With humidity levels sitting at a 94%, it would seem rather apt that the Tokyo premiere of Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s <a href="https://jfac.jp/en/culture/events/e-asia2019-fever-room/">Fever Room</a> would happen during rainy season, the weather itself almost emulating the director’s native Thailand.
Part of <a href="https://asia2019.jfac.jp/en/">Asia in Resonance 2019</a> – a festival that aims to promote cross-cultural artistic exchange between ASEAN countries and Japan – Fever Room first debuted in Yokohama two years ago, but was brought to Tokyo Metropolitan Theater this year for a limited four-day run. 
Already an accomplished director with major film festivals under his belt, Weerasethakul decided for this particular work to delve into the world of performance arts. The result is an innovative film/art crossover that blends feature film and installation work.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Fever-Room-1.jpeg" alt="Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 'Fever Room'" title="Photo: Kick the Machine Films" width="518" height="333" class="imgcaption" />
While Weerasethakul simply describes Fever Room as a film, it is clear from the outset that this is a work that cannot be so easily defined. He manages to build suspense before guests have even entered the theatre. Once admitted to the lobby area, notices inform guests that they will be admitted into the Playhouse in order of ticket number and that they will not be allowed to leave for the 90-minute duration of the performance. Latecomers will not be admitted.
After being led through a series of dimly lit corridors and into a darkened room, guests are directed to sit in on bleacher-style benches or on cushions on the floor. The Emergency Exit sign is switched off so that the room becomes pitch black, and the film commences. 
Engulfed in darkness, Fever Room seems to be an exploration of the fine line that exists between dreams and reality; the foggy moment when conscious thoughts give way to those deep beneath the surface. Viewers watch as two people lie next to each other in a hospital room recounting their dreams, only to realise they are explaining the same one. 
Almost Lynchian in nature, the imagery is minimalistic, and despite its simple subject matter, arguably unsettling. We are shown a town by the river; a close-up of dogs playing; trees rustling in the wind. Simple images with no context – as if the viewers themselves have been transported into someone else’s dreams or memories. 
“You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you? You always wind up right in the middle of what’s going on,” Leonardo DiCaprio mused as the lead character in Inception, the 2010 science fiction action film written and directed by Christopher Nolan. And while on the surface there are virtually no similarities between Weerasethakul’s work and Nolan’s Hollywood blockbuster, this particular line certainly rings true. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Fever-Room-2.jpeg" alt="Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 'Fever Room'" title="Photo: Kick the Machine Films" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" />
Throughout Fever Room, viewers are dropped in and out of scattered scenes from the protagonist’s dreams. As we travel further into deep sleep, an extra cinema screen floats down from the top of ceiling, along with two more at either side of the room. Fully cocooned in imagery and sound, the audience watches on as they are transported to a cave, venturing deeper down into darkness. In the cave, a man with a flashlight animates the story taking place in front of us as if to emulate primitive storytelling.
Light flickers in the darkness and then dreams become reality in Weerasethakul’s masterful finale. Throughout the performance, the audience has naturally assumed it has been staring at screen against a back wall. This has not been the case. A curtain is removed and we realise we are in fact sitting on the stage of the Tokyo Metropolitan Theatre. 
The entire theatre stretches out in front of us, and at that moment dry ice is pumped into the vast cavernous room. Through the thick fog, a high-powered projector sends streams of light racing through the theatre at incredible speed, creating circular motions that transport us into a tunnel of light. The audience, which had been firmly rooted in reality and watching a dream on a screen, is now fully immersed in a dream of its own – one that is disintegrating before its eyes. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Fever-Room-3.jpeg" alt="Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 'Fever Room'" title="Photo: Kick the Machine Films" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" />
With a crushing dark ambient soundscape not dissimilar to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCPdEscHyBo">Lustmord</a>, and a visual climax not dissimilar to the credits of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VROyZ8IuYhk">Akira</a>, Fever Room reaches its crescendo in spectacular fashion. It leaves the viewer fully satisfied, but also wondering if the film work from the start could stand up in its own right. Probably not. But that’s okay. This was a performance piece designed to start slow and end big, with both mediums of the installation relying on each other in equal measure.
Over the last decade, Japan has been one of the leading countries to consistently support Weerasethakul’s career path as a visual artist, offering awards, major installations and funding. Let’s hope this support continues, for it is clear that this is an artist who not only wants to challenge what type of films are made today: He wants to challenge the concept of cinema itself.

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Fever Room

<img class="imgcaption floatl" src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Bhutanese-Masks-2.png" alt="Masks of Guru Tshengyed Cham ©National Museum of Bhutan" width="257" height="373" />
With 19.73 million foreign visitors last year alone, Japan’s tourism industry has never been stronger, and these figures are set to rise in the run-up to the 2020 Olympics. An increasing number of tourists, however, isn’t always a good thing. Just this May, Koh Tachai – an island off the west coast of Thailand – was officially closed to tourists for fears of irreversible damage to the island’s coral and ecosystem. As far as tourism goes, there is a fine line between wanting to promote your country, and ruining it in the process.
One country that has always been acutely aware of the very real threat of tourism to its culture and environment is the Kingdom of Bhutan – a landlocked nation at the eastern end of the Himalayas bordering both China and India. By placing certain restrictions on how you travel to the country, it manages to maintain its cultural integrity – ensuring tourists get to see the real Bhutan, not a diluted version packaged and sold for the mass market.
Bhutan is firmly rooted off the backpacker trail, ensuring that only the most enthusiastic and determined travellers actually visit. (Visitors must either be guests of the government or on an approved travel programme.) Given the limited number of people who have been able to experience Bhutan for themselves, the current exhibition at the Ueno Royal Museum makes a concerted effort to educate about the country’s vibrant cultural history whilst celebrating 30 years of diplomatic relations between Japan and the Bhutan. Aptly titled The Bhutan Exhibition – Hint to Happiness, it is a vibrant mix of art, clothing and religious artefacts from the Kingdom.
<img class="imgcaption" src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Bhutanese-Symbols.png" alt="Cymbal ©National Museum of Bhutan" width="518" height="319" />
The first thing that strikes you about this exhibition that manages to cross the boundaries between art, travel and history is the colour – yellows, reds, blues and greens provide an underlying theme throughout the collection. Cosmology and astrology play a large role in this colour palette. According to cosmology, the combining of the four essentials (fire, wind, water and earth) created a new form, the human body, with these five elements shaping the foundation of the Bhutanese indigenous medicine. In this context, the colour red is designated to fire, green to wind, white to water, yellow to earth and blue to space. With regards to astrology, red, blue, white, yellow and green are said to represent the inherent human attributes of greed, anger, ignorance, pride and jealousy.
<img class="imgcaption" src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Bhutanese-tapestry.png" alt="Woman’s Dress ©Royal Textile Academy" width="518" height="414" />
The first floor is devoted to everyday objects, weaponry and clothing. It’s a chance to see how even common objects (bamboo wine container; curry bucket) are immaculately crafted. Like neighbouring Nepal, Bhutanese traditional dress is all homemade, with patterns passed down from generation to generation. The men’s tunics are subdued, while the women’s dresses are elaborately woven using brightly coloured thread. Unfolded and hung on the wall, each piece of clothing looks like an artwork in itself, measuring roughly 2m x 1m. Most patterns are simple geometric designs repeated for maximum visual effect – and from a distance, some even resemble colourful 8-bit video game graphics.
<img class="imgcaption floatl" src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Bhutanese-masks-skulls.png" alt="Masks of Ging Cham ©National Museum of Bhutan" width="257" height="337" />
Traditional masks hang from the wall, while a video shows Bhutanese dance. It’s all very visually stimulating – and could even be seen as rather ominous – but that’s exactly what is intended. Many of these masks and dances are a way to ward off evil spirits. Almost each village in Bhutan has its religious festival characterized by prayers and songs, and in most cases by religious dances called cham. Dancers, either monks or lay practitioners, wear elaborate costumes made of silk, often decorated with ornaments of carved bones. For certain dances they wear masks, which may represent animals, fearsome deities, or just plain human beings. The masks are so heavy that dancers protect themselves from injury by binding their heads in strips of cloth to support the mask.
The second floor, presenting religious and royal artefacts, is a contrast of simply designed prayer cymbals and elaborate Buddhas plated with gold. Every aspect of Bhutanese life is influenced by Buddhism, which was introduced to the country in the seventh century. Bhutan is the only country in the world that has retained the Vajrayana form of Mahayana Buddhism as its national religion, and inside the exhibition you can see a selection of small Buddha Vajrasattva statues that reflect the peace and solitude the nation is known for.
With its first democratic elections in 2007, Bhutan has recently been enjoying its newfound democracy, yet alongside the authority of Buddhism there continues to preside the strong word of the king, still widely respected as a leader of the county, and often heralded as a symbol of the country’s happiness. Right at the end of the exhibition, visitors can pass through the Theater to Happiness, where Bhutanese citizens describe their own moments of happiness.
In relation to other countries in Asia, very few tourists visit each year, and the appeal of Bhutan for travellers still lies in its mystery. The Bhutan Exhibition – Hint to Happiness offers a window into one of the world’s most fascinating countries through the lenses of art, travel, history and textile design.

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The Bhutan Exhibition – Hint to Happiness

Kanda is one of Tokyo’s most historic areas, encompassing about thirty neighborhoods each with its own distinct feel and vibe. Lose yourself among its winding back streets and you can expect to find some of the oldest remaining buildings in Tokyo, as well as entire areas devoted to sports equipment, musical instruments, books and electronics. 
What you don’t expect to find, however, is a 23-metre high floating whale currently visiting from Canberra, Australia. This is Skywhale (2013) a hot air balloon designed by artist Patricia Piccinini and currently on display in Kanda as a part of Trans Arts Tokyo 2014.
As the saying goes, first impressions are everything; Skywhale’s doesn’t disappoint. As you exit Jinbōchō Station and wind your way to the site of the old Tokyo Denki University, you begin to wonder how on Earth something so big, so colossal, could possibly be hiding in such a built-up area. Then, out of the corner of your eye you see udders, a tail, a mouth—it is Skywhale rising in all her glory. It’s a truly bizarre scene. In this setting, the word surreal has never been more apt.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/IMG_63141-e1411466213937.jpg" alt="Patricia Piccinini,'Skywhale' (2013) Kanda, Tokyo." title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="344" class="imgcaption" /></a>
Piccinini states on the artwork’s <a href="http://theskywhale.com/">official website</a> that “Skywhale is a work that celebrates the wonder of nature.” This might seem weird given that the Skywhale doesn’t actually exist in nature. Piccinini’s intention when designing the balloon was to fashion it as a sculpture of a living creature rather than a “balloon that looked like something.” As onlookers gaze into its eyes, one really can get the sense that this creature exists – a notion further aided by the gentle sway created by the wind and the mechanics of the balloon.
“My question is,” the artist explains to <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-05-10/skywhale-could-cost-up-to-300k/4681892">Australian media</a>, “what if evolution went a different way, and instead of whales going back into the sea, from which they came originally, they went into the air and could fly instead of swim.” The idea of a flying whale seems extraordinary, but not so much more so than the very real idea of a gigantic, aquatic mammal.
Strange? Magical? Unsettling? Skywhale will surely mean something different to each and every person who views it, but the only way you’ll truly know how you feel is if you go and say hello to her yourself. 
Skywhale will be on display at the site of the old Tokyo Denki University on 27 & 28 September between 8:00-11:00 and 17:00-20:00 as part of the Trans Arts Tokyo 2014 program (weather permitting.) Visit the <a href="http://www.kanda-tat.com/">Trans Arts Tokyo website</a> for details, and follow their Facebook or Twitter pages for weather updates. Free.

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Hello. My Name is Skywhale…

<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Streetart_sticker_vendingmachine-e1377240522720.jpg" alt="Center Gai, Shibuya" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" /></a>
Graffiti. It isn’t really a term you hear much these days. Think of ‘graffiti’ in the traditional sense of the word and your mind conjures up images of heavily tagged New York train carriages, rough-and-ready murals under bridges, scarves covering faces, nighttime. What you don’t necessarily think of is Tokyo.
Unlike other art-strong cities like NYC, London and Berlin, there really isn’t much spray work in Tokyo. Yeah you see the odd tag on a vending machine, the odd mural down an alleyway but these are few and far between. So why the lack of spraycans? Well maybe the authorities are quick to get rid of the work before it’s barely dried. More likely, however, is that it lies with the age-old Japanese respect for social etiquette and cleanliness. From a young age it’s hammered home. You don’t drop litter. You don’t cause a social nuisance. And you sure as hell don’t cover walls in paint. 
But while aerosols may be out, adhesives are most definitely in.
Sticker art is everywhere. It’s so prevalent that you may have unconsciously become accustomed to it, not even realising it’s there. When was the last time you really had a look around you when walking down the street. Lampposts. Electrical boxes. Billboards. Fire hydrants. Art is all around us. Every single day on every corner. These stickers have become as much a part of Tokyo’s artistic identity as the galleries scattered across the city. It’s a growing, evolving, ever-present form of expression. You’re bound to have seen 281’s anti-nuke messages plastered all over Shibuya. If you haven’t, well you haven’t been looking hard enough. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Streetart_sticker_post-e1377178475676.jpg" alt="Shibuya" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="344" class="imgcaption" /></a>
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Streetart_sticker_nonukes-e1377178379564.jpg" alt="'Care Your Food' by 281, Shibuya" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="344" class="imgcaption" /></a>
With so much variation in terms of medium, the term graffiti is dying a slow death. These days, everything is being loosely bundled under the banner ‘street art’. It’s big business too. Banksy is a household name. Stencils, adhesives and installations are now all widely used: a spraycan no longer the only weapon of choice. As well as showing signs of artistic progression, it also makes perfect logistical sense. With over 13 million people living in the metropolis, you can’t just set up shop with your cans and go to work in the middle of the street. You’re gonna get caught.
Stickers over spray: it’s logistics, pure and simple. Spray work of any decent quality takes time; even simple stencil work takes some amount of exposure. Stickers – and even large murals using paste – reduce the risk of a trip to the koban. Sticker artists can produce thousands of prints, and while some of the big names (B.N.E. & Obey Giant to name just a few) use aggressive permanent vinyl, many artists choose to use adhesives that will wear off over time. Again, it harks back to the good old tradition of cleaning up after yourself.
So where are the best spots to spot sticker art in Tokyo? Well, it’s everywhere, seriously. But some spots that offer regular, heavy rotation include Harajuku Street, Center Gai in Shibuya and the bridges surrounding Miyashita Skatepark.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Streetart_stickers_balaclava-e1377178415377.jpg" alt="Harajuku Street" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="257" height="385" class="imgcaption floatl" /></a>
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Streetart_sticker_warrior-e1377240568232.jpg" alt="Harajuku Street" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="257" height="385" class="imgcaption floatl" /></a>

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Tokyo Sticker Bombing

David Lynch’s most recent major film work, Inland Empire (2006), may have been eight years ago, but that’s not to say he hasn’t been busy. As well as being heavily involved in the promotion of meditation through his own David Lynch Foundation, he directed a video for the rock group Nine Inch Nails in 2013, as well as releasing two studio albums of his own to critical acclaim. He even has his own line of coffee. 
Alongside a multitude of other projects, Lynch has somehow also managed to continue his work as a visual artist. A total of 22 of his recent works are now on show at the Tomio Koyoma Gallery in Shibuya, following past exhibitions in Tokyo in 2012 and 2013. The exhibition is comprised of 17 lithographs, three woodcuts and two photographic prints, with more of his work to feature at a special exhibition, “Image-Makers”, at 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT starting later this month.
Lynch’s continued foray into the art world isn’t on a whim of course; he was primarily trained as a painter, before eventually turning to film and releasing his first full-length feature, Eraserhead, in 1977. Like his film work, Lynch’s art is a dark–often comic–portrayal of a world bordering on the fringes of reality. He himself has described his paintings as “organic, violent comedies.” Many of the pieces are unsettling, yet as a viewer you are sometimes unsure why. It’s this ‘otherworldliness’ that defines the body of his work.
Behind the camera, Lynch uses extended silences and slow, considered scripts to create a feeling of growing unease: everyday situations become warped, twisted and dreamlike. Audrey slowly dancing in the diner in Twin Peaks, for example, is exactly that–a girl simply dancing in a diner. But somehow it’s so much more: a portal into another world. His lithographs achieve the same thing. One, simply entitled Truck With Fish (2013), is a painting of just that–yet it manages to conjure up the same feeling of unease often felt when watching his films.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/Dabid_lynch_Man-on-Fire-in-Room-with-Sheep.jpg" alt="David Lynch, 'Man on Fire in Room with Sheep' (2013) Lithograph" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="346" class="imgcaption" /></a>
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/DAvidLynch_Women-and-Machine-e1404479124654.jpg" alt="David Lynch, 'Woman and Machine' (2012) Inkjet print" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="344" class="imgcaption" /></a>
There’s no denying that some of Lynch’s cinematic creations are terrifying: The Mystery Man in Lost Highway (1997); the hobo in Mulholland Drive (2001); Dennis Hopper’s character, Frank Booth, in Blue Velvet (1986). His art is equally as haunting–taking inspiration from Francis Bacon, who Lynch praises as his favourite painter. Small Boat on Fire (2013) is a dark, swirling concoction of sea and flames, while New World (2014) depicts a screaming tortured soul, not dissimilar to the baby featured in Eraserhead. The mood that he creates through these recent paintings is a dark, bleak world–one that harbours a total rejection of light and colour. 
The beauty of this exhibition is the strange, uneasy feeling of nostalgia that seeps from the pieces. Viewing the short photographic series, ‘NUDE ATELIER IDEM’ (2012), you can’t help but feel you’ve seen the pieces somewhere before, as if they are stills from some forgotten cinematic work. The style; the angles; the dreamlike narrative: it’s all unmistakably Lynch, and fans of his back catalogue will recognise key themes flowing throughout the exhibition. Fire, as always, is a prevalent theme – with one lithograph Man on Fire in Room with Sheep (2013) being both comic and brutal in equal measures. 
In an interview from LA Times in 2012, Lynch claimed that he lacks the inspiration to start a new movie project, but if he got an idea he fell in love with, he’d “go back to work tomorrow.” This self-imposed hiatus behind the camera may leave an unfillable void in the cinematic world–but in turn rewards us with an ever-growing number of artistic pieces to enjoy. As the Lady in the Radiator from Eraserhead would sing, “in heaven, everything is fine.”

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In Heaven, Everything is Fine

<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/TsuyoshiHisakado_Installation-e1403598588169.jpg" alt="Tsuyoshi Hisakado, 'Quantize' (2014) Installation view" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="344" class="imgcaption" /></a>
As you enter the stark concrete space of Ota Fine Arts you’d be forgiven for wondering if there was even an exhibition on at all. Akin to the set of an abandoned Samuel Beckett play, a few sparse objects are scattered across the room; a table, a couple of lamps, and a trash can. Visually, the room is bare, but within a few minutes the whole place comes to life. 
Suddenly the sound of footsteps fills the room. You look around, but there’s nobody there. A lamp switches itself on in one corner and a tablecloth begins to flutter. You begin to question yourself: are you triggering these events? Are there motion sensors? It soon becomes apparent that the multitude of sounds and visual cues are being programmed at random. A telephone begins to ring incessantly, while a train can be heard dimly in the distance. Was that train outside the room or part of the exhibition? Senses are becoming confused. 
Born in Kyoto in 1981, Tsuyoshi Hisakado describes his latest installation Quantize (2014) as a ‘disappearing sculpture’ – sounds which are created and destroyed by the random numbers of a computer. In short: planned coincidence. Within a five-minute interval, the same composition never occurs twice, with slight changes happening all the time. Hisakado claims that he is influenced by the line, “The flowing river never stops and yet the water never stays the same” by the twelfth century Buddhist poet Kamo no Chomei. 
The artist treats the room itself as his blank canvas. There’s no unnecessary visual stimuli to detract from what the artist wants you to see and hear. The sounds of the instillation merge with those of real life: your breathing, footsteps and rustling become part of the exhibition. Echoes of John Cage’s seminal piece 4’33” (1952) are evident, with the accidental sounds of real life merging with those of the artist.
This exhibition is displayed in two spaces and the other holds a mirror ball, which was exhibited at Aomori Contemporary Art Center last winter. The surface of the sphere is covered with numbers of mirrored clocks and the diffused reflections create lights and shadow which are like “riding a time-machine from the drawer of Doraemon’s desk” according to Hisakado. Unlike the previous space, which takes influence from the teachings of a traditional poet, Hisakado’s own description of his work is equally at home referencing pop culture. In this way, both old and new are represented through the exhibition.
Both spaces are complete in their own right and as such don’t quite work in harmony. But viewed separately they work with sound, light and kinetic energy, as well as redefining our idea of what sculpture should entail. The flowing river Hisakado has created is a beautiful concept and one that he executes perfectly.

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Composing Chaos

<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_ArigoShingo.jpg" alt="Shingo Arigo, 'Y B E L L A L C O K W - The Wonderful Wizard of Black & Yellow' (2013) Installation " title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="346" class="imgcaption" /></a>
Last year’s Trans Arts Tokyo was an all-out assault on the senses, with the project taking over the entire 17 floors of the soon-to-be-demolished Tokyo Denki University building. With that space no longer available, the organisers of this year’s event were forced to do something different; instead, choosing multiple locations spread out over the Kanda area. The result is a sprawling mishmash of artistic expression, with a fantastic array of exhibitions and installations that showcase the best of modern-day creativity inside one of Tokyo’s oldest neighbourhoods.
Obviously the biggest change is that everything is no longer housed under one roof. Armed with a Trans Arts Passport, visitors walk around the neighbourhood to find the galleries – something which seems to be emphasised through the Made in Kanda portion of the event at 3331 Chiyoda. While multiple locations may be off-putting to some, organisers have cleverly made the walking tour actually part of the experience. Inside the gallery you’ll find a collection of photographs that showcase local life in the surrounding streets. As you walk from gallery to gallery throughout the neighbourhood, you are hit with a sense of déjà vu; passing ramen shops, coin laundries and temples that have all been photographed and displayed within 3331 Chiyoda. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_PeepShow.jpg" alt="Spray work by Peep Show in the former Tokyo Denki University building's basement" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" /></a>
The University building that housed last year’s event may be gone, but its basement still remains and is certainly one of the most novel entrances to an exhibition visitors will come across. It feels like you are entering a construction site. En-route to the main event space you’ll pass a number of works by graffiti artist Peep Show, who creates social commentary on Fukushima and daily life in Japan. In the corner of the room Sato Naoki stands upon a set of step ladders continuing his piece, Soko de Haite Iru. He started painting the work on the first day of the event and will finish it on the last – evidence of Trans Arts’ aim to be a living, breathing artistic organism. A video installation by Ichikawa Hiroshi also gives life to the concrete room, yet its haunting soundtrack also seems to emphasise the barrenness of the surroundings. 
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_waterras.jpg" alt="Woolen sculptures by 203gow in the Waterras building" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" /></a>
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_SekiAki.jpg" alt="Aki Seki at work on 'City' (2013) Oil on canvas" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" /></a>
One valuable thing about this year’s format is that it brings art into the local neighbourhood. Inside the common space of the Waterras building people are quietly reading, studying, drinking coffee. Above them hang weird and wonderful woollen objects made by 203gow. As such, this year’s event showcases some of the best spots in Kanda as well as art. It’s a lovely concept, introducing art-goers to places they may never usually go in Tokyo or have even heard of.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_SatoNaoki.jpg" alt="Naoki Sato at work on 'Soko de Haiteiru' (2013) Charcoal on plywood panels" title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" /></a>
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_KobayashiMasato.jpg" title="Photo: Justin Egli" alt="Masato Kobayashi, 'Love All' (2013)" width="518" height="346" class="imgcaption" /></a>
The best parts of the event, however, are those that bring back memories of the unpredictability and visual energy of last year’s event. Just around the corner from the basement building are a row of derelict houses and shops that have been entirely taken over by Trans Arts. These projects are especially close to essence of what makes this festival so exciting: it allows visitors to walk into a space and not know what lies around the next corner. It almost feels like you shouldn’t be there; that you are trespassing and have stumbled across a number of abandoned buildings that have been taken over by artists. Some buildings dedicate a floor to a different artist while others are entire building takeovers by certain groups and crews. One notable takeover is that by the students of design group Coconogacco, a surreal experience that features a woman pretending to be asleep in a dimly-lit room, as well as all sorts of other unique installations.
<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Transarts_IshizukaTakanori-e1383835694346.jpg" title="Photo: Justin Egli" alt="Takanori Ishizuka, 'Untitled' (2013) Soft sculpture with recycled mattress" width="518" height="344" class="imgcaption" /></a>
Last year’s event set an impressive standard. While this year’s multiple-location format doesn’t have the same close-range intensity, , the organisers have taken care to keep the free spirit of Trans Arts alive. The result is a more mature event, one that combines intense creativity with a deep-rooted respect for the neighbourhood that hosts it.

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A Neighbourhood Transforms

<img src="http://www.tokyoartbeat.com/tablog/entries.en/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/asuna_performance.jpg" alt="Asuna in performance at Rocket." title="Photo: Justin Egli" width="518" height="345" class="imgcaption" /></a>
For the twenty or so people lucky enough to be sitting cross-legged in the tiny pine loft of Rocket, Harajuku, something unique is happening. Standing in the midst of about 100 children’s toys, Asuna opens a packet of popping candy, pours it into his mouth and holds a microphone up to it. The room is instantly filled with the sound of nostalgia – a magical concoction of pops, crackles and childhood memories being blasted through a mini amplifier on the floor.
Asuna is a combination of artist and musician. He himself doesn’t really know what to classify his work as. “I don’t know. All I know is I am making art and music every day. So maybe I am a combination of everything.” Not that his work needs to be classified. Sound art, performance art, call it what you like: Asuna’s live performances are an experience; textured soundscapes that blur the lines between art and music. 
Children’s toys feature heavily in Asuna’s live performances. On this occasion the entire floor is covered with a colourful array of whistles, paddle balls, spin tops, kazoos and wind-up toys. Some of these are mic’d up to loop sequencers, and the floor is a jungle of electrical cables and equipment. The toys instantly add a sense of innocence to the atmosphere. “Because I experiment with music every day, my work will continue to be shaped gradually. I don’t know where my inspiration comes from, but quite often the theme is my own memories from childhood.”1
Starting off with some quiet harmonics on the guitar, Asuna loops the notes to create a foundation for the piece. He then deftly moves around the room adding to the soundscape using what’s laid out before him. At one point he gets some chattering wind-up teeth and makes them hop across the strings of his guitar. He also uses a fan to influence the pitch of sound going through the microphone. The performance is interesting on a technical level as well as having a playful side. 
Asuna doesn’t look up to the audience once. He’s too absorbed in what’s going on before him, with a look of intense concentration on his face. Hunched over his equipment, it’s almost as if he is a chess player trying to anticipate the moves ahead: which instrument to bring in next, how it will influence the rest of the performance. Every move is well thought out and considered. Even though it’s improvised, it’s all intentional. “My performance is always different each time,” he explains. “So sometimes all improvisation, sometimes all composition, sometimes half and half.” 
As the piece progresses the childhood toys lose their preciousness, and the sound of the objects all combined becomes rather ominous. The soundscape reaches its peak before slowly dying down to the sound of waves, birdsong and Asuna playing an emotive chord progression on the guitar. It’s a beautiful ending to what was an amazing performance. 
Asuna plays an intimate show at Ryodenji Temple on October 6 with I am Robot and Proud. For a full listing of other upcoming shows, see the <a href="http://www.aotoao.jp">Aotoao website</a>.
1 Email interview with the writer, September 2013.

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