Veil' (2007)" title="Photo: LO" width="518" class="imgcaption" />
The young woman is placed on the Chrysler, while men in army gear, bandanas and balaclavas assist Barney — performing here with a small dog perched on his head — as he removes parts of the car’s engine and carefully stashes them in white wax-like pots. Next to them, a naked woman with her feet buried in what is probably petroleum jelly stands completely still while masked men stretch some sort of thin black rubber sheet down over her head and torso. Subsequently, a pair of female contortionists, naked from the waist down, walk in step across the stage, where they take turns to arch backwards into crab-like stances and urinate, fountain-like, on the floor. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/matthewbarneyb1.jpg" alt="Matthew Barney and Jonathan Bepler, 'The Guardian of the Veil' (2007)" title="Photo: LO" width="518" height="389" class="imgcaption" />
The entire procession is accentuated by marching drums, violins, flutes and ukeleles, played by bemused orchestra musicians and masked men guarding the entrances, making the performance look part-concert, part-2002 Moscow theater hostage crisis. As the ritual reaches its climax, Barney leads an elaborately decorated bull to the car to pay homage to a bull skin he earlier draped across its trunk (Rumor has it that in a different version of this performance, the bull actually mounted the Chrysler, much to the dismay of animal rights activists). Finally, it is left to the silent naked woman with her feet in the petroleum jelly to bring the performance to a close by dribbling a thin stream of black liquid from her anus. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/matthewbarney3.jpg" alt="Matthew Barney and Jonathan Bepler, 'The Guardian of the Veil' (2007)" title="Photo: AR" width="518" height="347" class="imgcaption" />
To Matthew Barney fans this video does not disappoint, in the sense that it is just as mysterious — if not baffling — as his previous works. The mythical characters and grand rituals dripping with symbolism certainly create an ominous mood for the approximate forty minutes of duration. However, unlike The Cremaster series, which was elaborately shot with million-dollar budgets and as a result provides an aesthetically potent cinematic experience (and therefore is relatively watchable even for those who may not understand the concept), Guardian of the Veil looks like a crude recording of something that would be better witnessed live. It certainly does not help bewildered viewers that the video — and the entirety of the work on display at the triennale for that matter — lacks any sort of explanatory text, nothing to even tell you the duration! 1 
There are no obvious indications of what the acts portrayed in this video are supposed to mean, although the motifs in the props alone suggest clear visual continuities with Barney’s earlier work. The apron Barney wears in this video is the same as the one worn by “The Entered Apprentice” in Cremaster 3. That work also featured a Chrysler Imperial (smashed here), and the colors of the ribbons adorning the car are the blue and orange are theme colors for the whole Cremaster series, and the petroleum jelly used on stage is the main focus of his full-length feature Drawing Restraint 9. In more general terms, one can assume that the dog on Barney’s head is supposed to transform him into a living representation of Anubis, the Egyptian God of the Dead.
Thus, perhaps the funeral-like rituals and dismantling of the Chrysler signal the demise of the order of the Cremaster, but Barney’s work is so highly abstracted that it is hard to feel confident about any interpretation. The video undoubtedly carries on from where Barney left us, but presented with this alone, viewers are, unfortunately, likely to be left not only confused, but nursing a sore neck from starting up at the overly elevated monitor. That said, even if presented as a video of dubious quality, being able to see a rare Barney performance that we otherwise cannot access is certainly a welcome opportunity in itself, and in that respect Guardian of the Veil is probably one of the must-see works of the triennale.
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1 Editor’s note: Lena saw this video during the press preview on September 12, and again on September 14, a day after the triennale opened to the public. At that time there were no signs indicating the duration of the video. By the time I saw it on October 15, two signs had been put up at the entrance to the work: one stating that the video lasts 42 minutes and another warning that some viewers may be offended by the video’s content — and that children below 15 years old cannot enter — suggesting that some visitors may have complained. Similar warnings have been placed outside of the John McCarthy and Hermann Nitsch video works in the same venue, both of which depict graphic scenes of nudity and gore.

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Yokohama Triennale 2008: Matthew Barney

Kimonos, half-naked women, rope. These may sound like the ingredients for an Araki photograph, but in “Black, Sutra and the Rest” currently showing at Takahashi Collection, artist Ken Hamaguchi subverts this age-old recipe of Japanese eroticism by using buxom Western models in place for the submissive, demure Japanese girls traditionally bound up in such portraiture. In the exhibition, which features dozens of identically-composed small paintings showing mostly naked blonde girls in bondage (some in high-school uniforms or kimonos) with Buddhist sutra written over the surface in black ink, Hamaguchi not only condemns the commoditization of sexual desire and pornography, but also seems to imply that a certain aggression or devious nature of Western sexual expression is tainting the more delicate or complex Japanese concept of eroticism. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/kenhamaguchi1.jpg" alt="Exhibition View" title="Photo: Natsu Tanimoto" width="518" height="343" class="imgcaption" />
Bondage, specifically using rope (known as kinbaku in Japanese) is not only seen as a tool for sadomasochistic play, but like tea ceremonies and other such cultural traditions involving complex techniques and aesthetic rules, kinbaku’s intricate way of rendering the tied body immobile is also considered an art form of sorts. What immediately comes to mind at first glance of Hamaguchi’s paintings are Nobuyoshi Araki’s photography series featuring Japanese women in vivid kimonos (and less) staring at the camera, almost expressionless, in various – at times painful or embarrassing – kinbaku poses. Here, however, in contrast to the sultry but almost passive-looking girls in Araki’s portraits, Hamaguchi’s blondes are seductive – almost aggressively so. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/kenhamaguchi2.jpg" alt="Ken Hamaguchi, 'Black, Sutra and the Rest'" title="Photo: Natsu Tanimoto" width="257" height="330" class="imgcaption floatl" /><img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/kenhamaguchi3.jpg" alt="Ken Hamaguchi, 'Black, Sutra and the Rest" title="Photo: Natsu Tanimoto" width="257" height="385" class="imgcaption floatl" /> 
The girls (whom, although not identical, all resemble the stereotype of the all-American cheerleader) smile and tease, as if enjoying not only the act of being tied up and the gaze of the viewer, but the power that comes with it. Hamaguchi does not seem to expect viewers to project their fantasies onto the vulnerable female, but instead presents women who actively use their bodies and sexuality to enact and seduce. The rope becomes not a restriction, but a vehicle. The tone is mirrored in a small mound of cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of the room, plastered with advertisements for phone sex and prostitution featuring naked girls in suggestive poses — notably, most of these have been taken from Western magazines and newspapers. The female body is simultaneously empowered and commoditized, marveled at and abused. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/kenhamaguchi4.jpg" alt="Ken Hamaguchi, 'Black, Sutra and the Rest" title="Photo: Natsu Tanimoto" width="257" height="334" class="imgcaption floatl" /><img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/kenhamaguchi5.jpg" alt="Ken Hamaguchi, 'Black, Sutra and the Rest" title="Photo: Natsu Tanimoto" width="257" height="333" class="imgcaption floatl" /> 
It is not clear whether it is the very notion of this aggressive sexuality that Hamaguchi is critical of, or specifically that of the “foreign female”, but in any case the paintings reveal Hamaguchi’s suspicion for his subjects. The girls’ eyes at times glow red or green amidst their ominous backdrop of muddy blues, reds and greys, making them look almost monstrous or other-worldly. He also introduces the notion of censorship in the way that he conscientiously blurs out the genitals, much like how they are censored in explicit photographs and videos. Usually such mozaiku cover the underlying image of genitals. Here, however, the genitals do not even exist in the first place; rather they have been substituted by the connoted “nothingness” of the blur. 
As if “cleansing” the images of their evil sins, each painting has been covered with black sutra. The juxtaposition of the somber black Japanese kanji with the tied up blonde girls peering behind them creates a potent image of condemnation. Simultaneously, the mixing of the Caucasian girls and Japanese elements leaves a strange aftertaste; the kimonos and uniforms that the girls wear can only maintain their sexual connotations through the historic and cultural significance placed on them, and can only be activated when somebody from that very culture adorns them. Thus, the subtlety of demure Japanese eroticism is lost on these blondes, however whether Hamaguchi goes as far as placing blame on a Westernized sexuality or female role infiltrating Japanese culture is hard to tell. In any case, this intricate play of seduction, power, and condemnation in this series makes it a unique and confronting exhibition, from which no doubt every viewer will take home a different opinion. 
Note: This exhibition is only open on Saturdays

article_1715

All Tied Up in Rope

In 1998, Takashi Homma’s exhibition “Tokyo Suburbia” was held at Parco Gallery in Shibuya, and an award-winning photo book of the same name was subsequently published. The photos currently showing at Gallery 360° are from this same quietly unsettling series of suburban Tokyo and its strange inhabitants, focusing in particular on suburban residential areas and its kids.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/takashihommatokyo1.jpg" alt="Takashi Homma, from the 'Tokyo' series" class="imgcaption" title="Photo courtesy of Gallery 360°" width="518" />
One particular photograph of a circular, Sci-Fi-esque building with a large sign “Hotel UFO” hovering above it sets the tone of the exhibition. Homma presents suburban Tokyo as an alien town — strangely familiar but somehow not quite right. Identical rows of “Western-style” modern Japanese houses line artificial paths, their fences mimicking American suburban residences. The people who populate these scenes are young, but their faces remain expressionless. Tinged in milky blue and orange, these images look as though they have been shot at twilight, enhancing the hazy opaqueness that feels impenetrable. It is as if the (Hotel) UFO landed in suburban Japan and shrouded it in a fog of ennui and numbing complacency, rendering the inhabitants blank and even a little alien-looking themselves.
There is one full-length shot of a girl in school uniform that I am particularly referring to here with a crouching posture and spoon-shaped eyes, but the other subjects — a hip high-school student wearing sneakers and his baggy pants low, young pale children staring into the camera or immersed in an arcade video game — also show the same dazed expression tinged with a hint of frailty, as if floating in a sterile world of hastily-built concrete box buildings and artificiality, waiting for it to all crumble at any moment.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/takashihommatokyo2.jpg" alt="Takashi Homma, from the 'Tokyo' series" class="imgcaption" title="Photo courtesy of Gallery 360°" width="518" />
Is Homma suggesting that this alien sense of existence is somehow the product of the ominous blanket of Westernization? One image shows a young man with dyed blond hair sitting at a McDonald’s, his face covered by the company logo on the window. Another gazes down on crumpled burger wrappers in a parking lot, again revealing the unmistakable golden arches. The atmosphere that Homma is portraying here is that of many suburban towns near Tokyo — a placeless and nameless modern space that lacks any sign of the old, “traditional” Japanese features like tiled roofs or the iconic red square backpacks (randoseru) worn by elementary schoolchildren. And yet, despite the sense of modernization having swept through the town as though overnight, and the subsequent seeming loss of roots details like this the empty wrapper or the deserted residential streets imbue these scenes with a certain calm, even if it is desolate.
While it is all too easy to point an accusing finger at such social phenomena, it seems as if Homma has deliberately tried to emphasize these aspects in conveying the general unease of his portrayed suburbia. Although these pictures were taken over the fifteen years from 1993 to 2007, the images are timeless and still a very relevant meditation on a side of Tokyo that has become so “normal” that its strangeness if often overlooked. In revisiting this series for this exhibition, Homma’s portrayal of Tokyo’s suburbia invites the viewer to ponder yet another hidden space in Tokyo’s vast expanses that is worthy of further consideration.

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A Fog of Ennui

<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/manakonishi1.jpg" alt="Mana Konishi, 'Dark Lake' (2007) H.162 x W.194 cm, Oil on Canvas" class="imgcaption" title="Photo: Keizo Kioku. Courtesy of the artist and Arataniurano." width="518" />
Your paintings have a very distinctive atmosphere. When did you first begin working on the current series featuring people within natural landscapes?
I had been experimenting with these kinds of paintings since I was a graduate student in Baltimore, US. I started consciously working on this theme from 2003, after I came back to Japan. I am often told that my paintings have a distinct mood, but I don’t really think about these things when I paint, it just happens.
What is the process that you take when doing a painting?
My paintings are largely based on photographs. I used to create an image in my head of the kind of painting I want before going out to find places that fit this image. But recently, I find a location first, and try to get inspiration from the place itself when I actually go there to take pictures. I always choose locations that have a certain appeal and draw me in, but I don’t really have a clear image of what sort of painting it will become while I shoot. It’s only after I come back home and stare at the printed pictures that I see a potential painting, and this image becomes solidified when I started putting paint to canvas. I try not to dwell so much on technical aspects such as colour or shadows and so on.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/manakonishi2.jpg" alt="Mana Konishi, 'Joudo 2' (2007) H.162 W.194 cm, Oil on Canvas" class="imgcaption" title="Photo: Keizo Kioku. Courtesy of the artist and Arataniurano." width="518" />
Do you have a certain criteria when choosing a location?
Recently I’m choosing dynamic, out-of-the-ordinary places. Often I hear about a good place from a friend, or I’ll come across a striking photo in a magazine or something, and decide to go. I try to choose locations that don’t reveal their historical backgrounds or localities, and don’t specify “where” the place actually is. Sometimes I capture the mood that I want to paint on camera perfectly, while other times I trim the printed photographs to artificially create a “nowhere in particular”.
I once did a series based on photographs of traditional Japanese gardens. Japanese gardens are elaborate “natural” constructions made by humans, almost like a theatrical set, so in that sense it’s the complete opposite to the natural landscapes in the current exhibition. That series was based on the idea that it would be interesting to paint very prim traditional gardens using bright, artificial colours, like candy.
Judging from your paintings, it seems like you’ve been to a lot of interesting places…
Yes, especially recently. I often go to a place and stay for 2 nights or so, and shoot photos. I like traveling for photographs because I have something to look forward to when I get home. I also travel for pleasure, but I end up location-hunting anyway, since I’m already there and it saves paying for another trip.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/manakonishi3.jpg" alt="Mana Konishi, 'Awesome Rocks' (2007) H.194 x W.194 cm, Oil on Canvas" class="imgcaption" title="Photo: Koichi Hayakawa. Courtesy of the artist and Arataniurano." width="518" />
Your paintings often feature people. Is there any significance in this?
By featuring familiar objects such as people or huts, for example, they act as a bridge between the different worlds of “this side” and “the other side”. If there aren’t any people to look at in the paintings they merely become grand landscapes, but what I really want to do is to portray an ordinary person in an extraordinary setting. That way, the characters act as touchstones to draw the viewer in, so that they can connect to the paintings more easily. Also, I usually choose one or two people in the photos that I take – often tourists – to paint in, but I try to make sure that it’s not evident why they are in that particular location, so as not to restrict the interpretation or meaning of the painting. I’m not too picky with the characters I choose, especially as they often have their backs to the audience or I don’t draw their faces in, but I realized that I seem to subconsciously be choosing people my age. You don’t see any children or elderly in my paintings.
What other sources of inspiration do you have?
Right now I’m really into the artist Peter Doig. When I see his paintings I realize that anything can be used as inspiration for an artwork. For example, Doig saw the film Friday the 13th, and he was inspired to do a painting based on the film that night. Of course, the finished piece had little to do with the film itself, and that in itself is quite interesting. I feel comforted by the fact that artists like him draw inspiration from almost anything.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/manakonishi4.jpg" alt="Mana Konishi, 'Mountain Person' (2007) H.162 x W.162 cm, Oil on Canvas" class="imgcaption" title="Photo: Keizo Kioku. Courtesy of the artist and Arataniurano." width="518" />
What are you working on right now?
Recently I’ve been wanting to paint portraits and focus on people more. I used to paint a lot of portraits when I was a student, and I feel like going back to that. I tend to get ideas by painting and sketching a lot, so right now I’m drawing a lot of small paintings based on anything I can lay my hands on – often old photographs lying around that I rejected for past works. I did a small series of portraits as an experiment, and again, these are all based on photographs. They are portraits that can only be captured on film: the moment someone blinks, or a blurry image of someone shaking their head. I’m experimenting with different coloured paints as well, and my favorite right now is fluorescent pink! I like it because it’s so vivid, and I’ve actually used it a couple of times with the paintings in the current exhibition as well. I also have silver paint but I’ve yet to use it, as I’m not sure how. Although I still love painting nature and will continue to do so, right now I feel like painting people.
Your exhibition “nowhere in particular” is being held at two venues, Arataniurano and Dai-ichi Life Gallery. What should visitors especially look out for when seeing your paintings?
My paintings look very photorealistic on the flyers or on the web, but the actual paintings are quite large and painterly. I’m often told that my paintings are almost like photos, but if you see them up close, they are quite rough. I am a big fan of paintings, so I want to maintain this painterly feel to my works as much as possible. The Dai-ichi Life Gallery is showing my larger works, so it would be great if people go to both exhibitions if they can.
English Translation: Lena Oishi

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Paintings of “Nowhere in Particular”

<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jaumeplensa1.jpg" alt="Installation View" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="Photo: Moriyoshi Sugaya" />
The title “Silent Voices” seems somewhat paradoxical. Can you explain? 
I have always been working with words. My main theory is that they are constantly around us. We use words as an extension of our bodies, to expand our thoughts and ideas to the external world. So the body is a very noisy organism. The title “Silent Voices” comes from the idea that what we feel is silent is actually not. Our bodies are constantly creating noise – like a perpetual voice in conversation. But it creates this voice in a silent attitude. 
The exhibition features stone bodies covered in text, sitting on the ground. Is the text flowing out from the body itself? Or perhaps it has been placed on the surface from an external force?
The sculptures in this exhibition have lists inscribed on them – the craters of Venus, parts of the body, and so on. These are metaphors for the concept that life is permanently tattooing our bodies. Every second, every moment, our experiences are tattooed on our skin. But the ink is transparent. And then, suddenly you may encounter somebody who can read it and will give you feedback. 
I chose to list the names of the craters of Venus on one of the sculptures because Venus is associated with sensuality and erotic ideas, and I have always liked this planet. The craters of Venus all have female names, while the mountains are named after male divinities.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jaumeplensa2.jpg" alt="Jaume Plensa, 'The Three Graces Ⅳ' (2005) Polyester resin, Stainless steel 120 x 158 x 206cm" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo: Moriyoshi Sugaya" /><img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jaumeplensa3.jpg" alt="Jaume Plensa, 'Tokyo Soul' (2007) Stainless steel 223 x 245 x 255cm" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo: Moriyoshi Sugaya" /> 
This sensuality or eroticism is not visually evident though; many of the sculptures look the same at first glance. 
The sculptures are all self-portraits. The meaning of the tattoos inscribed on your skin are never clear. I like this idea of a strange kind of silence, where you get all this information from a single vessel. Although they may look the same, the meaning of each sculpture is totally different. The visitors of this exhibition should spend a little time reaching beyond the surface appearance and search for the meanings. 
The bodies are sitting in fetal positions. Are they being protective, resisting the external world? 
No. They are expressing an attitude of looking or facing ‘inside’. Many of my works pursue this idea that people should face their interior selves rather than the external world. We firstly have to understand what is happening within ourselves in order to conceive the universal. The fetal position – the position that we take inside our mother’s womb – expresses this idea most evidently. This is not a form of resistance. Rather, the position allows us to be more pliant to our interior selves. And if we look deep enough, we eventually touch upon a collective memory, or the memory of others. We are all part of one general memory. I think that people will feel comfort in my work because in expressing myself, I am also talking about them. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jaumeplensa4.jpg" alt="Jaume Plensa, 'Self-Portrait LXVII' (2007) Mixed media on paper, 41 x 30cm" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo: Moriyoshi Sugaya" />The photographs in this exhibition are the only pieces that aren’t modeled on your own body. What is the concept behind this piece? 
Apart from self-portraits, I like to also create ‘anonymous’ self-portraits. I feel that when you see portraits, they conjure up associations or memories of somebody else. For example, you may associate an old man that you see with your own grandfather, or a kid with your son. These strangers’ portraits act as mirrors; however, instead of reflecting your own image, they reflect an image of another. This is a metaphor for the globality or universality that runs through my work. You are an example of your community. 
Is there a difference in your approach to the large public works that you create, compared to these smaller artworks shown at galleries? 
The works at these exhibitions are made for myself, and for the gallery space. In contrast, you need a completely different attitude when creating works for public spaces because they are site-specific. I try to penetrate that context and adapt it to my work; in other words, I try to create a fusion between my interests and the interests of the site. Artworks created in the studio can be more personal. However, with public works, you have to become a mediator between yourself and others. 
Your works can be seen in various places around the world, including Daikanyama Address, Hamamatsu, Niigata etc in Japan. Each country or location must have different spatial characteristics. To what extent do you cater to these differences? 
It’s true that each location is unique, but I don’t think that humans are so different wherever you are. Japanese people seem to be very respectful in public spaces. Other societies might react differently to certain architectural or spatial structures. But the human desire for beauty, or their wish to transform their everyday life into something more poetic, is the same wherever you are in the world. Fundamentally, we are all the same. I meet and collaborate with many people through working in public spaces around the world, but I always feel that we have more in common than differences. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jaumeplensa5.jpg" alt="Jaume Plensa, 'Glassman V' (2007) Stainless steel, 30 x 250 x 90cm" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo: Moriyoshi Sugaya" /><img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jaumeplensa6.jpg" alt="Jaume Plensa, 'EN TI III (edition number HC)' (2004) Bronze, oil and wick, 9 x 19 x 28cm" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo: Moriyoshi Sugaya" /> 
This is your second exhibition in Japan. What would you like Japanese audience to take from “Silent Voices”? 
My previous exhibition also featured this idea of the body, but it focused on its ‘absence’. That was 7 or 8 years ago. The concept this time is very similar: the body as a container for words, for silence, for vibrations. I hope that the visitors will recognize their own portraits through my self-portraits, and that the works will help them to look ‘inside’ in order to understand the world around them. It is a silent exhibition, amidst the noisy era that we are living in today. Hopefully it will help visitors to face their own words and silences, and listen to the noises emitted from their own bodies. It should be a place to think, to be silent, or even just to relax. 
Jaume Plensa, thank you very much for your time.

The Sounds of Silence – An Interview with Jaume Plensa

<img alt=" " src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/01.jpg" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="Photo by Natsu Tanimoto"/>
The upcoming 10th GEISAI marks the 5th anniversary of the festival. Have there been any changes since GEISAI #1? 
<MURAKAMI> This 10th festival is a culmination of all the work we’ve done in the past 5 years. When we started GEISAI, there was a huge gap in the art competition scene after commercial sponsor-led competitions such as Parco’s URBANART ended shortly before. We initially began GEISAI to supplement that gap, but then we began noticing all these other little holes in the scene, so we’ve basically been running around trying to fill them as we go. The past few festivals have especially tried to raise awareness of the problems that the Japanese contemporary art scene have with art markets. So I guess the focus of GEISAI has shifted from being solely a competition in the last few years. 
Do you prefer to focus on the competition aspect? 
I mean, the fact remains that unless we discover new artists, there is no future. It’s just that recently I’ve come to realize that there is no foundation set up for these artists to survive in. The Tomio Koyama Gallery and Yamamoto Gendai have been scouting GEISAI participants, inviting them to show and sell their work at their galleries since the beginning, but these are rare cases. There aren’t many galleries in Tokyo, and even fewer Japanese collectors. Some galleries have specific events for unearthing upcoming artists, but with no specific goal in mind. They’re like, “Look, here’s your stage, the rest is up to you”. I’ve tried to accommodate this problem of “what next?” because I can’t just ignore it, but in doing so, all these problems related to making art in Japan suddenly became clear. Reforming is tough. 
Any highlights in this upcoming festival? 
One dramatic change is that we modified the presentation to accommodate the audience this time around. We tried very hard to prioritize the visitors in organizing everything, from the entrance, the booths, the stage set-up, and the salon. As I said before, discovering new artists and holding an art market simultaneously is very difficult. But this time, even though GEISAI has always been in the red, we’ve decided to spend a hell of a lot of money and try everything that we can possibly imagine. No worrying about the consequences this time! So frankly, I think GEISAI #10 will be much louder than previous GEISAI. Of course, for those expecting to see works hanging from a white wall, it will still look very messy. 
What do you mean by “messy”…? 
When you say art, people automatically imagine the NY style of having very few works spaced out on a white wall. But the booths at GEISAI are 1.8 x 1.8 meters, and young artists pack in 10 or 20 of their works in that tiny space. So when you cram 2 rows of 80 booths in a single hall, I guess it looks more like a flea market than an art space. That said, western visitors are attracted to this sort of strange atmosphere. So bearing this in mind, we’d like to turn this messiness into a positive. Of course, us professionals can pick out the good stuff regardless, so no worries there. In any case, I think that this sort of Asian Chaos is GEISAI’s specialty. 
At this year’s GEISAI #9, there seemed to be a lack of photographers in competition. Is there a bias in what sort of artworks are shown at the festival? 
That’s a good question. At one stage, around the 3rd festival, there were many photographic entries. The whole place was full of photos. The reason for the lack of photographers may be firstly because no photographer has won a prize at GEISAI in the past, and secondly, because recently there is a surge in competitions that specialize in photography. In other words, not many photographers attempt to become pro at GEISAI anymore, which is why you see this bias in the artworks displayed. So we’re thinking of taking a break after this coming GEISAI, in order to poise ourselves for a rebirth. 
What sort of rebirth?
Until now, GEISAI was an exhibition cum competition, but we’re thinking of boosting the entertainment aspect of it. And maybe emphasizing the peculiarities of Asian art to the Western audience. 
Another large art market similar to GEISAI is DESIGN FESTA. What do you think are the differences between these two festivals? 
I’d say it’s that we have a particular perspective, and a defined target. In terms of perspective, the theme for our competition has always been “what is the international standard of art?” In other words, trying to figure out what the basis of value is these days. And our target is to explore what the “art market” is, and can become. DESIGN FESTA truly takes the form of a flea market, and a very powerful one at that. In a sense, they’ve already reached their goal. Do what you like, buy and sell as you please, and live however you want. But GEISAI tries to find things of value within such a structure. 
Some GEISAI participants may not feel that the two festivals are all that different. But GEISAI tries to create a socially acceptable art environment, whereby in offering objective criticisms of the artwork, we make sure that the event doesn’t end in mere self-satisfaction for the participants. Also, we invite collectors and curators from overseas who have a particular status within the art world. Although small in number, these powerful people can offer participants an opportunity for their work to be displayed in their galleries. But again, recently I’m beginning to wonder whether there is even a need for a “basis of value” in Japan. Without a smooth economic flow, there is no way for people to make art all their lives, which is why I am trying now to create an art industry of sorts. 
So I guess this is your task for the future. 
The Japanese music industry also changed dramatically during the 1960s and 70s, and eventually exploded in the 90s. What used to be a poor man’s job, living in a 4 1/2 mat apartment, blew up into an industry of billionaires. I think that if we keep on with this structural reform, art can also turn into a large industry. 
Do you have any plans to take GEISAI abroad anytime soon? 
After GEISAI #10, we’ll be taking a 6 month break. During that time we’ll focus on rediscovering the ‘real’ of the art market, and reestablishing the standard of values in Japan and Asia, and of the art market. Bringing people to GEISAI from around the world is one of my goals. We’ll also try to figure out how to go about the language barriers. 
Mr. Takashi Murakami, Thank you so much for your time! 
 
 
Visit the official GEISAI website <a href="http://www.geisai.net">here</a> 
 
 
(Translation: Lena Oishi)

GEISAI Interview with Takashi Murakami

<img alt="'040403'" src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi1.jpg" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="Photo courtesy of Tokyo Gallery" />
Tell us about this exhibition.
Speaking loosely, the theme is about ourselves and others. Communications technology has developed a great deal and yet there is a sense of dilution in our society, that people are getting further and further away from each other; I have deliberately made a paradoxical use of ‘nakedness’ as a way of giving expression to that aspect of our society. I think that people were originally social animals and so it’s natural for us to want to be connected to others. While technology has been developed to cater to that desire, it has in fact been the cause of this distancing between people. 
<img alt=" " src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi2-5.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" />For example, with my work that has been nominated for the <a href="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/event/2006/BA60.en">10th Okamoto Taro Contemporary Art Award</a>, I consciously chose to make it out of individual, separate tiles as a metaphor for the divisions in our modern, rationalized society: it somehow conveys the sense of calculatedness on the surface which suppresses the emotions and humanness in the background. In among the naked figures, seemingly all tangled up together, by having one lay his or her hand on the next person, I wanted to convey that desire for connection. 
 
You have been living in New York for a long time, having moved there in 1991. Has your experience of being abroad affected your work?
Yes, it has. America is a very individualistic country and unlike in Japan, there isn’t much ‘indirect’ self-expression; there is a very clear distinction between ‘oneself’ and ‘others’. On top of that, I didn’t speak any English so there was a period when I felt a really strong sense of distance from people, and it’s that sentiment that’s being reflected in my work. But I create work based on the same theme regardless of whether I’m in Japan or America. They are both major cities, so I guess I always feel this sense of alienation. For example, you can’t often see the faces of the naked people in my work, and I do that to convey the anonymity of life in the big cities. There is one photo with many naked people standing, which is actually the first photo I took as part of this series. The idea came to me when I was on the train on my way into work, and I suddenly started to wonder what it would be like if everyone around me were naked. While they’re not as bad as in Japan, trains during morning rush hour in New York are pretty crowded, and everybody stands there looking like they’re in a bad mood. I thought it would be interesting to express this kind of unnatural closeness with nakedness. 
<img alt="'110101'" src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi2.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo courtesy of Tokyo Gallery" /><img alt="'090105'" src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi3.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo courtesy of Tokyo Gallery" /> 
How do you go about making your works? It must be really difficult to get so many models to pose together for you.
It’s really difficult (laughs). The shoot always takes around 3 hours, and we work on two or three variations, but I do a lot of painstaking planning beforehand. The film for the large format camera that I use is expensive so I can’t just take photos here and there without thinking; there are a lot of models involved as well, so I take the photos after I have made sketches and thought out the composition. My work portrays intimately entangled human bodies and sometimes it’s difficult to create this effect by myself, so I get help from some sculptor friends who have a lot of experience with three-dimensional expression. Perhaps it doesn’t show when you look at the photos, but there are in fact two or three layers of people piled up on top of each other and the people at the bottom are being squashed, complaining that it hurts! I have all sorts of demands when I’m photographing: I want to ask people to move to move their arm here or there, but it’s quite hard to ask these kinds of things in that kind of a situation, don’t you think? Also, my works are not about ‘gender’, so I aim to conceal people’s private parts as much as possible. Those kind of practical issues are quite a hassle, and there are times when I wonder to myself why I put myself through so much trouble (laughs).
<img alt="'040320'" src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi4.jpg" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="Photo courtesy of Tokyo Gallery"/>
Who are the people who model for you?
The models are all volunteers. I put up flyers calling for volunteers around New York and then I interview them. Bearing the intertwined look of the works in mind, I ask for applicants to be of slim build, but sometimes these large-built, 80kg people turn up, so I get them to go at the bottom so as to bulk up the layers. By the way, for some reason, a lot of Latino people apply. In this exhibition, there are some photos that I shot in a Japanese house in Kanagawa Prefecture, but I had little success with getting Japanese models here and in the end the majority of them were foreigners. I put up the call for volunteers on a Japanese website, but as there was the word ‘naked’ in it, people would get the wrong idea and take the post down. 
Do you normally shoot in a studio?
It depends on whether the photo is colour or black and white. In general, my black and white photos are abstract, and I shoot these at a studio (which is often my own house). With my colour photos, I try to incorporate scenes from daily life in order to create a contrast between the ordinary and extraordinary. I often shoot these at friends’ houses. I also try to shoot in natural light, which is why my work on the whole is probably a little dark. 
<img alt="'050603'" src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi5.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" title="Photo courtesy of Tokyo Gallery"/>Some of the photos feature objects made of white paper. What are they?
As the theme for this series is mental instability, I used objects such as boats made of white paper as a metaphor for drifting between reality and unreality, especially in the colour photos. I’ve tried to express a boundary of sorts in a realm where the ordinariness of a normal house, and the unreality of a pile of human beings, overlap. 
Your work makes me think of the photographer <a href="http://www.i-20.com/artist.php?artist_id=19">Spencer Tunick</a>, who also takes photos featuring many naked bodies.
That’s right. However, he shoots outdoors, and the whole thing is like an event. Actually, some of the models that are in my photos have also been in his work too. It’s amazing how he can deal with so many people at a shoot. The difference between my work and his is that he intentionally tries to make people’s bodies seem ‘beautiful’ by showing it from another perspective or form. In contrast, I am more interested in the coexistence of extremes, such as the ordinary and extraordinary, beautiful and grotesque, organic and inorganic. I want people to see my work and hesitate for a second. That said, my photos don’t feature any unpleasant or grotesque images, and I try to pick models that are ‘neutral’ in terms of build and skin colour. So my photos are neutral, and yet somehow strange at the same time. 
<img alt="The butoh performance held on the opening night." src="/tablog/images/RiichiYamaguchi6.jpg" width="518" class="imgcaption" title="Photos courtesy of Tokyo Gallery" />
The Butoh dancer Yasuchika Konno performed at the opening party for this exhibition. How did this come about? 
I had seen Mr. Konno’s performance before, and was struck by how dynamic it was. It made me want to collaborate with him in some way. It turns out that Tokyo Gallery has been incorporating some sort of event at their gallery openings since the end of last year, so I thought that it would be a great opportunity to work with him. The performance featured him as a figure from one of my photos, expressing the bodily journey from death to life, and once again to death. Initially I wanted Mr. Konno to dance nude, but in the end we decided that it would be a little too ‘raw’, so he painted his body silver to symbolize his emergence from the silver printed photographs. Unfortunately I was unable to see the actual performance on the day as there were so many people… Mr. Konno also helps me out with the composition of my photographs too. 
What are your future plans?
Lately, I’ve been taking photographs of models painted white, which in some respect is directly influenced by Butoh. I plan to pursue this theme of ‘alienation’ further, but gradually incorporate experimental aspects to my work. 
Riichi Yamaguchi, thank you very much! 
 
 
(Translation: Lena Oishi, Ashley Rawlings)

Naked Alienation – An Interview with Riichi Yamaguchi

Last week, the chosen JLBs, Rob Jung (UK) and Jeremy Angelier (France), touched down in Tokyo for their whirlwind 5 day stay. Lena Oishi caught up with the jet-setting boys to find out what they’ve been up to. 
<img alt=" " src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/JLB3smallhigh.jpg" width="300" height="224" class="imgcaption floatl" />Briefly sum up what you’ve been doing in Japan. 
Rob: It’s all a blur… 
Jeremy: The first thing we did after we landed was to go and eat raw fish off a naked woman’s body*. The next day we fought sumo-wrestlers and ate chanko, visited temples, then went to a party with lots of girls. We’ve also seen maids in Akihabara and popped into a manga café. 
(* A Japanese practice called “nyotaimori” or body-sushi.) 
You’ve visited Italy, Costa Rica, both the East and West coast of the US, and Iceland so far. How do they visually compare to Tokyo? 
Jeremy: We’ve seen so many different landscapes and architecture. Iceland was like the moon. Lots of craters and vast land. New York was another world with all those skyscrapers. And then you have Tokyo… Here it’s like New York City times two, with a big spotlight on it. 
Rob: The style of New York and Tokyo are very similar, but at the street level it’s really different, especially at dusk, because the neons here are so much more intense. So much colour! Even taxis come in varying colours, for example. And those transparent umbrellas you have here reflect the neon signs and intensify everything. Tokyo is very vibrant. 
Jeremy: I felt like I was in one of those car-racing video games set in 2030 when we hit that huge highway during our drive from the airport. 
So do you think Tokyo is a futuristic city? 
Rob: Actually, it’s not as futuristic as I thought it was going to be. Oh, but you have those jet toilets here with buttons and water shooting out, that’s cool! I guess I was expecting to see many more gadgets like these. Perhaps the rest of the world is catching up? 
Jeremy, I hear you were fascinated by all the sounds in the shops. 
Jeremy: One thing that I will remember about Tokyo is the sound. It’s something I’ve never experienced before. On the street-level, people are talking into microphones everywhere… 
Rob: Those big screens on buildings have speakers as well! You don’t get that elsewhere. 
Jeremy: The traffic, people selling stuff on the street, regular people having a conversation… It’s basically a mix of very regular sounds, but I find it very distinctive. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand what they’re saying. 
Which place so far is most different to Tokyo? 
Rob: Reykjavik, Iceland. It’s so deserted. We drove for 2 hours without seeing another car. There were no trees, let alone buildings. Apparently they chopped down all the trees many years ago without planning ahead, so now it’s a very tree-less country. Sigur Rós played a free concert just a few days before we arrived, I was so upset! 
You’ve been filming and taking photographs each day to upload onto the website, right? 
Rob: Yeah, we always crack up when we watch them at the end of the day! 
Jeremy: We’re a little behind schedule so we’re actually editing footage from the last country. I guess that adds to our feeling of disorientation. We’re only in one place for 2 or 3 days, and barely learn to say ‘thank you’ before we fly off to the next country. But we still have to keep the last country in mind because at night, we have to edit the footage we took there. I think this influences the way it edit our videos… like, if we had a very traditionally ‘Japanese’ day today, and then go and edit footage from America tonight, it would probably be quite different to if we edited it there and then. 
Anything you keep in mind when filming? 
Jeremy: I try to have an idea of the video I want in mind before I begin filming. Otherwise we’ll have too much footage to go through. Also, the 55DSL website has a worldwide audience so we have to make it as ‘international’ as possible, with a universal humor. I don’t understand Rob’s sense of humor sometimes, so… 
Rob: The British humor is too hard for him! 
Jeremy – being a filmmaker back home, have you gotten any inspiration from this trip? 
Jeremy: Incidentally, before I entered this competition I had written a series of travel documentaries, so this is like a dream come true! I intend to re-visit each country in the future and make a more in-depth documentary. So this is like the teaser for my next project. 
Rob, you studied graphic design in school. What next? 
Rob: I don’t necessarily want to stick to graphics, I’m open to all things creative. Illustration, design, anything really…I only graduated last year so I’m still trying to figure it all out. And now this trip has totally thrown me off kilter! 
You’ve finished a third of your 55 day trip. Are you sick of each other yet? 
Jeremy: I don’t talk to Rob in the morning… 
Rob: The mornings are very fuzzy. 
Jeremy: I like the fact that we’re artistically very compatible. He knows things I don’t, and vice versa… 
Rob: But seriously, for the last 6 weeks or so, we’ve been together 24 hours a day. And you know what? I think we’re doing alright! 
Good luck with the rest of your trip!
Check out the 55DSL website for regular updates by the JLBs: <a href="http://www.55dsl.com/?cat=Junior%20Lucky%20Bastards&list=plugged&timeframe=recently">55DSL Junior Lucky Bastards</a>

Interview with Junior Lucky Bastards from 55DSL

Born in 1964 on the small island of Kauai, Teraoka is a 4th generation Japanese-American who paints portraits of troubled characters inspired by media and daily life. I spoke to Teraoka about cars, films, and painting on glue. 
<img alt=" " src="/tablog/images/JasonTeraoka1.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" />Your paintings have a comic book/illustration quality to them. Do you have a history of reading comic books? 
Not particularly. I do like drawings, so the solid lines in my paintings probably have that effect. I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘comic’ thing though. Maybe more animation and cartoons from television. Warner brothers, that kind of thing. Japanese animation was scarce, but my first introduction to Japanese TV was stuff like Kamen Rider and Kikaida.. Those were huge in Hawaii. They had special edition models of some of the toys in the early 70’s, with special paint on them that were only available in Hawaii. They became big collector items. 
Did you collect any? 
I didn’t get too many as a kid. I lived on a smaller island so they were even harder to obtain. But I’ve collected a lot more since I got older. I collect a lot of other stuff too. I’m pretty nostalgic-minded. 
What else do you collect? 
I’m really into old cars. I have a ’51 Chevy right now. They’re a little rustic but fun to drive. I also have an old motorcycle– a ’62 Honda. But I don’t have a huge collection of vehicles; I try to keep one at a time. After a while I sell them off and buy something new. It’s a fun hobby, I like working on machines. The Chevy is the only car I have right now, so I drive it everyday unless it breaks down. The roads in Hawaii are really bad. 
I heard that you’re also influenced by films, especially Hitchcock. 
I’m a fan of his camera-work. I think his influence shows up in my paintings now and then. He’s really great at creating scenes of tension: there are these really drawn-out scenes of moments when things are about to happen, moments of apprehension. I like how films in the 50s and 60s have different time-frames where things take a while to evolve. TV and movies now are very ‘sudden’. 
<img alt=" "src="/tablog/images/JasonTeraoka2.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" /><img alt=" "src="/tablog/images/JasonTeraoka3.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" /> 
Are there any specific films that you like? 
Not really, but certain scenes stick out in my head. I come across them randomly too. Hitchcock is probably the only director that I’ve actually sought out and watched. My favorite Hitchcock films are Vertigo and Rear Window. Growing up, there were a lot of reruns of 50s movies on TV, and I guess they permeated my subconscious in a way. The Technicolor and the lighting are so different from the starkness of contemporary films. 
Do you watch contemporary films, and if so, do they influence your work also? 
I love watching films in general. But I’m not one of those crazy fans either. Punch Drunk Love (2002, Paul Thomas Anderson) is a recent film that really stood out. I like that sort of dark humor, and that throwback to film noir. I was pleasantly surprised. It’s stuck in my head ever since. Lately I’ve been too busy to see new films.
The paintings in your ‘Neighbor’ series are similar in tone and colour. Do the characters all exist in the same world? 
No, it varies. People who I see on the street can end up in my paintings. I’ll catch a glimpse of somebody while I’m driving, and somehow they’ll stick in my head and show up when I sit down to paint later in the evening. So my paintings refer to all sorts of things. I like looking at old photos too, from the 1930s-60s. Family photos, things you find at swap-meets, stuff like that. I like everything to filter through my mind before I paint them. I don’t really have a clear distinction between realistic and fantasy-based characters, which is probably why you see the Frankenstein and vampires in the 88 series. I used to draw a lot of character and cartoon-based figures, so maybe it’s a throwback to that too. 
Do you sketch before you paint? 
Not at all. My style is pretty immediate. I paint on wet glue, and that can cure really quickly – the texture keeps changing. So I work really quickly on the basic structure and the figure. As it starts drying, I can work on the details. One painting in the ‘Neighbor’ series can take up to 8 hours to complete sometimes, but the subtle skin tones need to be worked out really quickly before the glue/paint dries. The clothing and the background are solid, so I can do those later. 
Painting on glue is an unusual method… 
It was something that I discovered by accident. A few years ago, I became really frustrated with this painting I was working on. So I took a bottle of glue, squirted it all over, and applied more paint on top of that. I liked what it was doing, so I kept developing this method. The wet glue absorbs the acrylic paints in a certain way, so I feel like I can get a nice skin quality. I guess it’s a psychological thing too – I can really ‘feel’ the skin texture as I’m painting. As it starts to dry, it repels. That’s how I get the washes in the background: I get this foamy mix, and as I paint it over it separates, creating these interesting effects. I enjoy the way it changes as I’m working – it keeps things lively.
<img alt=" "src="/tablog/images/JasonTeraoka4.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" /><img alt=" "src="/tablog/images/JasonTeraoka5.jpg" width="257" class="imgcaption floatl" /> 
Do the characters in the 88 paintings correspond to one another? 
When they’re all up there together, I feel like they create a dialogue. It’s like a storyboard, even though I work on each individual painting separately, and they all exist in independent realms. They all have a timeless quality though. The clothing is from the 50s and 60s, and I never paint cell-phones or contemporary gadgets that reveal a specific time. I also think that the themes are universal. A few of my paintings are based on my anger towards things I see on the news, for example, or just general feelings of frustration towards society that I need to vent about. 
Are they political? Critiques on society? 
They’re not political, but I try to ‘feel’ for people. I’m very compassionate. I mean, ‘compassionate’ is such a big word, but I try to commiserate with people. People have a misconception of Hawaii being a paradise, but there are many problems under the surface. There’s a huge homeless population, and a serious crystal meth epidemic. It’s out of control. But there’s a humor to my paintings too. My favorite form of humor is those that can make you laugh and cry at the same time. It doesn’t happen very often, but I aim for that. 
The paintings look like moments from a narrative. Have you ever actually drawn a comic, with a story? 
I don’t think I have the attention span for it! I like the idea though. Actually, I’ve always fantasized about making a film. I’ll see things happen, or I’ll walk by these random situations and I think to myself: ‘Wow, that would be great in a movie’. I mean, I can’t believe some of the people I see when walking down the street. If I wrote those guys into a film, nobody would believe me! Ultimately, I’d love to make a film, but I don’t know if it will ever happen. When I paint my characters, in the back of my mind I’m always thinking that it’s a character for the film that will never be made. Or the movie that is ‘life’ itself. 
My image of Hawaii is blue skies, bright sun… It must be nice. 
Well, sometimes I feel like I’m constantly fighting that bright sun. It can get a bit much. This must sound ridiculous to you! But seriously, when there’s so little change in season, the blue sky can get a little tedious. 
Will you be coming back to Japan? 
Yes, hopefully very soon! 
 
Jason Teraoka, thank you for talking to us! 
All images from: Jason Teraoka, ‘Neighbor’. Acrylic, ink and archival glue on paper; 20 x 16 cm each (88 pieces), 2005-2006. Courtesy of the Hara Museum of Contemporary Art.

Interview with Jason Teraoka

The works come from two of his working series, “Flowers” and “Screens”, both of which are created through direct contact of object, light and metallic photo paper (in “Flowers” the object is Plumbago flowers, in “Screens” it is light itself). Thus, Welling eliminates the camera from the photographic method.
The “Flowers” series consists of pink, blue and yellow silhouettes of the Plumbago flower. Like a painting, the long thin stems and clusters of petals are carefully composed to create carefully balanced asymmetry. The gradated colours bleed into each other, occasionally fading into the impossibly white background. The flatness of the image connotes spray-stencil art or printed fabric. In “Screens” (only 1 piece is shown here), the entire surface is orange, with occasional sweeps of yellow that give the image a warm glow.
Through the elimination of the camera, the spontaneity that defines the photographic medium is absent from Welling’s works. The air of unreality about the way that the flowers poise in the frame is a little uncanny, and maybe even mundane when compared to, for example, digitally enhanced graphic images which they almost resemble. But then, the reality of the fact that these are indeed ‘photographs’ drags you back and forces you, once again, to confront the images in front of you.

James Welling: “New Photographs”

I had no clue where he was taking me as it was a last-minute decision on his part, but I am glad to say that I was pleasantly surprised as soon as I saw the first photograph.
Honjyo specializes in taking photographs of real people, real events, real cities, and magically portraying them as if they are dioramas. Most photographs seem to be taken from high above, looking down on the tiny cars and people (hence the title “Small Planet”). From the stillness of the picture, the vibrant colours and the composition, I immediately assumed that I was looking at photographs of some immaculate model village that somebody had created. Even after my friend informed me that they were indeed ‘real’, I couldn’t help but push my face right up to the frame and scrutinize the tiny details … maybe as an attempt to find some sort of evidence that will prove its sincerity, or else to pick out elements that are too ‘real’ to be fake – swaying trees, shadows, hints of movement. 
In his newly released photograph book, also titled “Small Planet” (this exhibition is being held in conjunction with its release), Honjyo states that his photographs ‘trick’ the eye by showing the world in ways that we are not accustomed to. In other words, the pictures are tweaked in such a way that our mind automatically assumes the ‘fakeness’ of the landscapes. Apparently, there are other photographers overseas who adopt this technique, but presently, Honjo is the pioneer in its field in Japan. Asked whether he takes ‘normal’ photographs as well (for work, perhaps), he replied that, so far, he has been lucky enough to be able to sustain work focusing on this particular style. 
After spending far more time than necessary in the small gallery, and flipping through the “Small Planet” book that my friend purchased there, we decided that the photographs work better as small pieces, rather than blown up (as some were in the gallery). When too big, the illusion is lost. However, if kept compact, the uncanny simplicity of the pictures entices the viewer to peer inside the frame into its seemingly artificial other-world, only to realize that the magical ‘small planet’ they are staring at is none other than our own mortal world.

Naoki Honjyo: “Small Planet” Photography Exhibition

Hanging rolls and shikishi with manga-like pictures in garish colours decorate the walls of the store, amongst the denim and accessories on sale. However, being in a shop, unfortunately these artworks merely give the impression of generic posters, or pages taken from the latest Diesel catalogue (although of course, this may indeed be the intention). I was oddly attracted though to the blow-up ‘Noh-men Ken’ (‘Noh-masked Dog’) near the entrance – an unapologetically trashy mix of Japan, pop, and fun. Certainly worth dropping by if you happen to be in the area, but bear in mind that the place is primarily a shop so you might get the occasional odd glances from shop assistants or patrons (not that it matters though – it’s there to be looked at, after all!).

Diesel Denim Gallery Art Exhibition “Japan”

Eight televisions and one large screen, each showing various selections of 5-30 minute videos on loop, have been installed in the Tokyo Wonder Site gallery in Shibuya. Visitors can freely grab a seat and headphones in front of their screen of choice and either wait for the beginning of the next video, or try to watch one from the middle. 
Video art tends to be rather abstract. Couple this with the fact that most of these videos are in languages other than Japanese/English, and that some include complex narrative and political/social/existential discussions. Needless to say, the experience left me a little disoriented. 
I found that direct, humorous videos that have immediate impact – such as the image of a man wearing boxing gloves eating spaghetti in Takayuki Hino’s “Boxing Man”, or the Chinese propaganda-ish animations of Andry Mohamad’s hilarious “Just Do It” – were more effective, and stood out among the room full of TV screens. I left with the impression that a proper screening of the films from start to finish in a cinema, or a projection room in a gallery perhaps, would have been a more desirable setting for these works than randomly watching 2, 3 minutes of a video and switching to the next screen, as I was prone to do here. A little unfortunate, as the content is definitely interesting and worth checking out if you’re into short videos. 
While you’re at it, I recommend checking out Hitoshi Nishiyama’s “White Out” installation (free) across the hall.

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