Photographer TANA

Wow, he really looks like he’s having fun when playing basketball.

That was my first impression of Yoshikazu Tanamachi, director of the streetball brand Ballaholic.

When I first met him, the prop he had in his hands was not a camera, but a basketball as TANA the streetballer. He possesses a dribble that sticks to the palm of his hand, unique and creative passes, trick plays that feel as though he’s mocking his opponents, and of course, a killer smile.

When the ball is passed to TANA, who has been nicknamed “WIZARD”, you can’t help but grin and get excited in anticipation for the play he’s about to show us next. As one of the most popular players in the streetball scene, TANA had a mysterious charm that made everyone smile.

But in 2013, he reached a turning point. He decided to call it a career after a sickness that prevented him from playing to his heart’s content. At the time, I unabashedly voiced opinions like, “I don’t want you to quit basketball” and “I hope you return when you feel better”, all from the selfish perspective of a fan. Looking back, those were terrible things for me to say. After retiring from the front lines of being a baller, he started photography while simultaneously handling the brand direction for Ballaholic, which recently celebrated its tenth anniversary.

Even with his background as an art school graduate and baller and the advantages that came with it, it was shocking to see that these photos were taken by a beginner who had just started using a camera. The angles and compositions are sometimes experimental, capturing the tense atmosphere of a game in a way that makes it shine, like the card game I was obsessed with as a child. Above all, the photos are simply cool. His photos have the same effect on the viewers’ hearts as his play style as a baller, making them excited and happy. He possesses a strange charm that has the ability to make people smile.

It’s been eight years since he first got a hold of the camera. SOMECITY, TOKYO STREETBALL CLASSIC, local pickup games, BALL ON JOURNEY… He will pick up his camera again today and travel to the world’s playing grounds and continue to photograph basketball, his love, with a big smile on his face. by Jose Ishii

TANA/Yoshikazu Tanamachi
Photographer. Released Ballaholic, his personal debut photo book as well as the Japanese streetball scene’s first ever photo book. As well as being a baller himself, he is the brand director for Ballahollic. He has contributed to streetball culture and has been involved in leagues, pick-up games and events for many years. In October 2022, he designed the renovated Yoyogi Park basketball court with designer Yoshihiro Kato, who art directed the photo book.
Instagram：@tana_wizard

A shot from the photo book unveiling pick-up event at the Art Court in Okubo Park in Shinjuku ward, Tokyo. This was the first Asian project for both community outreach programs of the 2K Foundation of America and NBA superstar Kevin Durant’s charity Foundation (KDCF), where the area was renovated into an Art Court. It was created by artist FATE and the go parkey Association. TANA has shared many journeys through streetball with the representative, AB.

Photos of Streetball

So far in this series, I’ve introduced photographers who are involved in skateboarding, are in Tokyo, and have created something with me. This time, I’d like to introduce a photographer named Yoshikazu Tanamachi, or more commonly known as TANA, which is now basically his real name. He is not a skater. Nor is he a skate photographer. Yes, he is a streetballer.

Streetball can’t be explained as just being a form of basketball. It’s a scene that can often be seen near Tokyo, for example, in Tamachi Park, Koyama Park, Shin Yokohama Park, or Aqua Park in Yokohama. It’s something that’s close to street skateboarding. Well, like skateboarding, it’s difficult to define (or maybe it doesn’t need to be defined). It’s like the difference between street skating and street sections of park skating areas. Or the difference between playing basketball with a basket attached to wherever and playing basketball in a park or gym. Is it just a matter of location? Perhaps. But that doesn’t really matter.

Moves that you want to imitate but can’t. Music that you get hooked on when you’re handling the ball. Lyrics that you don’t know where to use but are taking notes on. A game that only requires one ball and an imagination. The specific way you wear your socks with your fresh pair of sneakers. Photographs that are so perfectly composed that they could be blurry, and photographs that should be trimmed from the moment you take them. Pick-up games where money, fame, obscurity, and age don’t matter… In short, the world captured by TANA is one where people are passionate about basketball and continue to express themselves through it, regardless of whether they’re in a pro league or in school.

The photo book Ballaholic is inspired by the beauty of playing pick-up games on playing grounds around the city and sharing photos with the subjects and those watching. This approach seems to be similar to Ari Marcopoulos‘s photo book CONRAD MCRAE Youth League Tournament.

A yellow photo, SOMECITY

The SOMECITY streetball league has been an essential part of TANA’s work as a streetballer and photographer. Over a decade ago, in the early days of streetball in Japan, this league provided the best stage and playing ground for ballers with excess energy (primarily in Tokyo). TANA was one of the masterminds behind it.

Numerous ballers have been mesmerized, captivated, and moved by SOMECITY. Some have disappeared from the scene, while others are still active. The lack of a retirement age is similar to skateboarding: if you want to do it, you can continue to. That’s all. The beautiful yellow court that symbolizes the league has not changed to this day, and TANA has continued to actively participate in the league as a player and take countless photos on the yellow court. Just as he became passionate about basketball, he also became passionate about photography, and the existence of SOMECITY was a big part of that. He doesn’t take photos with a background in a studio, nor does he use strobes or lenses to create yellow special effects. But every year, a tenth or so of the countless photos he takes is covered in yellow, in a good way. And it has come to be recognized as the beautiful yellow court that’s unique to streetball, as can be seen from the pages of the photo book Ballaholic.

Photos by TANA displayed on an art court in Okubo Park in Shinjuku, Tokyo, which was the first Asia-based project of community support programs by both the American 2K Foundation and the charity foundation (KDCF) of NBA superstar Kevin Durant.

Stunning photos of the playing grounds

A beautiful moment. Perhaps it would be easier to understand if I compared it to a landscape, like a white cumulus cloud that stands out against the endless horizon and blue sky. In front of it is a small white  island made of exquisite coral. The water is so clear that you can see the ocean floor, and the sun changes its glistening expression depending on its altitude. Anyone would agree that such a summer island is a beautiful landscape. In streetball, it’s hard to specifically list what’s cool, just like there are various elements of skating that skateboarders think are dope. However, TANA photographs the playing grounds as if he was a player in the game. The shots are stunning. The moment (photo) will be beautiful even to someone who isn’t interested in basketball or who doesn’t know about streetball.

TANA has traveled to various playing grounds around the world. Just as skaters seek out spots in their travels, he has traveled to different playing grounds, given high fives in pick-up games, has hung out with the locals, and taken photos. Some of those playing grounds have legendary images, and some of the photos taken are very spontaneous and TANA-like in their photography. The lights and shadows in the photographs communicate the time and scene of the shot. He never takes his eyes off of the game, and tries to capture both the easily understandable and the more ambiguous elements of the beauty of streetball as much as possible. That’s the kind of photographer TANA is.

A shot from a pick-up event. The subjects include streetballers KOSUKE, RYO, and KK

Pieces become records

ust like skateboarding, the most enjoyable thing is playing (skating). It’s both an expressive and easily-expressed medium, which is why there are times when it seems like being the player is everything. However, just as with skating, if no one is taking photos of you skating (and the coolness or magnificence of it), it becomes nothing more than an urban legend. Moreover, unless the record is a photo (or video) that properly captures the aesthetics and beauty of the sport, it will only be a distortion of the actual game. This is also true for skateboarding. An amazing skateboarding scene would be ruined without the right camera work. This is because the players (skaters) are that devoted and fixated on their craft.

TANA demands a lot from his subjects, and there are many shots that he wasn’t satisfied with no matter how many times they were taken. For people who aren’t used to being photographed in these scenes, it must have been frustrating. I remember shooting skateboarders in the 1990s and changing lenses depending on the spot or situation, using the exposure meter, setting up several strobes with radio slaves, and sometimes having the skaters change their T-shirts. Because the streets had heavy security, the skaters assumed we had to be quick to photograph our subjects. I still remember the skaters’ confused faces when we took our time photographing them.

Similarly, the streetball subjects are told how to wear uniforms and how to use color. Everything is required to be perfect, including the way they use every part of their body, from their fingertips to their feet. It’s not just about being good at the game, and it’s not just about dunking. Even if you shoot a scoring scene, that alone doesn’t convey the game accurately since it’s a sport that scores dozens of points in a game. It has to capture what kind of shot it was, depicting emotions and stories that otherwise wouldn’t be documented. That’s what TANA’s shooting style does, and he has maintained that throughout the streetball world. From there, the best photographs made it onto the pages of the book. TANA has managed to condense a plethora of his incredible photos into one book.

The great street photographers of the 1990s created skateboarding photos that have both visual appeal and historical value, and are referenced as important records in 2022.  They have also become a decisive factor in the existence of the current scene. In the same way, TANA’s photographs and the photo book Ballaholic are in the midst of significantly contributing to the aesthetic sense, dedication, and culture of the Japanese streetball scene beyond the playing.

New York, 2018. With one of TANA’s favorite subjects, KOSUKE. From the photobook Balalholic

Pick-up games, an afterward

‘m sure everyone has some scenes that are particularly memorable when watching a movie. Certain templates also exist within movies, like repeatedly used lines and scenes, such as famous “I love you” scenes. Columns, which I’m used to, are mostly personal with clear subjects. But in contrast, when a line like, “that was truly a perfect day” in a film comes up in a scene, I choke up.

For example, an adult daughter goes to see her estranged father, who she has come to hate, and tells him about a particular day when they were together during the biggest crisis of her life. There was nothing special about that day, only a photo her mother took of her father carrying his daughter on his back, on a beautiful beach on a gorgeous day. Both the daughter and the father are smiling with their eyes narrowed at the blinding sun, while the mother was probably smiling as she looked through the camera’s viewfinder. While the daughter and father both conjure up the scene of that day in their minds, they whisper, “that was a perfect day”. Personally, I’m touched by scenes like this.

December 10th, 2022, the Okubo Park Art Court in Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo. Beautiful weather and shining skyscrapers. The contrast of the clear and cold air and the warmth of the sun. Photos of the beautiful renovated court designed by artist FATE and go parkey that are recorded in TANA’s photo book, plastered throughout the park. Ballers who became TANA’s subjects and audience members who love basketball as much as those ballers are present. AB, who is both a subject in the photo book and a baller who painted the court, is in attendance, and Takakuwa, who is also a baller and helped AB with the paint job, is participating in the pick-up game. TANA, who has been creating environments and cultures for ballers through SOMECITY and Ballaholic since the dawn of streetball, is there, as are the kids who admired the likes of TANA and got into basketball themselves. Photographers who influenced and were influenced by TANA, and even the editor who gave me the chance to write this article, are having fun. The energy of everyone’s love for streetball filled the playing ground that day. And the important thing is that this energy contributed to this wonderful tableau shot.

It’s a perfect day. It was a perfect day, like a scene from a movie that I’ve watched so many times because I love it so much.

In 2018, at the SOMECITY playing ground in Shinkiba. Pictured are the ballers rushing towards KING HANDLES after he makes a shot during the game’s climax. Included in the photo book Ballaholic.

■ Ballaholic 2014-2019
Published by Outnumbered on December 10th, 2022. TANA’s photo book of remarkable moments in streetball from 2014 to 2019, narrowed down to the years before the pandemic. On the day of the release, the book was unveiled at the Art Court in Shinjuku Okubo Park, where the photographed ballers were given a chance to display and present their photos to the public. All color, 190 pages, 1st edition hardcover, ¥8,800
Instagram：@ballaholic_jpn

Photography Yoshikazu Tanamachi, Jose Ishii（title）
Text Jose Ishii（intro）
Translation Mimiko Goldstein

The post Streetball from morning till night: TANA, a baller who has devoted himself to the culture and its photography appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

If you have the chance to meet someone who has created incredible works of art known to people around the world, you should use that opportunity to ask them about things you’ve always wanted to ask. Such questions may be ones that they didn’t want to think about, or ones that they’ve already forgotten about from the perspective of the interviewee. But it’s by asking directly that we’re able to put these thoughts into words and deliver it to our audience. 

Movies were my textbook. More importantly, they cultivated my own morals and aesthetic sense. I think many people have that same experience. I also believe there are far more people who have found that what they felt watching a movie was much more useful in their lives than anything they learned at school or in a textbook. 

Personally, I learned about how to interact with women from Andrew McCarthy, stars of such foreign films as Pretty In Pink and Less Than Zero, and learned about the vulgarity of picking on your close friends’ parents from Stand By Me. From the various films directed by Izuru Narushima, one can feel the ways in which the characters relate to their families and the sense of distance between them. 

Many of his films give me great courage because it helps me understand that blood ties such as familial love or parental feelings are less important than where I am and who I’m with now. Yet, the themes and delivery of director Izuru Narushima’s films vary. Thus, what we absorb and feel in each work can be different.

This makes it all the more important to know what the director’s central passion for his films is. As an audience member, I shouldn’t need to know this information, but I’m eager to find out. With that being said, we had the pleasure of interviewing the director himself, Izuru Narushima.

Izuru Narushima
Born in 1961. From Kofu City, Yamanashi prefecture. Narushima has been making independent films since he was a student, and his film Midori Onna was selected for the Pia Film Festival. In 1994, he began working as a screenwriter, and in 2003 he won the Fujimoto Award for Best New Director and the Yokohama Film Festival New Director Award for his first film, Yudantaiteki, starring Koji Yakusho. Afterwards, he worked on a number of popular films including Fly, Daddy, Fly, Kokou No Mesu and Rengou Kantai Shireichokan Yamamoto Isoroku, starring Koji Yakusho. In 2011, Youkame No Semi won ten awards including Best Picture and Best Director at the 35th Japan Academy Prize. His new film Familia, just released in theaters, will be followed by Ginga Tetsudo No Chichi, starring Koji Yakusho.He has also produced many other films, including Solomon’s Perjury Part 1: The Case, Solomon’s Perjury Part 2: The Trial, Chotto Imakara Shigoto Yamatekuru, Goodbye~Uso Kara Hajimaru Jinsei Kigeki~ and Inochi No Teishajyou.

We interviewed him about his time before he made his debut as a feature film director, and about the many films he’s made since then

familia Movie Trailer
©2022 familia Production Committee System

Toyota City, Aichi Prefecture. The junction from the Tomei Expressway to the Wangan Expressway. The sky is waiting for the sunrise before dawn, the beautiful time of day where it’s a gradation from deep blue to orange. I have personally experienced this scenic road at this time of day many times because I used to commute to Wakayama for my photography work, and I was always thrilled to see this exquisite gradation.

That scenic view from the road appeared exactly as it did in Familia, the latest film by Izuru Narushima. But despite the beautiful gradient sky being the same, it didn’t excite the main character, Seiji, as much. Instead, he was enveloped in a twinge of urgency. Beauty and irrationality coincide. I came to realize, once again, that this is what life is. The moment I had this thought, I was drawn further into the story. 

– Between the time you made Yudan Taiteki in 2004 and your most recent film, Familia, you directed fourteen films (with your following film, Gingatestudo No Chichi being your fifteenth). Simply put, the time between the release of these films is such that by the time one is put out into the public, the next film is already being shot or has been finished. What are some things you keep in mind that helps you continue to release films at such a rapid pace into the world?

Izuru Narushima: There are other people who have shot more films. I don’t particularly think I’ve directed that many, but it’s definitely not a small amount. It’s simply because I make nothing but movies. I don’t teach at schools or universities, and I don’t direct TV shows. Which means that I can’t make a living if I don’t shoot at least one film a year. That’s it.

– It’s the feeling of having to do it. It’s like if someone doesn’t weight train for a day, and they become obsessive and restless. Do you feel like you can’t go on if you’re not involved in film somehow?

Narushima: I do. I’m happiest when I’m involved in film. The actual filming only lasts for about a month or two, but I’m part of the pre- and post-production processes, which means I’m involved in each of my films for about three years total. In the case of my new film Familia, it was four or five years. Now, around two films of mine get released every three years.  

– After you won a contest award for your independent film Modori Onna in 1985, you worked mainly as a screenwriter for eighteen years until Yudan Taiteki in 2003. What did that time and experience mean to you? And during that time, did you have any specific goals and visions about what kind of director you wanted to become?

Narushima: I originally became interested in films late in the game. I watched many different movies at once, once I was exposed. I moved out to Tokyo, and started watching movies at the Meiga-za.

At the Meiga-za, I watched Yasujiro Ozu’s films and Tatsumi Kumashi’s Roman Pornos, both of which I thought were interesting. That’s how I was educated on film, very different from filmmakers in my generation who grew up on Jean-Luc Godard’s films. If I said I thought Roman Holiday was good, my friends would make fun of me. 

– Godard was such a prolific director, one who would make two films a year. You mentioned that your film education consisted of films of different genres, many of which I assume were Western films. Which is why I want to ask you how you feel about dialogue often featured in such Western films, like,  “I love you” and “Hey, tell me you love me”. I don’t believe you use the line, “I love you” very much in any of your films. Do you believe there are more important things that could be said, or are you hesitant to include such straightforward language?

Narushima: Living in this world means things can be complex. A lot of things are going on in Familia, as well. The main character, Seiji Kamiya, played by Koji Yakusho, is a potter who makes ancient Japanese ceramics. This is the story of what happens to him.

The reason the phrase “I love you” isn’t included in a lot of my dialogue is because it’s been said that the words “I love you” didn’t originally exist in Japanese. It’s a phrase that was imported into Japan after the Meiji era. Including the Japanese phrase “Aishiteru” would mean the same thing as saying “I love you”. I like creating dramas that don’t include that. 

– I see. Even in a novel, if you describe something that was fun as just, “fun”, it wouldn’t be very interesting. In contrast, your films gave me the impression that you took the time to describe things, which distances them from human dramas. Instead, your films convey humans in the most extreme situations. For example, we see a doctor’s position as a person entrusted with life and death (Kokou No Mesu), a person in a harsh alpine environment (Midnight Eagle), a person deciding whether to euthanize a loved one (Inochi No Teishajyou), and so on. In Youkame No Semi, Kiwako Nonomiya, played by Hiromi Nagasaku, says , “That child hasn’t eaten yet. Please let the child eat” in the final scene. Those were words I wasn’t expecting at that moment, but the second I heard them, I understood her feelings all too well. Do you personally have any memories in which you had to make a decision in an extreme situation?

Narushima: No, not personally. But theoretically, I can talk about encountering people the moment something went wrong, like the line, “That child has not eaten yet”, which is not a phrase that one just comes up with. Similarly, the actions of Seiji, played by Mr. Yakusho, are not calculated. I like that, and I think it’s part of what makes the movie.

– Is that also how you view life?

Narushima: Yes, perhaps it is. Part of it is because I wasn’t able to live a calculated life. I’m the type of person who isn’t cut out to be a salaryman. I can only do things I enjoy. I can’t do what I don’t like, and I can’t be around people I don’t like.

– I learned about how to interact with women and how to go on dates from movies. Even if these films were made by people who weren’t cut out to work a regular job, their creations are essential.

Narushima: I’m the same way. I learned a lot through the movies I watched, and I was able to travel the world because of it.

On the memorable scene and stunning shots in the film

– In your newest film Familia, the gradient colors of the sunrise shot from the junction between the Tomei Expressway to the Wangan Expressway, was very memorable. I linked this scene to the one in Solomon’s Perjury Part Two: Trial, where the sunlight beautifully peeks through into the gymnasium in the scene immediately preceding the story’s climax. The beauty is juxtaposed against the extreme situation. The director of photography in both films is Junichi Fujisawa. Are you constantly thinking about how to include such shots in these scenes?

Narushima: Yes, somewhat. It is a movie, afterall. I want to show the viewer, not tell them. I think that’s why many of the climactic moments in my films include such scenes.

– On the subject of parents, their children, and families, has the type of family or relationships between people that you want to feature in your films changed in the twenty-plus years you’ve been a director? The rate at which times are changing is astounding. 

Narushima: It’s not like I want to convey that times have changed in my films, but it’s true that how people relate to one another has changed. I was living in Okubo, Tokyo, for a long time. There, I met many Korean and Chinese people. I became best friends with a lot of them and we still keep in touch. Back then, we had the Japan-Korea World Cup and other things to get excited about together, but I had no idea that the environment over the past few years would turn out like this. In reality, I feel that the disconnect is growing.

I often wonder if there’s anything that films can do to combat that disconnect, although I wasn’t purposefully trying to communicate that message through Familia. Since I’m a hedonist, I basically just make films I would want to watch. That being said, I guess I like seeing a message being conveyed when the story moves forward within a family, which is the smallest possible unit in a story. If I were to depict the war between Russia and Ukraine, it would probably be a more interesting drama if I depicted one family in each place rather than the governments of two large countries.

– What is something that never wavers when you’re making a film? I’m not sure if I’m correct, but it never seems like you’re trying to distinguish exactly right from wrong. The subjects and settings of your past works are also varied and wide-ranging. My impression of your work is that they can’t be put into categories or genres, as I tend to do. But even throughout your various films, do you have any basic principles that you try to go by?

Narushima: I’m sorry, but as I mentioned before, I’m just a hedonist who likes and makes movies. It’s like being asked what the commonalities between Ms. A, Ms. B, Ms. C, and Ms. D are. There’s no such thing. I dated all of them because they’re different in their own ways, and like them for their distinct characteristics. Ms. A and Ms. B are completely different people. One is from the Okhotsk region of Hokkaido, and the other from Ishigaki Island in Okinawa. Dating one will bring about a different drama than dating the other. I’m a sincerely indecisive person. I would truly like to date a person from Hokkaido, and then date a person from Okinawa. This is an analogy told as a love story, but it’s important to like the drama of it. If I don’t like it, I can’t film it.

The reason Koji Yakusho appears in so many of my films is because he’s my favorite actor. So naturally, the number of my films he’s been in has increased. I do what I like, and what makes me comfortable. At the end of the day, the main character is the film itself, and the director is merely the parent who births it. It’s fine for the qualities of each child (film) to be different. I think it’s okay.

– So there’s nothing that makes a film a Narushima picture.

Narushima: Exactly. I don’t want to be the type of director who refuses to make a film because it’s not like a quintessential Narushima picture. I’ll eat Korean food, Chinese food, or sushi from Kyoto, as long as it’s good. I want to try everything. That’s why for this film, Inagaki (screenwriter Kiyotaka Inagaki) based the story on real scenarios he’s encountered, which is why he included the housing complex (modeled after the Yasumi housing complex) and Seto pottery (ceramic art). Anyway, the important thing is whether you like it or not.

– It seems unlikely that you’ll ever dislike movies.

Narushima: You can’t be so sure. There might come a time when I start to think that nothing I watch is interesting. I’m afraid of that happening one day.

– The last scene in Familia. What was the image that only the main character, Seiji Kamiya, saw?

Narushima: It’s common for a lot of my films to end with a closeup of a character. I believe ending on a face conveys a sort of message that encapsulates drama and the future. There’s a part of me that hopes that the audience can feel something from it, too. 

■familia
In theaters nationwide from January 6th, 2022
Director: Izuru Narushima
Starring: Koji Yakusho, Ryo Yoshizawa, Lucas Sagae, Fadile Waked, Takeo Nakahara, Shigeru Muroi, Maraika Ali, Lima Aran Shimada, Gustavo Sumida, Yutaka Matsushige, MIYAVI, Koichi Sato, and more
Distributor: Kino Films Co., Ltd.
©2022 familia Production Committee System
Official Site：https://familiar-movie.jp/

Photography Kenji Nakata
Translation Mimiko Goldstein

The post Interview with Izuru Narushima, Director of the film Familia, and His Thoughts On the Film appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

The story surrounding skateboarding in Tokyo in the 1990s and early 2000s

f I am allowed to indulge TOKION’s generous understanding, I would like to write a serial column in terms of the theme of “A skate-photographer’s point of view and the skate scene in Tokyo”. This time, it will be something like an intro. That’s what I think on my own. If my writing abilities and my perspective are not good enough, we can do it in relay. Or we could do it in turn with people whose eyes and minds we can trust. However, I would like to apologize in advance, as there is a good chance that readers will not see the rest of this column in the future.

I have been in the middle of the Tokyo skateboarding scene for more than 20 years and have left many pages behind, so I may be able to write about what I know a little. However, I am not the right person to talk about it as if I were a living dictionary. There are many more people who could and should talk about it. Furthermore, we cannot forget the existence and achievements of the late Devil Nishioka, Japan’s first skate journalist, artist, and skater, and Dog-Towner Hiroshi Otaki, who created the “T19” and many other skate scenes in Tokyo.

However, there are so many things I would like to write or could write about the perspective of Tokyo skate-photographers, or rather, about skate-photographers themselves in Tokyo, from my own point of view. That’s because it is such an important part of my work, and of creating a skateboarding magazine here in Tokyo for many years. And I think that I am the one who has properly treated the important part as an important part and has been actively involved in it.

The number of skaters was not increasing. The situation was not like in the U.S.. In Tokyo in the 1990s, a lot of people were complaining about the situation at the time. I had a hunch that more than the lack of skaters, there was an overwhelming lack of people photographing, documenting, and preserving the amazing tricks and traces of these rare and cool skaters. That was back when one skateboarding magazine was finally published. I became the editor-in-chief of that magazine quite by accident. As I mentioned earlier, I began to discover and promote skate-photographers, people who photograph and document skaters. Before that, people who took pictures of skaters in Tokyo also took pictures of BMX, surfing, and snowboarding. Or rather, the people who were taking pictures of surfing also had a deep knowledge of skateboarding, and they put a lot of effort into taking pictures of skateboarding as well.

However, the 1990s was the time where skaters went out into the city and expressed themselves by seeking out street spots while cruising around. Shooting from the front of a section of the park or from the top of a ramp platform would no longer be the main focus of the photographers. This requires a slightly different technique or perspective than shooting on the beach or in the backcountry. In the U.S., ACITON NOW, a magazine that dealt with BMX and surfing along with skateboarding, gave place to THRASHER, a skateboarding magazine dedicated solely to skateboarding. In response, “WHEEL,” the only skateboarding magazine in Japan at the time, was launched in Tokyo. This was when things started to get interesting. Instead of photographers who could shoot skateboarding, BMX, and surfing, photographers who could only shoot skateboarding, or skaters who only wanted to shoot skateboarding, began to emerge.

I actively hooked up with such enthusiastic skateboard fundamentalists or skateboard-loving photographers and people (who had only just barely bought a camera and were motivated only by the desire to skate), worrying little about some errors and mistakes they made. It may sound a bit arrogant to write so, but in reality, I myself absorbed and learned various things simultaneously with these people, sometimes breaking down stereotypes, and at other times re-creating concepts. I have been given a lot of stimulation and possibilities. In fact, many of the photographers and writers who have the word “skate” in their job titles today seem to have debuted in WHEEL magazine or in the early days of Sb Skateboard Journal (But many people may want to erase the work experience they gained from the magazine from their profiles as his/her black history (laughs). Some may want to think that they are who they are today because of no one else, which I think is also fine).

Anyway, the most obvious change was that in pursuing the coolness of skateboarding and especially of street skating in such a way, we needed cooler and more ingenious way of shooting. One of the most obvious ones was the drastic decrease in the number of people taking portraits, skate photos, and off-shoots with the same lens. Depending on the place and time of day, the subject skater began to change T-shirts and shoe laces (It means that we began to prepare the same items of different colors). We started to order wireless flash trigger from the U.S. and set up several strobes for synchro-flash photo shooting, even in the daytime. If skaters and photographers could make cool skate photos, they were published as big gravure pictures in professional magazines.

They no longer had to accept the fact that their photos were being cropped, collaged or reduced to a small size in fashion magazines. (However, it is also true that some photographers in particular still consider it more valuable to show their work in a fashion magazine with a large circulation than to show it as a gravure picture in a “minor” specialty magazine, as a remnant of the previous era.) This is the story of Tokyo from the 1990s to the early 2000s, though it is rather sketchy.

Four passionate skate photographers in their 20s to 40s, Junpei Ishikawa, Shinsaku Arakawa, Kenji Haruta, and Kohei Hayashi, who photographed skateboarding for the latest issue of Sb Skateboard Journal, brought their original printed photos and had an exhibition together. The exhibition was held at PAGER TOKYO, a skateboard store in Jimbocho. The staff at PAGER TOKYO have been with me since the days of WHEEL magazine in the 1990s to the era of web skate media VHS MAG and have always put great effort into making the most of skateboarding photography in an interesting way

The story surrounding skate photography in the 2010s

Around 2010, there were a great number of up-and-coming skate photographers, filmmakers, and designers who were real skaters at heart, and who also had great talent. By this time, much earlier than the subsequent post-Tokyo Olympics skateboarding whirlwind, I was intuiting and experiencing in the scene that skateboarding was always present somewhere in the growth process of urban kids, and that those who came in contact with it were updating themselves in a whole new way. As a result, the quality of skateboard photography improved dramatically, and the awareness of the subjects reached a higher level, allowing them to perform more advanced tricks faster, more reliably, and more beautifully in lesser-known spots.

Yudai Fujigasaki ／ Ollie
These two angles reveal the sophisticated aesthetics of the photographer and the skater. They were taken with same trick and same subject and photographer in the same location. The security was as tight as usual. In such an environment, they dared to shoot from different angles to show picturesque skating photos in three dimensions and conveyed the hard and interesting aspects of the photoshoot

At that time, those of us who had been around the scene since the 1990s whispered to each other, “There are many up-and-coming skate photographers whose updated techniques are great and equipment is amazing to the extent that the old-timers are no longer needed.” It was the same kind of paradigm shift happened in the 1990s. With the rise of street skating, there was a shift from the previously dominant photography of skate competitors in park sessions and sections in 1990s. While the skateboard itself is a universal entity, combining pressed wood with concaves and four tires, the environment, industry, culture, and photography surrounding it are more ephemeral and updated very frequently. I have always been aware of this. So I’m happy to witness new waves and it’s great to see more and more people pushing on a skateboard here in Tokyo.

The most obvious change in terms of perspective of skate photographers and us would be the shift from film cameras to digital cameras. In the past, a roll of film was often completely wasted as it was filled with the images of missed tricks. In addition, when shooting difficult combo tricks or flip tricks, we usually shoot them consecutively to leave evidence of a successful trick, often wasting a roll of film on a single attempt. It’s been a while since the crisis of paper media rose up to the surface due to the high printing cost, but the cost of photosensitive materials at that time was far greater than such a crisis. The cost of skateboarding photo-shooting was higher than that of shooting with a top nude photographer, even though the studio fee and the cost of sushi and unaju (grilled eel rice) were not involved. The rise of digital cameras blasted the issue off like dynamite.

Furthermore, mobile tablets such as the iPhone have spread among people, and social networking services (SNS) have become the main form of information dissemination, making not only Tokyo, but every single one of us, the media outlet. The pervasiveness of SNS is far greater than that of blogging in the earlier era that was symbolized by the queen of blogs, Kaori Manabe (many of the younger generation may no longer be familiar with her). The times changed drastically as if something clattered down. Skate photographers can use SNS to disseminate images of successful tricks more powerfully and more quickly than they could with a single photo carefully published as a gravure photo in a magazine. And they can get enthusiastic responses through numbers of re-tweets and reposts.

This has changed the stance of skate photographers, but just as I still stick to the paper skateboard magazine Sb Skateboard Journal (Sb) and find value in printing skate images on paper, there are still more than a few photographers who take photos on film, develop them in a lab, and enjoy printing them on paper. This is another strange and interesting point. The real value of the fact that the image is printed on paper, the date of publication is recorded, and it exists as an actual thing that cannot be erased in an instant with a delete button, grows as time goes by. The more options we have in terms of how to deal with and disseminate skateboarding photos, the more I am enjoying my involvement with skateboarding and paper-based media. I am thrilled with the fun of proving how fun and enjoyable they are over time. There are several skate photographers who are just as excited as I am and are still out on the streets with their cameras. I can clearly see them in my mind’s eye.

Leo Takayama ／ Ollie
The photo shows the same trick Ollie as mentioned above, this time captured with an easily recognizable icon. In other words, this is a typical Tokyo photo. The Osaka skater was photographed in a recognizable location. The result is a successful shot that leaves a strong impression both as a skate photo and as a general image

The Present and Future of Skate Photography

And the story returns to the present. Since the Tokyo Olympics, skateboarding has been attracting more attention than ever before. It has become so popular that even those who had no idea what skateboarding was or who had previously treated it only as a nice addition to the subculture can no longer ignore it. In other words, it became one of the symbols of the times, a money tree. Nowadays, not only are skateboards used as props for filming TV dramas, but even skateboarding magazine SB is used, which is interesting and strange. Many ways of utilizing skateboards and shining the spotlight on skateboards that we would never have imagined are being proposed. I’m not mentioning it ironically, but I truly belive that we are entering an exciting new era for skaters, skate photographers, and people like us who believed in the potential of skateboarding. Seriously, skateboarding will soon be completely free, unbound by anyone or anything

This will change skateboarding photography, which has always been interesting and cool, even up until now. There is a strong possibility that even more talented professional skaters will emerge among Tokyo’s skate photographers in the future. The skills and visions of skate photographers, which were once described as “peaked out,” will definitely go beyond the limits. Personally, this is what excites me the most. Even until now, I’ve had a variety of experiments including having the image of missed trick of big-name professional skaters who never make mistakes on the cover, having them ollie in the river, taking a close-up shot of an outstanding waist movement of a skater when he was demonstrating a trick called backside tailslide with an outstanding waist movement, carrying a veneer board to the peak of Tottori Sand Dunes and having a subject skated on it. That’s how I’ve been playing (in a good way) with skateboard photos. (For me at least,)that was a process of opening the door of skateboarding photography. I am sure that we will see photos that go beyond the boundaries of what we have seen so far, and photos that delve deeper into the aesthetics that are unique to skateboarding. This cycle has been and will continue to be essential and universal for those who love skateboarding itself, are fascinated by it, and keep aiming higher.

In other words, such a great photo would be something simple that doesn’t need any explanation for skaters, but may need some explanation or caption to understand how great it is for others. Yet, such a photo will also blow minds of those who love photography and beautiful things, without explanation. This column was inspired by the four people who are currently working on creating such images and made a feature in Sb together. We created a page of outstanding photos without compromise, focusing on everything from the aesthetics of skateboarding and skateboard photography to the difficulty of the tricks, the tightness of the street spots, the splendor of the scenery surrounding it, and the characters of the skaters. I decided to write a column after being exposed to the photographs of Junpei Ishikawa, Shinsaku Arakawa, Kenji Haruta, and Kohei Hayashi. For this column, I was allowed to include a photo by Junpei Ishikawa, whose photo was also on the cover of Sb. I can say with certainty that this is one of the essential aesthetics of the current Tokyo scene.

It is nice to have a photo that can be understood with explanation like, “It took a great skill to take this picture because of the peculiarities of this spot in this situation, and yet this skater made it in only one attempt.” However, it is even better if the photo is so impressive that the reaction is like, “That’s cool,” “That’s beautiful” or “I just like it”. There is no need to call them skateboarding photos, or to call the photographers who take them skate photographers; they are essentially photos (works), and photographers (artists). There is no need to categorize them. In the publishing industry, it would be necessary to categorize people as nude photographers, women photographers, travelogue photographers, ruin photographers, animal photographers in various easy-to-understand ways, but people taking the pictures do not care about such things and do not have time to wear business cards around their necks. Every one of them has a distinctive personality. Some people only use Leica lenses, others only use Hasselblad lenses exclusively. Some people take great pictures with disposable cameras, while others use incredibly long lenses to capture nature in a fantastic way. There are different specs, different methods, different angles of view, different compositions, different colors, different moments.

Kyonosuke Yamashita ／ Fs tailslide
If the earlier image is an iconic photo of skateboarding in Tokyo, this is a photo of street skateboarding in Tokyo. The photographer’s skateboarding aesthetics give form to the image of tricks performed by the skater with his own sensibilities in an unphotogenic corner of the city. This collaborative process is interesting. It is rare in other industries for the model (the subject) to seek out a photo spot and then offer an opinion on the location

The only goal that unites us is to create one photo together through our efforts. In addition, the photo I choose must clearly show the following information: what kind of trick it is, where the deck is in the photo, what style it is, where the subject came from and where they are going. That is skateboarding photo information. The difficulty of the skateboarding trick or spot attack should, at the very least, be evident from the photo. On top of that, the creators’ personalities and aesthetics must be imprinted. That is why we dare to call their photos “skateboard photos” and the photographers “skate photographers” with respect.

The creative work process of skaters and skate photographers balances necessary information about skateboarding and artistic quality. This will never change, no matter how much time passes and the perceptions of those around us update. Even today, this process is still taking place on the streets of Tokyo, under the watchful eye of security. I believe that paper still has a role to play as a place for the careful presentation of this work. Incidentally, even if the paper medium disappears, skaters and skate photographers will not disappear. I am fully aware of that as well.

Mana Sasaki ／ 50-50grind
The essence of street skateboarding photography lies in the joy of making the most of the city’s topography and capturing it. This photograph was taken with careful consideration of the clothes, their coloring, and the atmosphere of the place. The time spent in the studio lighting, posing, styling, and makeup only adds to the studio fee, not the kick out or the weather. This gem was shot in tight, tough conditions with no catering or Bluetooth background music. Obviously, it is always frustrating when making a cover because it would be a shame to crop even 1mm of a photo like this!

Junpei Ishikawa
Born in Chiba Prefecture, Ishikawa’s specialty is skateboard photography. His motto: There is nothing more valuable than good health, and hit and run. On the cover of Sb magazine is his photo of a trick called hammer made on the first attempt by skater Mana Sasaki. This is the second time his photograph is featured in the cover of Sb magazine.
Instagram：@10npei
http://junpeiishikawa.com

Photography Junpei Ishikawa

The post The Perspectives of Skate Photographers appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

©Eisaku Kubonouchi

The drawing seems like it is about to move, like it is smiling at me, and I can even catch a whiff of the character’s hair wafting through the air — Eisaku Kubonouchi churns out such realistic line-drawings. Now 36 years out from his debut, Kubonouchi is a distinguished artist who has cultivated his career with a single pencil in hand.

Kubonouchi is best known as a manga artist for his masterpiece, Tsurumoku Dokushin Ryō (“Tsurumoku Bachelor Dormitory”), serialized in Weekly Big Comic Spirits. It has been more than 30 years since the manga came out, so it may seem gauche to unearth the past, when he wrote the story. Ultimately, it should be the reader’s gratification to flip through the pages and read again the old manga as many times as they want. Kubonouchi, however, is the creator who brought such an amazing work into the world. Given the honorable opportunity to meet him in person, I thought I might as well take the chance to be blunt and rattle off all the prying questions I’d always wanted to ask him. There may be things he has been avoiding to think about, or had forgotten already. But by posing these questions, I believe I can draw out his honest sentiments, and deliver his bona fide words to admiring readers.

“Yeah…I forgot something here…”

“Forgot something?”

“Something important…I forgot something important…”

“Okay…”

(Alright, starting from here!! This is the starting point of my second life!)

“Ah, a freshman, again…This is the beginning…the beginning of his beautiful drama…”

(From the final episode of Tsurumoku Dokushin Ryō)

After the conversation, the protagonist Shota and Miyuki leave the dorm holding each other’s hands. As the characters walk off, a freshman enters the dorm. A parting message is faintly written on the shrub— this final scene is portrayed on a two-page spread. It is the first and the last two-page spread of the eleven-volume manga.

I was stunned when I first saw this scene more than thirty years ago. It was the most perfect ending I could have possibly asked for. Since then, I have thought about this last scene every time I make a two-page spread; it has greatly influenced me and my life as an editor. I was blessed with the opportunity to interview my inspiration, Eisaku Kubonouchi, in person.

Tsurumoku Dokushin Ryō
©Eisaku Kubonouchi/Shogakukan

I don’t really look back at my old work

――I read in a previous interview you gave that Tsurumoku Dokushin Ryō (Tsurumoku) becoming a huge hit was a good thing but also an obstacle for you. Do you look back at your most major work?

Eisaku Kubonouchi (Kubonouchi): Almost never. Maybe two or three times in the past, and that’s it. My face blushes whenever I re-read my manga. I’m embarrassed by it.

――Do you remember the stories, though?

Kubonouchi: I remember almost nothing, except that when I was writing, I didn’t feel present in the real world; I was immersed in the fictional world, living every moment in it. Most of my memory from the time is gone, probably because I was too busy and didn’t have enough time to sleep. Once, my assistant told me, “You were passed out with a pencil in hand.” I thought I had only blinked, but apparently I napped a whole hour.

――How about your illustrations? Don’t you at least look back at your recent drawings?

Kubonouchi: Not really. I only look at my past work to look search for any improvements. Even if I did go through it again, I wouldn’t want to look at it too much because it makes me upset— so I focus my attention on imagining what I’ll draw next instead.

©Eisaku Kubonouchi

All the characters I draw mirror myself

――It’s a shame that you don’t remember much about the manga, but I was following every chapter of Tsurumoku in real time, and vividly remember each single scene. So please forgive me for asking questions about the manga.

There were scenes that showed a character having a peeping habit, slapping his girlfriend, smoking during meetings or while eating, littering cigarettes, pulling down pants and flashing a banquet, endorsing overtime work…I think these were essential to convey the reality of the characters and their workplace [the setting] and the significant contrasts of the story. But nowadays, these types of depictions are difficult to show in a way that would comply with TV or other media outlets. And that’s not limited to manga, I think many films and novels are affected by the restrictions. Since your work remains as time passes, what are the things you’re careful about or keep in mind while drawing?

Kubonouchi: You’re right, one’s work remains in the future. Maybe that’s why I like to compartmentalize myself from my work. I’m the same creator, but I keep a distance and see them like the work of my ignorant youth, when I was a greenhorn. I never deny my works, though. I may be embarrassed, but they’re my creations from the past, and I shouldn’t reject that.

――Michael Jackson and Jesus Jones. A designer suit. Sugi-chan’s hairstyle [beautiful long hair reminiscent of Yosuke Eguchi in Tokyo Love Story]. These portrayals project the trends of the time, like Reiko opening an eponymous restaurant under the concept of “ecology.” But if you read the series now, such depictions may appear dated. I’m assuming Tsurumoku was conveying trends from the day, but what was your life like right before starting the series? Back then, it was towards the end of the bubble era. Do you think the lifestyle and vibe from the time influenced the manga?

Kubonouchi: I was at my poorest in my life during the economic bubble. When the Tsurumoku series started, I lived in a place with a rent of about 20,000 yen. There was no bath, no toilet, and no A/C. It was a bleak room with only a kotatsu [a low table with a heater] all year round. So, as far as I know, I didn’t earn any boon from the economic bubble. Since I was writing Tsurumoku under such circumstances, I depicted trends from two different perspectives: one in a way that the majority of the readers would resonate with, and another from an ironic perspective. Reiko Shiratorizawa was an important character that represented both. Initially, I was drawing her as a parody of hyper-outgoing women in the bubble era, but as the story went on, she gradually ended up becoming cute.

――I noticed that. As the story goes on, Reiko Shiratorizawa becomes more likable as a character.

Kubonouchi: Anyway, I wrote the story from two different perspectives, and that approach hasn’t changed to this day; I depict the positive aspects of trends without forgetting to look at them slightly askew. 

――Do you view the characters differently from one other? Are there characters you’re especially attached to, or who reflect yourself?

Kubonouchi: All the characters I depict mirror myself. Tabata, Sugimoto, and Shiratorizawa, for example, each represent a part of me taken to an extreme so as to become an individual character. Even the protagonist, Shota, has a side that represents a piece of me. So, instead of looking at them differently from one another, I look at them all like myself.

©Eisaku Kubonouchi

“The bitterness of wanting to connect with someone but being unable to connect”

――I wonder what would have happened if the characters had a cell phone.

Kubonouchi: It would have been entirely different. What I wanted to convey with Tsurumoku was the bitterness of wanting to connect with someone but being unable to connect. Like a multi-protagonist drama portraying various kinds of bitterness from different perspectives. So if everyone had a cell phone, it would be a different story, and it would be about the exhaustion of being too connected. They would understand each other too well and see each through other too well. There could be a scene where a character finds out about another character’s fake social media account and is shocked, like, “What!? I can’t believe he’d say something like that” (laughs). I guess that could also be an interesting youth story, though.

――Of course! Tsurumoku is a story that captures the complex, at once youthful and mature emotions of a 20-year-old. It also ponders whether dreams of youth are self-contained or something that becomes re-scaled by society. Many of the characters, including the protagonist, Shota, harness such conflicting emotions to show us their different ways of living life. Of all the characters, I find Yasaki and the musician Satoshi have minds that would resonate with young people today. As a young man coming from the countryside to Tokyo to work and walk the road of a manga artist and illustrator, you had probably projected your own dreams onto the characters. What is your sentiment now, after achieving and living through your dreams?

Kubonouchi: The modern world is inundated with information, so young people today are missing out on the perks of being a youth (being prone to indiscretion.) I think these people are extremely clever and smart. Back when I was young, information wasn’t as accessible as it is now, so we just acted on hunches. That impulsive, young momentum was all that I had. And older people around me were forgiving of us young people. But I think that’s not the case for kids today, so in that sense, I feel a bit sorry for them.

――If you were the resident advisor of the Tsurumoku dormitory, what kind of advice would you give to the youths?

Kubonouchi: I would tell them that it’s okay to quit their jobs whenever they like. But only if they are determined about what they want to do in life. I think it takes about ten years to know whether you like a job or not, but you’ll know immediately if it’s something you genuinely want to do.

©Eisaku Kubonouchi

To me, writing manga is equivalent to playing sports for athletes

――Reading interviews of manga artists, I often see them say, “I fell into a such a slump at one point that I couldn’t make it by the deadline and had to halt the series.” I feel like a manga artist succumbs to that feeling as often, if not more often than a pro baseball player. Do manga artists have a constant fear of hitting a slump?

Kubonouchi: I think so. I think writing manga is equivalent to playing sports for athletes. You can’t guarantee that you’ll always hit your best. But if you’re working on a series, you’re expected to perform your best and turn in a masterpiece every week. If the ante keeps being upped, you’ll eventually lose sight of where the benchmark for your potential is. That also leads to Gestaltzerfall, where you lose the full picture and feel like you’re only drawing a piece of an illustration. I didn’t even know what I was doing…. I was at the threshold of losing my mind while Tsurumoku was running— I was so opposed to seeing anyone that I even pulled out the phone line.

――When the manga was remade as a novel, I remember each chapter’s subtitle was “NORUMA” (“Quota”). Typically, chapters are in numeric order or have a subtitle representing the content. Were you calling it “NORUMA” because writing each chapter felt as tough as being forced to meet a quota?

Kubonouchi: That’s right. To me, writing each chapter was exactly like working to meet quotas. Before the series started, I worked for a brand called Karimoku, assembling furniture. Back then, I had a set quota of how many parts I had to assemble in a day, so the word “quota” was never a pleasant word for me. So I think I was feeling so pressured writing the manga that I ended up using the word as a subtitle. I dreaded the idea of writing a series. I still remember the moment I finished drawing the last illustration of the final chapter— back then I was living in a loft apartment, and I remember it was cloudy outside, but suddenly sun beams poured in from the skylight, and the entire room was wrapped in bright light (laughs). In that otherworldly moment, I burst into tears.

――That reminds me of a fable of the monk Kūkai— while meditating at the Muroto Cape in Kochi, your hometown, a beam of light from Venus plunged into his mouth.

Kubonouchi: No way, you can’t compare me with Kūkai— we’re leagues apart. (Laughs)

――What would be the greatest quota you would like to achieve in your lifetime?

Kubonouchi: To make people smile, make people happy with my illustrations. That’s all I could ever ask for. To me, the act of drawing is directly connected to people’s entertainment. People enjoy my illustrations, and I think that’s my quota, or purpose. I don’t want to sound cheesy, but that’s the only purpose I’ve got. I’ve always been like this, ever since I was little; I drew pictures to entertain my classmates.

――After Tsurumoku, you only had four other series, and none of them had more than eleven volumes. I wouldn’t say you are a prolific manga artist. As an illustrator, however, you’ve continued to produce many amazing works, especially line drawings. You’ve continued to draw on a daily basis to this day. But do you ever feel like drawing a manga or writing a story again?

Kubonouchi: Simply put, writing manga requires enormous effort. (Laughs) The process was so traumatizing and petrifying that I even had a physical breakdown. Writing a manga means you have to forget about your personal life and focus solely on writing, which is debilitating. If I began writing one now at my age and current physical strength, I would need to prepare myself with a great deal of commitment. 

――But then, how different is it from producing the line-drawings and illustrations you churn out every day?

Kubonouchi: It’s a huge difference. There’s so much thinking required to write a manga. The whole story, the whole world happens all in my head. So I can’t ask someone to help draw any part of it.

――Usually, manga artists have assistants and editors to support them. It’s probably the same with illustrators, too. Which do you prefer, working alone, maybe with a select few talented people, or with a big team?

Kubonouchi: I’d say I prefer working alone — I feel more comfortable controlling the world or story on my own.

Creating a world entirely on your own is the distinction of a manga artist

――You’ve done cover artwork for musicians such as Nokko (from the band REBECCA) and RAM WIRE; more recently, you’ve also done character design for a Nissin Cup Noodles TV commercial, the “One Piece Hungry Days” series. I heard that you give small notes and corrections on the creative directions when you do client work. What are the important points for you when doing video work, and how much are you comfortable deferring to others?

Kubonouchi: That’s a good question. I had to learn a lot of this stuff for the first time (laughs). I only started working on animated videos quite recently, and I’ve been working in a style of a manga artist. Initially, I used to draw in meticulous detail, thinking that the characters would move exactly the way I designed. But reality’s different. I was shocked when I saw the characters in motion moving differently than I had pictured in my head. But I came to understand that there are experts working in each section, and I have to compromise at some point.

They may be very rare to come by, but I think it would be incredibly fun if I could work with people who shares some of my sensibilities. I want to meet someone who will excite me, make me jealous, make me think, “Wow, this guy’s incredible. I can’t wait to see what they’ll come up with.” There’s got to be someone like that somewhere out there.

――I’m sure there will be more young people who recognize you through your illustration work. Although you no longer write manga, however, you always say you’re a manga artist rather than just an artist or an illustrator. It seems like you’re stuck to the job title.

Kubonouchi: That’s true. For the sake of creativity, I want to stay a manga artist. Creating a world entirely on your own the distinction of a manga artist. I confront a challenge on paper every single day— it’s my testing ground. I think hard about how far I can recreate the images I have in my head, and how to make a drawing more attractive. So to me, a blank piece of paper is like a boxing ring, or a laboratory. I’m also gradually changing my illustration style day by day, subtly enough that viewers won’t notice. I think you could tell if you compared my current drawings to those from five or ten years ago. I do all this because I strive to draw better and entertain the viewer. And I push myself, like, “I need to improve,” “I can do more,” “I can do better than this.”

Characters designed by Kubonouchi for the Nissin Cup Noodle TV commercial “One Piece Hungry Days”
©︎Eiichiro Oda/Shueisha・Fuji Television・TOEI ANIMATION

If I make drawings that capture human nature, viewers a hundred years from now would resonate with them

――In this digital age, you choose to draw with a pencil and paper. But pencil lines become unerasable once printed. How do you see the process of preserving your work for the future?

Kubonouchi: I’m on social media for the sole purpose of amusing my viewers. Even with small drawings, I think showcasing one’s work is a form of entertainment, so I do it on the principle of entertaining an audience. If not for that, there would be no meaning for me to draw. I don’t want to draw for my own sake. I want to make people chuckle or feel giddy with my illustrations. I try not to get on the bandwagon of negativity caused by the pandemic.

――When I interviewed Hisashi Eguchi, he told me that the only illustration he made portraying the pandemic was of a “girlfriend” [“kanojo,” a recurring motif of Eguchi’s] looking up at the falling snow with a mask pulled down to her chin. He said that he wanted to leave only that one drawing conveying the time.

Kubonouchi: I remember that illustration. I actually drew one like that, too. I drew a picture of a person cutting off the portion of his beard coming out of his mask.

――It almost makes you want to cut it all off.

Kubonouchi: It’s tempting, indeed (laughs).

――There’s one thing I’ve always wanted to ask you directly in person.

There are all sorts of manga, films, and novels in this world with all sorts of different endings. Of all the stories I’ve experienced, Tsurumoku had the most perfect ending. It was so perfect that it left me wanting nothing more. After giving flashbacks of moments in each character’s respective lives, you depict the protagonist Shota’s maturity by drawing him with a solid, thick outline; after awing with that depiction, you follow up by drawing the heroine Miyuki like a spring breeze.

The ending wraps up the hazy vibe of the preceding eleven volumes in the best way possible. When I saw that last scene, I felt it so profound that I couldn’t turn the page; decades later, its imprint on me remains. How long had you been incubating that ending?

Kubonouchi: That much I can remember clearly. I had decided on that ending from the very beginning. When I was told it was going to be a series, I knew it had to end the way it did, and had the whole picture in mind. Regarding the last part, where the protagonist and the freshman pass by each other in front of the dorm, I created that scene considering the dorm itself to be the main character of Tsurumoku. I wanted to make it a story that lingers in the reader’s mind.

――It definitely lingered in my mind. But I’m surprised to learn that the ending had been decided from the very beginning….

Kubonouchi: Thank you. It’s like listening to your favorite song, you want to hear to that comforting melody over and over again.

――Your characters feel like human beings living in the real world, rather than scripted figures. From your perspective as a line drawing artist, what do you feel real people have in common with drawn characters?

Kubonouchi: There’s something I’ve always done since my days of drawing manga: I observe people when I’m drawing people, and try to create a fictional human based on that study. My illustrations aren’t inspired by other illustrations; even if they’re exaggerated or drawn with simple lines, I draw the characters as real-life humans. If I make drawings that capture human nature, I think viewers a hundred years from now would resonate with them. Ukiyo-e is a great example of this. It focused on depictions of real-life human, and so it allows us to discern what people were really like back then. I think it will always be important to draw illustrations capturing intrinsic parts of human beings instead of focusing on the culture or the epidemics surrounding us.

©Eisaku Kubonouchi

――Also, I have a question for you about sound. In Tsurumoku, there are a number of these scenes; the resident advisor Santanda gives a live performance,  the phone at the dorm rings; Reiko lapping up clam sauce pasta, workers puffing on cigarettes during recess at the factory; Mr. Ueki’s zipper sliding up and down, catching the light; these scenes evoke such realistic sounds in our minds.

It’s like watching a film with the sounds of shoes tapping, horse hooves clicking or plates clattering. The props in Tsurumoku exude sounds so realistic that I can hear them coming out from your illustrations. Was that intended?

Kubonouchi: I’m happy to hear that. Yes, you’re right, I made a lot of effort to convey those sounds. The sounds we’re able to imagine from pictures and colors come to life from a kind of synesthesia. Line drawings are rendered in black lines, but in real life, there are no such living beings made from black lines. But people can still picture the characters as real humans, and this is possible because we all share this synesthesia. For me, sounds are conveyed by presenting illustrations and laying out panels rhythmically.

Illustrations are kind of like music. I love movies and music, so I guess I’m influenced by them in a big way. I’m also fascinated by the world of poetry. Take Haiku, for example— it’s amazing how it can convey such a vast universe with its minimal five-seven-five syllables. It’s a gorgeous, rhythmic sound. Anyway, I have these images, sounds, and poetry in my head and try to evoke them all in my illustrations. So I’m happy to hear that you perceived sound from my manga.

――Are there any specific sounds that you like? From a movie, or from your own work?

Kubonouchi: Which sounds do I like!? I’ve never been asked that before (laughs). I love music, so I listen to it while working and driving— I need to listen to music all the time, or else I feel like I’m going to lose myself. But if we’re talking sound, rather than music… I guess I like the sound of rain. I love it, actually. I think the sound of rain is a beautiful symphony. So I feel enchanted every time it starts raining. I stop playing music without even noticing when it rains.

Eisaku Kubonouchi
Manga artist and illustrator from Kochi prefecture, born in 1966. In 1986, he debuted as a manga artist with Okappiki Eiji in Weekly Shonen Sunday. His series Tsurumoku Dokushinryo, beginning in 1988, became a big hit. He continued to produce a number of popular manga, including Watanabe, Chocolat, and Cherry. Today, he draws humorous and realistic characters, mainly as line drawings, as can be seen in his book Rakugaki Note. He also provides work for music videos and TV commercials; the characters he designed for the Nissin Cup Noodle commercial “One Piece Hungry Days” have been embraced by youth culture. He continues to make illustrations that pierce the hearts of every generation.
Twitter：@EISAKUSAKU
Instagram：@eisaku_kubonouchi

Phoography Takeshi Abe
Translation Ai Kaneda

The post The World Eisaku Kubonouchi Portrays as a Manga Artist appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

A large graphic art mural — It’s not a matter of whether it’s legal or illegal, but it’s merely an enormous presence exuding discomfort in a pleasant way. It’s a remarkable presence. This graphic art phenomena didn’t start from Banksy. But he may have influenced the people who were only interested in restraining graffitis to shift their interests to something else.

From a long, long time ago, in our towns and society, people have been drawing pictures and leaving their art behind in public spaces. Many people interact with art and learn about the world through art. Today, we are not putting a spotlight on the art we enjoy from below, but we are putting a spotlight on the art we enjoy from above. Furthermore, this article is about a story of the people who draw and leave the art in the playground to jazz up the space.

Spray painting over someone’s tag on the wall is called “going over,” which is ultimately an offensive thing to do. But, then, what do you call when people are frolicking on an art-drawn playground, ruining the art, or a scene of children and people playing around and having fun on an incredibly beautiful art?

Today, I’d like to introduce you to a project where artists and the playground-players collaborate in rendering a large art piece together. It’s a project where the artists paint art on a large canvas of a run-down basketball court. The project is called the Renovation Art Court Project. And this is an article about the organization, go parkey.

In countries abroad, outdoor basketball courts are utilized for various events, including pro basketball tournaments

――First, can you tell us about yourself? You used to be a basketball player, right?

Susumu Ebihara (AB): That’s right. I started basketball when I was 10 at an outdoor basketball court, and I still play to this day. There wasn’t a local Junior basketball team, so I went to the park with my friends whenever we could. It was fun playing basketball freely. We would gather at the school playground on weekdays before morning assembly and after school. On weekends, I would put the ball in my bike basket, bike to outdoor basketball courts in various parks and towns, and have fun playing with older kids and adults.

――I don’t mean to sound ignorant, but do you have a so-called glorious basketball career?

AB: No, I don’t. I never had a chance to join a school basketball team or get into a school on a sports referral. Basketball courts in parks were my place to be, but I could never write down basketball in my resume as a significant part of my career. But I was chosen as a candidate for Japan’s national 3×3 team when I got older. 

――So what’s “outdoor basketball”? In which category does it belong?

AB: I don’t think everything needs to be put in a category, but to identify outdoor basketball, it’s a basketball court in parks with hoops and lines that make the court. Typically in Japan, a basketball court is just a part of the public sports facility, but in countries abroad, various events take place at outdoor courts, even high-level tournaments with pro basketball players. It’s also utilized in an eclectic way: for example, for a person to practice shooting or play a 3×3 using the whole court, and it’s not always played traditionally, but that’s what makes outdoor basketball fascinating. Recently, this game that originated from outdoor basketball, 3×3 (three-ex-three or three-on-three), has been approved and recognized as an official game.

――Also, 3×3 was added to the Tokyo Olympic Games, and I heard you were part of organizing the new programme for the Olympics. So, how were you involved? 

AB: I took part in optimizing the debuting game to the Olympics format. I had an experience as a player, and in the international project management team, so I was able to use the skills I acquired from these experiences. Specifically, I was part of organizing the venue and coordinating the game rules and operation plans.

When constructing the rules, I communicated closely with FIBA and the Olympics committee members from all around the world. I also had the chance to design the court and the ball for the event, which was an incredible experience for me. However, there were unprecedented troubles like the Olympics being postponed for a year due to the pandemic, spectators being banned from attending, and Mr.Mori (Former Tokyo Olympics chief Yoshiro Mori) resigning…. Also, I had a heatstroke on-site while the game was going on. It was so overwhelming and something I’d never experienced in my life before.

――Tokyo Olympics took place in hot scorching summer weather in Tokyo during the pandemic. The event was entrenched in a spate of concerning issues. I’m sure there were people around you who were also against the event, but what was your inner dialogue during the time?

AB: It was quite an absurd situation. The sports themselves were no harm, but working under such social circumstances wasn’t easy, and moreover, it didn’t pay enough for the time and effort. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to get through if I didn’t have this much love for the sport. Every weekend, Olympic protesters were rallying in front of the office, and every day I would hear rumors that it was going to be canceled. Furthermore, the pay wasn’t good, and many people were quitting.

On the other hand, I was questioning myself every day, “Why do I want to keep going with this job?” But this introspection shed light on some positive aspects. My motive to get through was quite simple; my pure, genuine love for basketball was the drive. I firmly believed that introducing the game I’m enamored of, 3×3 basketball, to the world would have a positive impact on the kids’ future in the long term.

Of course, I couldn’t control things, like the postponement, cancellations, and the pandemic per se, but I worked hard, putting all my strenuous effort and holding myself accountable.

――So it’s all worth it even after the Olympics were over.

AB: Yes. I was able to reconfirm that simply and properly enjoying what you believe and love will give benefits to society.

I want to revamp run-down basketball courts in parks and embellish them with museum-level art to provide a safe and fun space for kids and the neighborhood

――Now I’d like to talk about go parkey. Did you have the idea of the project in mind even before the Olympics?

AB: Yes. I started conceiving the idea in 2018 and launched the project officially in 2019.

――By the way, I don’t want to butcher the name…. How do you pronounce it?

AB: It’s go and par-key! Like, Pah-key!

――It’s a coined name, right? What’s the meaning behind it?

AB: Parkey refers to those people who love outdoor courts so much that they pretty much live there. It’s inspired by the word “Pikey” (which refers to gypsies in Europe. Referenced from the film, Snatch.)

――And what exactly do you do for the project? Do you build tent houses on the side of a basketball court and squat in parks with camping cars like we see in the film?

AB: We do nothing illegal [laughs]. Our mission is to renovate run-down outdoor basketball courts and embellish museum-level art to provide safe and fun spaces for the kids and the local neighborhood. We have painters and artists design the court, but the cornerstone of the project is engaging with the community and painting the court together with the kids and the locals.

I believe this engaging experience would encourage the locals to develop a stronger affinity to the space and the neighborhood and help them hone their creativity and inspiration. At least, that’s my confident hope.

――I assume it’s a challenge to explain the project to those who have a penchant for categorizing things — For example, they might ask you if your organization is a volunteer, foundation, or distribution. Perhaps, you might get sarcastic comments saying that this is just another “philanthropic economic activity.”

AB: Maybe I will get some comments like that someday. But I think people could tell that it’s nothing like that as soon as they see the finished art court. People who get it, get it.

――Then, how about this: As long as people can have fun and play basketball safely, they don’t need art on the playground; they may not care at all. I can also imagine the paint fading over time as people play on the court. So I guess my question is, why does it have to be an art court?

AB: Yes, but I see basketball both as a sport and a form of art. It’s a creative sport. For example, you can create a new trick by combining dribbling with a different trick, and players can express their styles with their choice of shoes, accessories, and hairstyles. The art court embodies these artistic factors taken to the extreme.

There’s solid beauty in conventional indoor courts made with simple lines and curves. But, the art court makes the artistic aspect of the sport visible to people, even the players who’ve never been interested in art, and it bestows them with new potential and inspiration.

Another fascinating thing about the art court is that it ages and changes its appearance as the seasons change. I want people to feel the profound energy of the art as they stand and play on the art court. 

――Before the interview, you mentioned, “Our project gets mixed up with a beautification campaign or pop-up event.”

AB: I don’t want to be misunderstood, but I think it’s great for outdoor basketball to be hyped up through events. However, in most cases, the courts are only utilized for an event without being featured as the main thing.

Our purpose as go parkey is to do something for the space or contribute directly to the court per se. We don’t want anything temporary; our mission is to leave something in the right way and transform the place into a space where children can explore and broaden their potential.

――I see, so the idea of the art court is to become a platform for new communities and cultures to flourish, spawning bigger potentials. I find this vision is unique to go parkey.

AB: That’s right. Initially, I wasn’t thinking about actively publicizing our project. But now that I see our activity and art court having a positive impact on society, I feel in charge of presenting our project to a wider audience and spreading our messages properly as we leave our achievements.

No license is required to play outdoor basketball, as well as no rules or qualifications required to join

――And your achievements would be the renovated art basketball courts. So, where can we find your achievements?

AB: We opened the first domestic art court at the end of April in Hamamachi park, located in Chuo-ward, Tokyo. We had the painter Shunsuke Imai do the design, and we painted the court together with the local kids. Although it was a new project, we were grateful to have Spalding sponsoring us for the event. Sponsors are crucial for go parkey. Their support becomes the paint, the brush, and the fund for our project. Many corporates are willing to contribute to communities and consumers, but they don’t know how. We are really grateful that Spalding took a bet on us to leave a positive impact on the community, and I hope we have more corporates becoming interested in our project.

――Please tell us more about the artist you curated this time for the project.

AB: Yes, we had the painter Shunsuke Imai. Go parkey is consisted of different opinion leaders specialized in a particular field, and one of our project members living in the US, Dan [Peterson], found the artist. Dan is our respecting partner and the founder of the US-based art court organization — Project Backboard. I remember Dan telling me, “I can feel the right energy exuding from Shunsuke Imai’s works.” Initially, all the members, including I, didn’t know Mr. Imai, but we instantly fell in love with his works. We also thought his art style matches perfectly with the image of the Hamamatsu park. So Dan reached out to Mr. Imai first, then we, the members in Japan, followed with a proper offer.

――So the collaborating artist doesn’t need to be someone from a basketball community? In other words, it could be anyone, and there are no specific qualifications or licenses required?

AB: No qualifications or licenses are required to be our collaborator. It’s the same as not needing any permission to play street basketball. Ultimately, we are looking for art that matches the atmosphere of the playground and sparks our imagination. So, in other words, the artist can be someone from a basketball community if their art matches the vibe of the court.

――Although there are various types of artists, including painters like Mr.Imai and graffiti artists, who exhibit their talent on street walls, I believe most artists prefer doing everything on their own, from drawing the initial sketch to finishing painting the art.

AB: You may be right. But the vital part of our project is, as I mentioned earlier, for the kids and locals to be involved in the project. So it needs to be a painting project in a workshop style, and ultimately, we need to have the actual court users engaging in the painting process.

Also, we want the kids to nurture the connection and affinity with the court through the project. Our vision is clear — the court isn’t the artist’s nor go parkey’s, and it belongs to the community and kids.

Public basketball court is a place for children, the community, and their future

――From a technical point of view, what’s something important other than art and painting per se? Also, what are the challenges you’ve had so far with the project? Are there things you want to improve or ideas you found that may help enhance the project?

AB: One of our challenges was with the rain [laughs]. The rain had circumvented the process of the project more than we’d expected, so we need to figure out a solution. It’s been a battle with the elements. But, like a baller in an outdoor game, we need to perform our best while the sun is out! Do our best as much as we can! These are the common mottos for both outdoor basketball and outdoor painting.

Also, closing the court for a long period of time to complete the painting causes inconvenience to the court users, so keeping up with the tight schedule is another ongoing challenge. Due to certain conditions, we couldn’t do a big event when opening the art court in Hamamatsu park. But in the future, we want to do kick-off events each time we complete and open an art court as a ceremony to infuse life into the space.

――I feel that a project like this needs a compelling story, or else you would have to make compromises all the time. So what would be the important story of this project?

AB: Again, the kids using the court and the locals are always the main subject of the project. go parkey, the artists, and the sponsors should never forget that we are restoring the place for nothing else but them. 

――go parkey has just taken its first step of launching the project. I’m looking forward to seeing more projects like this in Japan.

AB: I hope so, too!

――What would be the ideal story to follow for this project?

AB: First, I want people to pay more attention to public parks. I simply think life wouldn’t be exciting enough if there weren’t any cool public parks around. Municipals are struggling with budgets and grasping the citizens’ needs, so we want to support them on that part. Also, I want more people to recognize the beauty of outdoor basketball and art courts. So many stories are spawned from outdoor basketball courts. It’s a space where people have an amazing time playing basketball and making new friends and where culture is born. Finally, I want more people to know that an outdoor park is a dynamic space where you can interact with strangers, be inspired by art, and otherwise.

――As the project goes on, there will be more art courts and playgrounds in Japan where people can enjoy basketball, but it could also be an interactional or educational space for the locals where some can even learn social rules. So, in that sense, your project transforms the place into a jubilant space. But what is something permanent or something that would never change with go parkey?

AB: What never changes is our respect for art, local kids, and the local citizens. As I’ve been saying, the court is a space for the kids, the community, and their future, and it’s not for our complacency and delectation.

――So art, place, kids, and the local communities — That’s all this project needs. Is there anything else imperative for the project?

AB: Our media archive is another crucial part of the project. Go parkey is an art collective in a way. So, it’s vital to keep archives of the finished art courts and record the processes of repairing and painting done by various people working as a whole. I want to keep our project record open for many people to see and know about us. I hope our archives can inspire people.

――Do you have any upcoming plans for the project?

AB: We’re still in our first year as go parkey, but we already have two more projects coming up this year. We are taking our project to other domestic regions next year, as we’re receiving many offers from multiple municipalities. We’re excited to see more unique art courts in different cities. Also, go parkey is all about the love of courts, art, and basketball, and we don’t care about borders. So, we want to travel the world and see different courts and people.  

――Finally, tell us your zeal for go parkey. I’m sure you’re very passionate about it, but can you be more specific and describe the passion in words? 

AB: There’s a word “lifework,” and go parkey is my lifework. For the rest of my life, I want to produce as many art courts as possible with go parkey. That’s all I’m hoping to do. Wish me good luck!

Susumu Ebihara
Ebihara is the representative of go parkey — the first general incorporation association (unprofitable organization) in Japan, promoting the Renovation Art Court Project. Since his early years, he played basketball at parks and later joined pick-up basketball games and tournaments at public courts abroad. In 2021, he dedicated himself to the Tokyo Olympics as an organizer of the street origin game, 3×3 basketball, debuting in the Olympics, and contributed his experience as a player. Ebihara founded go parkey as his lifework to promote basketball beyond the Tokyo Olympics and its culture to a broader audience. As a disclaimer, “parkey” comes from the word “pikey,” a coined word for ballers or people who are always at the part as they love outdoor basketball so much.
https://www.goparkey.com
Instagram：@go_parkey / @ab_tokyo

Photography Kenji Nakata

The post The Representative of go parkey, Susumu Ebihara, Unveils About the Modern Day Outdoor Basketball and the Renovation Art Court Project appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Artist Mike Kershnar takes film photography, draws with a pen in his hand, and tirelessly types words. Seven days a week aren’t enough time for his desire to create. With his energy that doesn’t fit within 24 hours a day, I feel like he’ll end up inventing an eighth day of the week for himself. His forte is jumping on his skateboard and being able to manifest his energy anywhere, as long as he has the tools he can carry around.

Given his style, there’s no doubt he’s an unprecedented artist in the skate scene. He creates and leaves behind unique works, and I’d like to show you a glimpse of that.

Meeting Mike

First and foremost, Mike Kershnar has always been and always will be a skater, regardless of what happens. Even if it becomes illegal to cut down Canadian maple trees worldwide, I’m sure he would keep pushing on a reworked, plywood skate deck. And I’m sure he’ll continue being a part of Skate Wild (an organization that supports the youth through skating, nature, and art) alongside his best friend Todd Larson in Irvine, California.

As an editor and publisher of a skateboard magazine, I’ve interacted with many unique people in the industry. Among them, my impression of Mike is firm. I have a memorable and good image of him.

I was first introduced to him when he sent me an email out of the blue. Since I’ve been working in skateboard media for over two decades, I get contacted like that often. It’s not rare. Besides, I could tell if I could create a fun feature as Sb (Sb Skateboard Journal, my skateboard magazine), instead of myself, by looking at the person’s photography, artwork, and email. 

I replied immediately, “I want to make something with you.” His article quickly graced the pages of the new issue of Sb. What’s interesting is how Mike continues to send me articles despite Sb being a biannual magazine. Whether or not we use them is up to my sensibilities. But he’s clearly aware of this, so he keeps trying new things, taking photos, drawing, and emailing me. I’m very inspired by this limitless energy of his. Because of him, I find myself writing more and more for both business and pleasure.

No matter how old I become or how much work I accumulate, talents and presences that could stimulate and make me grow are valuable. My relationship with Mike is an asset, not only for Sb and the readers who enjoy itbut for myself too.

How Mike’s career started

Mike Kershnar grew up in Orange County, California. As a true Californian, he’s enjoyed drawing and painting since his teenage years. He stood out by painting live at skate events.

He had two turning points. First, he painted next to Ed Templeton at a contest. Thanks to this, he earned the opportunity to draw graphics for Toy Machine, a notable deck brand run by Ed. This led to Mike building a career as an artist.

Second, he had one as a photographer. Until then, most of the photographers in the scene were big names like Brian Gaberman. Amid this, Joe Brook (who I wrote about in this series) took Mike to a photoshoot in his beloved car, Big Blue, and gave him the chance to take photos. 

He says he still remembers Joe’s words clearly: “This is Mike, an artist friend of mine. If it’s okay with you, I want him to take photos of you professional skaters.” 

That’s how Mike was introduced. Through this, he met many skate teams and took photos of them. I’ve previously written that Joe’s a good guy. He gives everyone an equal chance without being prideful and is really the master of connecting people to one another.

Mike made a career as a visual artist and skater with Ed Templeton as a role model and a film photographer with Joe Brook as a role model. 

A never-changing essence

Mike Kershnar’s footprints. He has a colossal amount of the things he’s created and drawn thus far. People like artists and film directors either create many works or not; Mike is definitely the former. Perhaps the common denominator of his massive body of work is how he’s been involved in skating for a long time but doesn’t draw about it. The theme of his work is not for people to learn about skating but about wild animals—the creatures that coexist with humans on this earth—in Northern America.

Since he was a child, he liked to frequently learn about mythologies related to elephants, lions, pandas, and more. He was the most interested in animals that lived close to him: the coyote, mountain lion, raccoon, bobcat, frog, rattlesnake, owl, grey heron, osprey, and critically endangered bear, which is on the Californian flag. Mike says these animals made him use his imagination. This explains why the viewer could feel like they’re living as a part of nature when they see his work. 

His artistic touch is reminiscent somewhat of Native American prints. It could be said that what makes Mike, who keeps pushing on his skateboard, true to himself is how he chose skate decks and skate spots as his canvas.

Mike’s vision for his future

I imagine Mike would expand his travels as an artist once again when the pandemic settles down. He’s conscious of how his skating skills peaked when he was in his 20s. If one were to compete for jumping over the highest number of steps (pulling off a hammer), it’d be best to do it at a younger age. However, one could foster their creative career the older they get. For instance, one could become more confident about how they draw or how they use colors. 

With that in mind, Mike would like to look even more deeply into wild animals in Northern America while learning about diverse cultures and mythologies from across the globe. He wants to go on trips to explore wild animals and the mythologies revolving around them in different countries. If it’s possible for him to come to Japan, Mike says he wants to draw a life-size drawing of Japanese raccoon dogs and take film photos of local skaters.

Although his name is Mike Kershnar, I usually call him Husky Round Up. Why? It’s his Instagram handle. There’s a reason behind this name. He grew up with a Siberian husky named Kiyomi and fell in love with huskies. One day, when he was petting one and talking to its owner on the streets of San Francisco, he learned that huskies in San Francisco got together at Duboce Park every third Saturday. Mike responded, “Wow, a husky round-up!” as though he were a cowboy calling out for his cows. He liked how it sounded. He pictured huskies running around freely in a grassy field and knew it matched his vibe. This is when he started using @huskyroundup as his Instagram handle. As an artist, Mike is unstoppable. There’s no end to his creative energy.
Just yesterday, Sb and I received a new article from him.

Mike Kershnar
Artist. Mike Kershnar contributes artwork and writes articles for various skateboard media such as skateboard magazine Thrasher, and also creates visual art for popular skate brands like Baker and Anti Hero, street brands like FAT and Volcom, and artists like the Beastie Boys. He draws graphics on skate spots in DIY parks all over the world. 
Instagram：@huskyroundup

Translation Lena Grace Suda

The post Mike Kershnar, the artist for whom skate photography and drawing are as natural as hugging and eating breakfast in the morning appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Jonathan Rentschler is a photographer who documents the east coast skate scene in places like Philadelphia, New York. The Chiaroscuro quality (having a strong contrast between light and dark) created by his monochromatic photos do a brilliant job depicting the ups and downs of short-lived skate spots.
His cumulative portraits of people at said skate spots are equally as good as his photos of valuable, technical skate tricks. Even when the subjects aren’t doing a trick, one could still call his photos “skate photos.”

Skating at the plaza of Philadelphia

As a photographer, Jonathan’s most famous piece of work is his 176-page monochromatic photo book, LOVE, published by Paradigm Publishing in 2017. The book depicts the protagonists of Philadelphia’s former iconic skate plaza. Many skaters who dwell in the park and don’t give in to social standards are in the book too. A policeman, reminiscent of Red Skull from the Marvel universe, tries to kick the skaters out in one of the shots. That adds a nice touch.

Jonathan’s portraits and snapshots are like alluring photos with skate tricks. His world consists of a roughness and skate plaza-ness; the shots are lively, and the subjects are constantly engaged in something. They shout, chat, get angry, laugh, skate. They get kicked out. Fight. Resist. Smoke. Dream. Jonathan has continued to take such photos at LOVE Park. In the eyes of the park residents, Jonathan and the skaters must’ve seemed like they truly lived there. Skate plazas are parks where skating isn’t allowed but have concrete floors, ledges, and marble curbs on benches and stairs, apt for skating.
Skate plazas differ from skate parks in that these places were built as regular parks first. Skaters share the space afterward. The idea of sharing is vital here. It’s not like skaters, who are citizens themselves, try to take public parks away from others. They’re not out to destroy these places chaotically. If anything, they try to shed light on a spot that’s been left behind to decay. For us, the sounds of the wheels and tails are comforting, and we could use an open bench as a curb to skate on instead of letting it go to waste. The opposing side might think skaters ruin benches, which are resting spots for citizens, in a loud and noisy manner. Such is the state of things now. Although it’s too late for LOVE Park, the disparity of values and understanding regarding skating is beginning to shrink, as seen in the Olympics and big corporations. Competition venues are imprints of plazas. If this is the hope of a new generation, then Jonathan’s photo book, LOVE, is the light of Philadelphia’s LOVE Park. Without relying on funding, he showed the culture of skate plazas to the world.
The photos are monochromatic, not gold, yet they’re beautiful. And raw and bright.

Jonathan Rentschler in Tokyo

Jonathan’s came to Japan to show his work at a solo exhibition in Tokyo during the winter before the pandemic hit. His photos covered every inch of the hotel room walls. I knew about the show, but something, in particular, made me decide to go. Parisian photographer Benjamin, who was one of the subjects of Jonathan’s photos at the show, emailed me saying, “Jonathan and I could make something together for Sb (Sb Skateboard Journal is a skateboard magazine I publish), so I think you two should meet.” Benjamin brought us together like a dating app. He’s a veteran photographer that I wrote about in the second installment of this series. I touched on this in that article, but Benjamin has a distinct aesthetic and style; he is also Jonathan’s mentor. So, I knew I had to meet him. Besides, I had been interested in Jonathan Rentschler’s photo book, LOVE, prior. It was my chance to see it in real life.

There was a symbolic photo at his exhibition: a portrait of a masked man that had been posterized. Perhaps it symbolized resistance against the authorities who built barricades and cracked down on the park. However, preconceived factors attached to masked men, such as intimidation, scariness, mysteriousness, and tendencies to rob banks, were dissolved. It was a cool shot; it entranced me.
I was fascinated by his work so much that I decided to make his photos of people skating (not photos of them doing skate tricks) the main story of an issue of Sb Skateboard Journal. Most of his pictures taken at LOVE Park are over six years old. I’m sure Jonathan wanted to capture familiar faces and friendships before the park closed down.

The light and dark shades of his monochromatic photos convey something crucial—what was an empty and boring plaza was brought to life thanks to legendary skaters and residents that gathered there.
After LOVE Park was demolished, Jonathan left Philadelphia and moved to New York. And then he flew over to Tokyo. Before me, there were people in Tokyo who understood the brilliance of his photographic style to hook him up. SALT AND PEPPER, a gallery, bookstore, and publishing house in Tokyo collaborated with Jonathan and published two photo books, Remembering The Future and Be There Soon. Masayuki Irishio, the owner of a skate shop in Kobe called Shelter and a skater who’s been gliding the streets since the 90s when LOVE Park was thriving, has a close relationship with Jonathan. From the east coast to Tokyo in the far east, the most vital things in skate-related matters are aesthetic sensibilities, communication skills, and networking. Jonathan complements Tokyo very well.
His monochromatic photos and the skaters who weave through the complex streets of the big city go outstandingly well together.

Not all photos are the same

“You’ll never get it if you don’t slow down, my friend”
“But they’re all the same”
This is a conversation between Auggie Wren, an owner of a smoke shop performed by Harvey Keitel, and Paul Benjamin, a writer performed by William Hurt. In the film Smoke, Auggie takes one monochromatic photo at the same place every day at 8 am like clockwork. Before he knew it, he created a massive archive of photos he had taken for over a decade. Paul takes another good look at his pictures. And he comes across a shot that speaks to him and him alone. I feel like Jonathan’s monochromatic photos have overlapping qualities with this film.

His photos depict people like skaters, which we don’t see too many now, and Jonathan’s friend went to Philadelphia because he had admired LOVE Park only to then go to Florida. Perhaps the homeless people in his portraits are missing persons. Perhaps a grandmother might look at a stern-looking policeman cracking down on the people at the park and boast that her grandson is doing a good job. In the film Smoke, the setting is at Prospect Park in Brooklyn, while in Jonathan’s case, that was LOVE Park and the streets of New York. In both Auggie and Jonathan’s photos, the location is always on the streets or plazas, and they’re monochromatic. The more voluminous they are, the more we tend to flip through such archived photos in the form of a photo book. It’s inevitable for us to find a rhythm when we do, and that’s okay. Once we take the time to look at each picture closely, we’ll discover something new. There are good, bad, happy, and sad things. All the photos are monochromatic, but not all are the same.

I carefully looked at the vast photos at Jonathan’s exhibition in Tokyo. I found a portrait on the bottom part of the wall. It was Benjamin the Parisien. Jonathan must’ve taken it in the summer of 2011. It reminded me of how I met up with Benjamin right before that point in time. He had just released Le Circle with Mark Gonzales. When Benjamin showed me the original B0 size print (which Mark Gonzales drew on top) at his apartment, he told me that he was going to the east coast the next day. I think he said he was going to have a book signing at a bookstore in New York with Mark Gonzales and then take photos on the east coast. I figured he met Jonathan then. Because of his chronic illness and the covid crisis, Jonathan hasn’t been to the east coast in a long time. However, he’s publishing a photo book of photos he had taken in the past on his travels. It’s ambitious. When I found that portrait of Benjamin at the exhibition, I understood that Benjamin wanted to say, “Go look for my photo at Jonathan’s exhibition in Tokyo.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

Despite the efforts of Jonathan and others, LOVE Park was sadly renovated. Benjamin’s portrait was displayed among such photos, and instead of being sad, I couldn’t stop laughing because of it. Skate photos are fantastic indeed. Cameras are tools of documentation, yet they don’t stop pushing forward. They’ll continue moving no matter what. Jonathan’s pictures are like that too.

Jonathan Rentschler
New York-based photographer and filmmaker. Jonathan Rentschler’s notable work is the photo book LOVE (2017) published by Paradigm Publishing; long-term documentation of LOVE Park in Philadelphia, the former world-renowned skate plaza and mecca. He’s also put out many DIY magazines such as Nowhere To Go From Here (2019), Copper (2019), Untitled (2020), and Dill (2020). Further, Rentschler collaborated with SALT AND PEPPER, a Tokyo-based gallery, bookstore, and publishing house, and published two photo books, Remembering The Future and Be There Soon.
Instagram：@eurojon

Translation Lena Grace Suda

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Kevin Metallier is a photojournalist who glides on beautiful waves with his long, blonde hair in the wind. He’s one of the people who was drawn to cyanotype photography. Like Rick Howard, Kevin is tall and has reliable hands and legs; he uses them to ride his skateboard and take pictures. As opposed to his meticulousness, his texts are like a rugged dirt road. Rather than his work being a passive creation/artwork, it makes more sense to view it as the work of a hands-on person. Kevin, whose gorgeous photos contrast with his demeanor (although it might be rude of me to say this, it’s coming from someone who knows him), revived the time-consuming and intricate cyanotype. I’d like to introduce Kevin Metallier to you.

Learning something new from old things

The Japanese proverb, onkochishin (温故知新), which means to come up with new ideas by studying the past, applies to Kevin’s current photographic endeavors.
The technology of photography was born in 1839 at the height of the industrial revolution in England. Three years later, in 1842, a new printing process was created. And that was the cyanotype.

I remember meeting Kevin for the first time a decade ago. He was in Japan, commissioned by a European skate magazine, and he came to me out of the blue to tell me he wanted to interview me. Kevin was interested in how I ran a skate magazine on an island nation in the far east. If I’m not mistaken, he carried a heavy-looking camera bag and a digital SLR camera on his shoulder. We talked and laughed a lot and warmed up to each other quickly. I liked his character and vibe.

Later on, I ran a feature on Kevin in Sb Skateboard Journal, which is still in print today, using the photos he had taken on his travels across the globe. His photos then were in color and had a high contrast. They were sharper than they were soft, and the visual quality looked good on the page. Although his printing and photographic process has changed, he has always liked horizontal photos. He became entranced with cyanotype, the legacy of the 19th century.

Skateboards didn’t exist in the 19th century. Surfboards, however, might’ve originated from Kamehameha’s people in Hawaii. The subjects at the time were most likely aristocrats, churches, and rural landscapes. Kevin introduced a new concept, skating and surfing, to this traditional process. He takes striking, minimal photos, then develops the negatives in a darkroom to create blue images whenever he has the time. It seems like it’s beyond fun. I wondered if there is a particular reason why he got into this printing process, but apparently, there isn’t one.

For 25 years, since Kevin started taking photos, he has stayed in a darkroom to experiment with different developing techniques. In a sense, he disliked the world of megapixels. Modes of expression like the cyanotype, with its minimal information and subject matter, spoke to him. For him, it’s fun to redo a photo over and over until he produces a satisfactory one. It’s not as simple as taking a picture and calling it a day. It’s an arduous, backbreaking task. Kevin enjoys his errors, as eventually, a radiant blue shade emerges from a piece of printing paper. This precise moment brings him immense joy. He’s a freak, in a good way. Doing fastidious work means the goal is distant, but to reach that goal is to gain a tremendous feeling. It’s true; his blue skate photos are one of a kind.

Kevin; a rough guy who’s up for anything at first glance

I asked Kevin about the shade of blue that cyanotype produces. His response was quite romantic:
“Men will always be fascinated with the deep shade of blue. It evokes a desire for purity and a thirst for nature.”
He quoted a line from an old writer and continued:
“The color blue is part of the ocean and sky, and it arouses the notion of traveling and freshness. Further, wisdom and depth are synonyms. The many shades of blue are the soul and essence of cyanotype.”

It seems like I can’t let go of my first impression of meeting Kevin. He was tall and had an aggressive code of behavior and communication ability. Appropriate for a man who was into skating and surfing, he had a habit of picking at his long hair. His texts in English looked like they were translated from French via Google Translate. And yet, his photos were beautiful. His rough wildness was alluring.

He’s obsessed with the ravine of cyanotype, a strenuous yet minimal thing that only a portion of people know about; I loved how his demeanor and obsession didn’t match. Additionally, he did the unexpected by documenting skating, a relatively new culture, with an old, classic printing process.

From Hasselblad’s ultra-wide-angle fish eye lens to panoramic lens. Daylight sync using radio slaves. The endless sequence of switching from a negative film to a digital format. And then comes the retouching stage. Various techniques have been invented in skate photography, but Kevin’s the only person to use the onkochishin cyanotype technique. Even within skating, with its transient and dynamic adaptability, what he’s accomplished is big. Forgive me, Kevin. You’re not just any rough guy. You’re a photographer who’s exceptionally mad about their craft. I’m honored I get to introduce your blue photographs like this.

Not skating nor surfing

Kevin has traveled all over the world. He’s continued to bring his board and camera in places with wild waves and seek skate spots on the streets. It’s no wonder his photos have been featured in European skate and surf magazines. He’s sort of similar to the traveling surf journalist in In God’s Hands, the film that gained attention because it stars professional surfer Shane Dorian. Although this is another side of Kevin, I wanted to talk about his cyanotype photos, which show his craftsmanship.
His other images are brilliant, too, such as his shots of women.

This type of photography differs from skate photography, where the important thing is to focus on one point. It’s also different from his poetic, stripped-back cyanotype photos. I’ve yet to work with Kevin using this style, but I hope to work on a feature with him someday.

I have no intention of stating I know everything about each photographer I’ve spoken about in my series of columns. It’s impossible. However, I can say I’ve seen common factors among such photographers in my years of interacting with them.
For example, they take skate photos, love analog film and traveling deeply, and usually live in a city with concrete and marble floors. In contrast, not only does Kevin take skate photos, but he also goes into the water to take surf photos (he must drastically adjust the camera settings to do so). Rather than the big city, he lives in an idyllic seaside town, away from the metropolis. Perhaps those subtleties are what make Kevin special to me. It might sound like it’s nothing extraordinary, but I’m reminded of Fio Piccolo’s line in the film, Porco Rosso:
“I have grown up with a lot of stories about the pilots since I was a small child. My grandpa always told me that no one is as nice as the pilots. It’s because [the] sea and sky purify their hearts. Hence, the pilots are much braver than the sailors, and more proud than the ordinary pilots.”

The boss of the Mamma Aiuto sky pirates nods dramatically, while I picture Kevin and nod along. He’s well-versed in both the streets (blue skies) and the beach (blue ocean). He’s able to produce blue shades because he explores both fields and takes photos. That’s why Kevin Metallier’s cyanotype photos are interesting.

Kevin Metallier
A skate and surf photojournalist who’s been traveling the world for over 15 years. Kevin Metallier is based in Biarritz, a gorgeous town in Basque, the south of France. Famously, noble European aristocrats would go on holiday there in the 19th century. Today, it’s known as the best surf spot in Europe. When he’s not traveling, Kevin locks himself up in a darkroom and immerses himself in developing photos of skating and surfing via cyanotype, a printing process made in the 19th century.
https://www.kevinmetallier.com/
Instagram：@kevinmetallier

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This time, we interviewed Hisashi Eguchi. Eguchi is known chiefly as a manga artist and remarkably known as an illustrator who draws female characters or what he calls “Kanojo (She).”
For those who recognize him as a manga artist, you would probably know that he is a top-class procrastinator in Japan who has an infamous record of pausing many of his serialized works. Stop!! Hibari-kun!, one of his notable manga works serialized in Weekly Shonen Jump and adapted into a TV anime show, was one of his works that had gone on hiatus multiple times. The hit manga is a miracle that managed to finish the story after a long break of 27 years.

Outstanding illustrations. Witty humor. Unpredictable, thrill-inducing twists and story settings. The uncertainty of whether the next episode would come out next week. And the miracle of the final episode that may not come out but maybe yet to come. Hisashi Eguchi’s rom-com and jokes are so addictive that you will never get over it once you are into it. His works are complexly alluring. Eguchi is, in fact, not a sloth that is utterly careless about procrastinating or pausing his works. On the contrary, he is brimming with energy and avidly looking for quirky, weird ideas to amuse the readers. We visited his atelier in Tokyo to talk to and hear the thoughts of this enigmatic genius.

The illustration and tweet Hisashi Eguchi posted on his Twitter during the pandemic

“Couple years later. A decade later. I wonder what you would remember from the year 2020.”

Left with those words, she looks up at the fine snow that has just begun falling. She has a wine bottle in her hand. Maybe she is going to relish it later. Or perhaps it is a gift to someone. If it is a gift, I wonder who will be receiving it. The illustration provokes my imagination. Moreover, her white breath melting into the winter night sky and the white mask on her chin left a strong imprint on me.

From what I’ve noticed from my perspective, Hisashi Eguchi usually does not portray any details representing specific times or epidemics in his illustrations. Hence, women in his works are ever beautiful and captivating, and they never appear archaic. However, in this illustration, he deliberately (or not) drew a white mask on the girl. When I saw this, I sensed that there was some kind of a strong message that he desperately wanted to convey, even if that deviated from his usual style. This illustration can also be found on P.163 of his recently published illustration book, Kanojo.

She, a beauty, is looking up at the snow that has just begun to fall
The truth behind the white mask on her chin

――I wanted to ask you this first—why did you choose that illustration for the tweet on December 14th, 2020?

Hisashi Eguchi (from hereunder, Eguchi): No, it’s not like that. I didn’t pick the illustration for the tweet. It’s the opposite. I came up with the tweet that goes with the illustration.

――I don’t think I’d ever seen you tweet an illustration paired with a caption.

Eguchi: Well, it’s been an insane year. Value and lifestyle have changed entirely, and every day was bleak; however, the view of snow falling from the sky was still beautiful. When I uploaded that picture, it created a ripple effect, and I received many comments saying, “I love this” or “This made me teary-eyed,” yet there were also comments like, “mask-under-chin is no good.” Receiving the latter comment reminded me how it’s become a world where people can easily wield justice at you. But, that girl in the illustration, it’s not like she always has her mask under her chin. Instead, it’s a picture of a girl in a quiet, empty city, seeing fine powdery snow falling from the sky, pulling her mask down for a moment, and breathing deep and being like, “How beautiful,” despite the current circumstances of the world. I wanted to share that sentiment with people. You get it, right? That kind of brief emotion.

――Also, regarding the girls you draw—take, for instance, the ones in your collection books like KING OF POP and RECORD—they don’t seem to reflect the times or trends of the times. In movies, if a mobile phone or a character wearing a shoulder-padded jacket appears on the screen, you can inevitably tell when the film is from, but age and time don’t show in the girls you draw. Again, though, for this illustration, I thought the mask on the girl would be the decisive factor that specifies the current time.

Eguchi: That’s right. At that time, I had decided to draw the mask on the girl. In this uncertain world, I thought I had to draw a girl with a mask. I want to note that in the cap (tweet,) I wrote, “a decade later” and not “decades later.” If you say, “decades later,” it sounds like the girl will be a grandmother when she reminisces the moment. I wanted the girl to stay the way she is when she looks back at this moment—so I can say that this illustration is specific to the time of the coronavirus.

――I thought so. Nothing like that picture embraces us while reminding us that the time is real without being political. Personally, it captured my heart the way it did when I finally got to read the final episode of Stop!! Hibari-kun!, which came out after years of hiatus.

Eguchi: I’m sure in this time of Covid, everyone is going through each of their things.

――I agree. Now, please allow me to ask you some questions about your other characters. In Stop!! Hibari-kun!, including Hibari-kun, Tsubame, and Suzume, the characters’ outfits change constantly. However, in mangas of other writers, the clothes of the heroines (for example, Shizuka from Doraemon, Sally from Sally the Witch, Arale from Dr. Slump) don’t change so that these characters would be identifiable. So, how much of the trend of the time is reflected in Stop!! Hibari-kun!? Like with your illustration works, were you cautious when portraying things that may mirror a specific time and trend, such as the characters’ hairstyles, accessories, and mobile phones? And were you carefully choosing what to draw and what not to draw?

Eguchi: I do draw characteristics and fashion of the time, but nothing so dramatic, like shoulder-padded jackets and stuff like that. Even to this day, I try to draw only the basic items. By the way, I think the fashion trend is pretty much about sizing. Old clothes could look fresh and modern if you alter the size. Once, I was commissioned to draw an office lady for a business magazine cover and drew her wearing a shoulder-padded jacket, which was in at that time. Other than that, I’ve never deliberately drawn characters in that type of clothes.

――Actually, I think there’s one thing that isn’t quite contemporary— we never see thongs in the up-skirt, panty-shot scenes in Stop!! Hibari-kun! Nowadays, thongs are more common and becoming standard underwear.

Eguchi: Ah [laughs]. I’ve never cared much about underwear. Though, I’m aware that there’s a long story behind the evolution of underwear in the world of manga. I’ve never paid attention to underwear, but I was amazed by how Tatsuo Kanai (creator of Hole in One published in Weekly Shonen Jump) and Masakatsu Katsura (creator of Wing Man published in Weekly Shonen Jump) were very particular about it. Out of the many, I think Tsubame Kamogawa (creator of Macaroni Horen-Sou published in Weekly Shonen Champion) was the first person to draw a particular pair of underwear. I was shocked when I first saw his character wearing a patch of cloth as underwear.

――Hearing your stories, it seems like you’re enjoying your works as well as the works of other writers.

Eguchi: Before, I had never really put my emotions into drawings. I’d thought that I should always draw with an editor’s perspective for my illustrations and manga. I was putting different references or arrangements together and created things by sampling them together. But, quite recently, I’ve started putting my emotions into my drawings. I try to capture fashion, details, and intangible things like feelings, thoughts, and smell wafting in the air. I think that’s been a change in me.
So, I think that’s why I drew the illustration of the girl with the mask. I’ve never drawn anything like that in the past—An image with my feelings infused in it. Honestly, I’ve always loved the art of embedding emotions in drawings, but I used to get shy doing so and cover it up with a joke. But that’s changing now.

――I see. In Stop!! Hibari-kun!, in the middle of some cool profound moments, the characters randomly get undressed. So, from those scenes, I was surmising that you are a bold type, not hesitant to make the characters take their clothes off; therefore, I thought you were the total opposite of a shy person.

Eguchi: I had been able to do those things because my feelings weren’t there in the drawings. I was deciding, like, “I should make it this way to make the story more entertaining.” I was always choosing the most effective ways to surprise the readers.

――So that’s what you mean by “a perspective of an editor.”

Eguchi: That’s right.

――And does this lead to becoming the editor-in-chief of COMIC CUE, which you started in 1995?

Eguchi: I started COMIC CUE as if I were creating my best music playlist. I wanted to make a book gathering all my favorite manga artists into one. However, I wasn’t qualified to do such thing. I resigned after Vol.3 because, you know, I started getting jealous of other writers as I was a writer myself [laughs]. Also, I hated making phone calls to writers, reminding them of the deadline, since I knew how they would feel, which was my weak point. And because of that, one of the writers missed the deadline, and that incident struck me hard and made me realize, “I can’t believe I’ve been doing the same thing to the editors.” I had learned that I’m not cut out to be an editor.

――In the past, you’ve mentioned that after Eiji and around Paparinko Monogatari, you started drawing nostrils on characters. For the girls in Kanojo as well, all the girls you draw are cute. Anyway, in that same interview, I was awed by the part where you explained that Katsuhiro Otomo‘s girls started to look cute after he began drawing nostrils on them. But it was unfair for you, as your girls had to look cute from the very beginning.
I think it’s hilarious how you poke fun of Mr.Ohtomo and Seizo Watase and other eminent manga artists: For example, you jokingly make fun of Fujiko Fujio, Yasuyuki Kunitomo, Sensha Yoshida, Kazuo Umezu, Hideo Azuma, and Koji Aihara, in Okuradashi Yoruyou Super, and Masami Kurumada and Ryoichi Ikegami in Stop!! Hibari-kun! What kind of relationships do you have with these artists? Or your relationships with them don’t matter, and making fun of them is what a bona fide comedy manga artist does.

Eguchi: I admire all the artists mentioned. I don’t know them all, but I tend to pick on the things that I find interesting or funny and brings me love and a smile to my face.
I love Seizo Watase, but I was picking on him as I think it’s my job as a comedy manga artist to react like a straight man and say, “No way!” to the surreal worlds he creates [laughs]. I’m also a massive fan of Ikki Kajiwara and his works, but I made fun of him a lot in Susume!! Pilates. But to be clear, I tease them only because I admire them. And I believe Mr.Kajiwara knew that.

――Nowadays, most of the things we see happening are planned or scripted. But the way you pick on other writers is deviating from that modern tendency; it seems like you’ve been making jokes about them freely without considering the repercussions.

Eguchi: Ultimately, I see things from a reader’s perspective. I ‘m honest about what I think as a reader. So that is why I point out odd parts I find in other mangas. It’s okay if people make fun of me for missing deadlines; in fact, I should accept people making jokes about me, too.

――Have you been picked on before by other writers?

Eguchi: Yes, I think many times. For example, when I was mainly writing comedy mangas in the early days, Yude-chan (=Yudetamago: Creator of Kinnikuman (Muscle Man) published in Weekly Shonen Jump) was always picking on me. It’s because he saw me making fun of my mentor Hiroshi Motomiya, even though I was a novice at that time—I was a bad example to him [laughs].

――Now back to your illustrations. You draw cute girls standing in the middle of a city or natural scenery. Through the process of drawing girls, have you ever become interested in cameras and photography? As I believe there’s a connection between the act of drawing and the act of taking pictures.

Eguchi: I always take pictures before drawing. So, when I was young, I used to buy SLR film cameras. But the thing is that I can recreate the images in my head well by drawing, but not by photography. So, I’ve realized that I’m intrinsically better at drawing than photography.

――Would you say there are characteristics that only you see in the timelessly cute, beautiful girls you draw in Kanojo?

Eguchi: Likewise, with the view of a city, beauty is something that vanishes eventually. So, I guess, I want to capture gleaming moments of youth as they ultimately disappear. That’s it.

――You admit that you are a desperate man who has a strong will to draw more cute moments. I read an article where you spoke about your underlying desire and revealed, “I wanted to be born a girl!” So, if you were born a girl, what kind of girl would you be? If you were a girl character in your work, would you be the type who wears a short skirt and does not mind any panty shots or cleavage shots?

Eguchi: Yes, that might be it [laughs]. I wanted to be born a cute girl and be a manga artist. And be unnecessarily sexy and cutesy at meetings with editors [laughs].

―― “Burriko (girls who act cute)” is a word you coined in your manga. By the way, I’ve noticed that the girls you draw don’t have, what people generally call, a body of a model.

Eguchi: It’s the same with fashion. I prefer drawing ordinary girls you normally see out there wearing casual clothes, and not like those high-fashion models.

Thoughts, not as an illustrator, but as a manga artist leaving a mark in history

――You’ve written copious comedy mangas, left some unfinished titles, documented invincible cuteness of girls like what we see in Kanojo, and experienced being an editor-in-chief. Is there any chance that you might start an illustration series with your will? Are there any works you’d like to leave as a legacy?

Eguchi: When I was young, I didn’t think I’d still be drawing girls at this age. I thought that I would still be writing a comedy manga. Even to this day, I want to continue writing manga, and that’s why I can’t cross out my title as a manga artist on my profile. It’s just that writing manga is tough…. The assistants would draw the background sceneries, but instructing them like, “Do this here. Do that there” makes me uncomfortable, so I prefer working on my own. But it’s also really hard to do these things alone.

――When I read your past interview and conversation articles, a lot of your words resonated with me. For example, you were saying things like, “Deadlines themselves aren’t painful, the fact that there are deadlines is painful,” and “But, because I want to draw pictures that look right, a period of one week is never enough.” And I respect how you honestly tell people when you can’t get your work done on deadline, although it’s something you want to avoid.

Eguchi: Before, I wanted to make the illustrations of my manga look the same as my illustration art. But I’ve realized that it would be hard to follow the story if I made all the drawings in manga the same as my illustration art. The illustrations in manga can’t be eye-catching and hamper the storytelling. With manga, the readers need to keep moving their eyes to understand the story. So again, the drawings in manga need to be different from illustration artworks. And manga has its own power. So, I now know that I don’t need to make the drawings in manga look like illustration art; I feel like I might be able to start writing manga again.

――In “The SEX And The CITY” in Okuradashi Yoruyo Super, there are no speech bubbles at all, and no characters like the girls in Kanojo, and the stupidity of the jokes crack me up. I would love to read that type of poignant comedy manga again.

Eguchi: I love stupid mangas in general. There aren’t that many comedy mangas these days, but I would love to read some. Frivolous things are great. Manga by Tatsuhiko Yamagami (creator of Gaki Deka published in Weekly Shonan champion) and Fujio Akatsuka made me laugh, which saved me a lot, and I was aiming to create comedy manga like theirs. It just feels great to laugh.

――Your manga, like the aforementioned “SEX And The CITY” saved me, too. It’s incredibly perverted and obscene, but it’s funny and warms my heart.

Eguchi: I would love to portray the stupidity of humans again.

――By the way, I feel like some phrases and expressions in Stop!! Hibari-kun! wouldn’t be acceptable these days.

Eguchi: It’s full of controversial remarks. A lot of them are not acceptable anymore. I wasn’t trying to insult anyone back then, but it would be hard for people to assimilate them as jokes now.

――Now back again to Kanojo. In which season do you like drawing the girls? Also, any specific settings you like drawing?

Eguchi: When I was young, I definitely loved summer the most. I loved the summer island beach. But nowadays, I really like the transition from autumn to winter. Maybe it’s because of my age. Instead of the freedom of summer, I’d rather prefer drawing sentiments like the comfort of wrapping a scarf around your neck as the cold winter approaches. Actually, I recently drew a summer island and a beach for the first time in a while, for the collaboration project with Eiichi Ohtaki, for his album A LONG VACATION 40th Anniversary Edition. I recreated the summer scenery I’ve always had in my head since the time I was listening to the original version of the album: A small island in Okinawa, a narrow white road, and a vast coral reef beach beyond the road.

――What about the summer in the cover art of Takuro Yoshida’s Isshun No Natsu?

Eguchi: For that, I wanted to draw the signage of Hyakkaen. Beyond Hyakkaaen, there’s a sky and clouds, which exude a mature emotional vibe. It’s like nostalgia in the middle of an urban city. I’m glad I drew the signage as it doesn’t exist there anymore.

――Hearing your stories makes me want to look at your works once again to see the sonic afterimages, or in other words, the nostalgic views that you convey inspired by the music.

Eguchi: I think I’ll be drawing more things like that. I feel so myself.

――Such things as the imagined and real sceneries in Japan that are bound to fade away?

Eguchi: Well, now, I’m pretty busy drawing illustrations of girls. Naturally, though, I will draw different types of things if I get various kinds of requests. But, of course, I always try to be careful not to plagiarize from myself.

――So now you’re mostly getting illustration job offers? Are you busy for a while?

Eguchi: Yes. Now it’s 100% illustration jobs. I’m not getting any manga job offers [laughs]. If I wanted to work on a manga, I would have to do it by myself and take it to the publisher and ask them to publish it.

A B4 size paper lying on a table. Manga artist Hisashi Eguchi has always drawn illustrations with panel layouts on a big sheet of paper, an A3 size. Ever since he expanded his career as an illustrator, his artworks have become ubiquitous, which probably almost every nation has seen at some point. The largest illustration he’s ever drawn out of his career was a 180cm x 180cm size live painting. This time, interviewing the artist had driven me to imagine what kind of mural this artist—who preciously captures the smell of the city and seasons and girls in cities—would paint if he were to paint on an enormous wall in town. The curiosity sparked in me as I caught the pure mind of the prolific manga artist and illustrator, intrinsically seeking to document funny and beautiful things without being swayed by age or career. If this man did sessions with younger talents, there would be great legacies left in Japan. In Tokyo—I was convinced.

“Couple years later. A decade later. I wonder what you would remember from the year 2020.”
We can’t predict the future and where this pandemic is going, but I can say that mesmerizing creations will never be affected by the virus but remain quietly yet powerful in our world. After this interview, I perceived the smell of emotions and times that Eguchi was talking about, from the girl facing sideways, pulling her mask down to her chin, and taking a deep breath for a moment.

Hisashi Eguchi
Born in 1956. He is a manga artist and illustrator from Kumamoto-prefecture. In 1977, he won the Weekly Shonen Jump Newcomers Manga Award for Osorubeki Kodomotachi. He debuted as a professional manga artist with Hachi-jihan no Ketto, his work nominated at the 6th Akatsuka Award. His best-known works include, Susume!! Pilates and Stop!! Hibari-kun! He won the 38th Bungeishunju Manga Award for Hisashi Eguchi’s Dynamite Dinner Show, a collection of short stories published in 1991. He founded and became editor-in-chief of COMIC CUE in 1995, gathering illustrious manga writers such as Taiyo Matsumoto and Minetaro Mochizuki, and experienced the role of “forcing deadlines to writers,” which is the opposite of his usual position of “being forced to follow deadlines.” He is a phenomenal manga artist well-known for his original sense of humor, remarkable drawing skills, and pausing many of his serialized works. He is also a sought-after illustrator who has accomplished corporate tie-up projects and one-and-only record cover arts.
After publishing the collection book, KING OF POP (published by Genkosha) in 2015, he opened the illustration exhibition KING OF POP at eight different locations in Japan. From 2018 to 2019, his illustration exhibition, Kanojo, was held at three art museums in Japan, first opening at the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa. However, the exhibition was suspended due to the coronavirus pandemic. However, in 2021, after releasing the collection book Kanojo, the exhibition reopened in Aomori-city and Asahikawa-city, where the artist performed live painting for the first time on a large canvas and attracted many fans and earned great responses. As written on the book band of his latest collection book, Kanojo, he is a highly lauded artist who draws illustrations of Kanojo (“She”) that no one in the world can ever draw.
Twitter：@Eguchinn
Instagram：@egutihisasi / @eguchiworks

■Kanojo (2021)
Author: Hisashi Eguchi
Publisher: Shueisha International

Photography Takeshi Abe
Translation Ai Kaneda

The post 「時音」Vol.16 Why Hisashi Eguchi Chooses to be Both an Illustrator and a Manga Artist appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Dominic Marley is a photographer who’s been documenting skaters and footballers in the UK. Many skaters like Nick Jensen and Lucien Clarke became well known in Japan thanks to him. That’s why I want to introduce the mastermind, Dom, to you all.

We’ve been in contact for over ten years, and there’s something about him that’s left an impression on me. He always makes the deadline, which is something that should be the norm. Whether it’s a draft or a photo, he never misses it. He’s never gone beyond the international dateline of a deadline. His monochromatic shots and the depth of his subjects carry a whiff of silent sincerity.

On the subjects he shoots

Born and raised in London, Dominic Marley is a bonafide Londoner who goes by Dom. He made himself stand out from the boisterous scene of London, filled with hooligans, hip hop heads, and punk rockers, by becoming a photographer.

He was a staff photographer for Europe’s major skateboard magazine, Kingpin Magazine, and worked alongside Benjamin, the Parisian photographer I wrote about previously. Currently, he creates visuals for popular brands like Palace Skateboards and Nike. In recent memory, Dom worked on a collaboration between Palace Skateboards and Mercedes Bentz from Germany. He took photos at an actual racetrack, like the one used for 24 Hours of Le Mans and Formula 1 races. Shooting at an immense racetrack with a real bank is on another level from skaters doing tricks on banks in the streets. It was as though he went as far as he could with four tires, and it was exhilarating to see.

Further, his portraits of animals are impactful too. He doesn’t take them in the savannah or a jungle. He doesn’t shoot at zoos either. It’s more like he takes portraits of animals in front of a set he made. When I saw them, I wondered if he would take photos of pandas, which I love. While I was thinking about this, Dom reached out to me: “I want to make a book on pandas with you. Do you want to work on this concept one day?” We’ve both been in the skate scene for a long time, and we’ve worked together on several projects. Only Dom and I are panda-loving people who work in skate media. I adore pandas, skating, and his photos. So, I’d love to take this serendipitous opportunity.

On Dom’s monochromatic photography

Dom’s color photographs are great, but so are his monochromatic ones. They bring out the grittiness of the back alleys of London.

When I worked with him on a feature for Sb Skateboard Journal, my skateboard magazine, we decided to make the entire issue in black and white. There are different variations within monochromatic photos. Some have an intensely high contrast between light and dark, while others, like Dom’s (his old archives, especially), make you think the scenery had no color, to begin with. Perhaps the sensation is similar to watching an old silent movie; it makes you think, “The streets were all in black and white before the 20th century!”

This is just my observation, but his photos have a subtly similar quality to London’s punk rock and ska bands like The Specials. I heard that Dom’s working on a monochromatic photo book right now. I can’t wait to see it. In addition, perhaps it might not be such a bad idea if he could print out black and white pandas in black and white.

If Dom was to come to Tokyo again

I sometimes wonder if Dom took photos of Tokyo, would it have a stereotypical feel? Or would he shoot as though he were on the streets of London? If he got rid of the neon lights and the busy, cluttered nature of Tokyo, what would his monochromatic photos look like? It would be interesting to find out.

This also applies to Benjamin, Jai, and Dennis, whom I wrote about before: what makes them worth noting is how they shoot Tokyo from a genuine place. The photos aren’t contrived and don’t ask for too much.
I’m reminded of how I saw Nan Goldin’s photo by chance in Tokyo about 30 years ago. The shot is of Anchan in a pompadour, lighting a cigarette on a subway platform (people were allowed to smoke on the platform back then!). It was something I was used to seeing, a ubiquitous moment. But the photo resonated with me. It was amusing to see him trying to look cool.

Coincidentally, I became friends with Anchan, in full color, seven years after the math. I spoke to him about that photo right away. I know there’s no need for me to compare Dom with the world-renowned Nan Goldin, but I believe he could take intriguing black and white photos of Tokyo.

The pandemic is still ongoing, but I ponder where we would meet next; would he come here, or would we meet in Sichuan, China, where there are many pandas? Or would we see each other in the back streets of London? Honestly, it doesn’t matter where it is because I’m impatiently looking forward to working on a shoot with him. We were supposed to meet up in London last year, but we couldn’t because of covid. Everything is covid’s fault. However, because we live during such times, I believe the next wave of talented people will have the chance to let their names be known worldwide.

Dominic Marley is a photographer from London. He surfs on the weekends and skates and is a brilliant dad. Aside from skateboard photography, he also works in fashion photography and takes many portraits of animals too. Dominic Marley is currently creating an archive book of London, now known as a top-tier skateboard haven.
https://www.dominicmarley.com/
Instagram：@dominic_marley

Transration Lena-Grace Suda

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