This motif finds its roots in aerosol writing, a subculture in which Oyama has been interested since his high school days. Focusing on QTS, he has been expanding his art through paintings, three-dimensional figures, sounds and installations, analyzing the history and trends of aerosol writing, as well as the physical sensations and thoughts related to his act of drawing. In 2011, he collaborated with Comme des Garcons to decorate the collection with his artwork.

Redrawing the line connecting street art and contemporary art

-I heard that your interest in aerosol writing started in high school. Were you actually writing on the streets at the time?

Oyama: I did a little when I was in high school, but I can count the times on one hand. I was not a street writer. If anything, I would write on a piece of paper and show it to others. However, at the time, there was a strong tendency in the community of street culture to think that those who weren’t writing in the streets were not real writers but fake and unconvincing, and there was a time when I was struggling with my artistic identity because of that. I was feeling that I failed to be a real writer. Though, it is true that aerosol writing influenced my drawing. That fact is a reality, not a made up. So, with that as a starting point, I decided to digest this influence and reinvent my own artistic idiom and share it with the world. In this way, I concieved the motif “Quick Turn Structure” and conceptualized it as my iconic expression. Currently, I’m reinterpreting street art to my extent, with a particular focus on visual language, and presenting them in the field of contemporary art. By clarifying the distance between myself and the street culture, I’m clarifying where I stand and what I want to convey.

-You’re also doing a study on street art; specifically, what are you researching?

Oyama: Street art means a lot of things and includes different type of artists and works. Banksy is street art, but not aerosol writer anymore. In my case, I’m interested in a particular type of street art called aerosol writing, especially the one which developed in New York around the 70s and 80s. However, I’m not specialized in that field as a researcher, but rather as an artist; I’m absorbing as much as I can of it.

-Talking about that era, what interests you the most?

Oyama: Aerosol writing has its roots in the early 70s in New York; it blossomed in the 80s and, since the mid-80’s and 90s, it has evolved in different places and ways interntionally. New York in the 70s and 80s was an energetic place filled with the important seed of street culture. For example, just as Jimi Hendrix developed and expanded the potential of the electric guitar, aerosol paint pushed the potential of street art to the next level in that era. It’s exceptionally fascinating how everyone started painting on subway cars; it’s like an artistic medium that goes across town. Many of the writers of the time were very young, so their range of daily activity was limited, and that’s why, through the subway system, they devised a method to show their existence in the form of art to the public who lived further away from them. The aerosol writing of the time in New York was impressive in terms of design too. New York, where abstract expressionism was born in the late 40s, became an important location for the art scene, forming an intimate relationship with the concept of abstraction, which is why some of the aerosol writers in the 70s and 80s also had tendency towards abstraction. Banksy and other artists in the Europe conveyed their message of social criticism and satire through concrete illustrations; New York artists such as Futura 2000 and Rammellzee, for example, focused on abstraction through letter forms and created their own original universe. There was a lot of potential for expression in aerosol writing in that era, from their visual aspect to the way they “hacked” the city like urban guerrilla.

The reason for using the term “writing” instead of “graffiti”

-In recent years, you’ve been using the term “aerosol writing” instead of the relatively generalized “graffiti.”

Oyama: One of the reasons was that I personally met and talked to one of the pioneers of aerosol writing, the New York artist PHASE2, who passed away in 2019. He didn’t appear in the media in his later years, but he always hated the word “graffiti” and was persistent in calling this culture “writing.” In Japanese, graffiti becomes “rakugaki,” meaning scribble, which has a negative nuance, hinting at illegal, troublesome behavior.  Not only PHASE2 but also other pioneer writers of the early 70’s would call their expression “writing.” However, around the same time, the adults and the media started defining it as troublesome behavior, hence the term “graffiti.” So, in a sense, the word “graffiti” came from the prejudice and bias of the people outside this culture.

-Nowadays, some writers actively use the term graffiti.

Oyama: Some of the writers of the next generation say that what they’re doing is graffiti, an attack on society; vandalism with a rebellious spirit. Every culture and expression changes slowly over time. There was indeed a time when the essence of street art was illegal and rebellious, and such aspects are still there, but it’s fine for them to change; not all artists are like that. I myself wasn’t writing on the streets, and I’m involved in writing from a different angle, and if vandalism were at the sole core of this culture, I think it wouldn’t have spread all over the world this much. It is actually more complicated, or became complicated and diverse over time and we can not summerize it in one essential element. I personally see one of the most important appeals of this culture is straightforward self-expression through writing one’s name, which even a child can do. Sensibility or curisosity of a child is common among different languaghe spheres, social classes or ethnic groups worldwide, and I think that’s why writing spread universally. Reinterpreting this culture from the perspective of “writing” rather than vandalism is where I stand, and the message I want to convey with my art. In that sense, I am using the term aerosol writing.

-In your art, one can see important elements of modern and contemporary painting such as “abstraction,” “movement” and “repetition.” There are also techniques of modern painting that sort of “erase” the picture, instead of “drawing” it. Are you consciously introducing elements of the so-called fine art in your production?

Oyama: I wouldn’t say consciously, but rather spontaneously; I look at contemporary and modern art paintings, and I have many favorite painters. For example, Christopher Wool. First, he draws a line on a smooth surface support base with aerosol paint and wipes it, leaving a trace which becomes the painting. I also associate these kinds of works to Futura 2000’s. Robert Rauschenberg’s Erased de Kooning is also deeply fascinating. Rauschenberg was a post-war American artist. He erased a drawing he got from Willem de Kooning with an eraser and presented it as his own work. On the streets, you can often see writings that were later erased with a roller, leaving slightly different color on the concrete wall; I see a sort of connection between that and Erased de Kooning.

Solo exhibition Noctilucent Cloud, showing new concepts such as spacing compositions inspired by stone gardens and ink espressions

-I heard that you went and researched different zen temples in Kamakura and Kyoto for this exhibition. Could you tell us about any creative input you got from that experience?

Oyama: The idea to visit temples came from Mr. Hitoshi Nakano, the curator of this exhibition. I’ve been based in New York for eight years now, and I’ve been somewhat thinking about my Japanese heritage and how to naturally reflect that in my practice: that’s why I went with him. Zen and Buddhism are profound cultures, though; it’s impossible to understand them with just one visit, so I just went there to find some inspiration.

-Specifically, what kind of inspiration did you get?

Oyama: I was particularly inspired by rock gardens. When placing stones in a rock garden, you’re practicing how to form space with the minimum amount of elements. If you identify the appropriate points, the space will fill with the relationship with each placed stone. In particular, the stone garden at Ryoan-ji Temple was the most unassertive, hard to describe: it was just there, and I was captivated by that. That’s not specifically reflected in this exhibition, but in Exhibition Room 5,  the largest one with 700 square meters, I aimed to create an appropriate spatial relationship by limiting the number of exhibited pieces to six, which is very few considering the size of the space.

-In that exhibition room, there is ink drooping on the floor where the pieces are hung, to make the viewers feel some kind of presence is there. Is that kind of spatial practice like some sort of extension of writing?

Oyama: It’s about showing the paintings as an installation, which includes how to arrange and display the pieces. Even in my studio, it’s common for aerosol paint to droop on the floor. This installation is an extension of that feeling. In the Exhibition Room 5, some pieces made with aerosol paint and ink are showcased. Sho (Japanese calligraphy) is also another kind of writing. At first glance, Sho and New York writing may seem completely different expression, but they have something in common: they both pursue artistic formation letter shapes. This production is also based on that.

-The new three-dimensional piece Cross Section / Noctilucent Cloud is also on display. Can you interpret it for us?

Oyama: For this piece, I used a heat-insulating material called “styrofoam,” which is used in construction for buildings. I piled up about 200 plank-shape styrofoams whose thickness is 1.5 centimeters so it becomes about 3 meters high and cut off one side of it with a heat cutter. The physical sensation of cutting it is similar to that dynamic feeling of swinging my arm to draw a long line when I do live painting. It’s the feeling of giving a shape by roughly cutting through a large accumulation of styrofoam. You could say that this piece acts as a wide brush stroke with three-dimensionality in the space of the room. That and, styrofoam is originally light blue. I colored it black, but I slightly left the original color in some parts. If you look closely at the details of this black lump, you can see hints of light blue leaking from it. It reflects the image of this exhibition, the Noctilucent Cloud, glowing pale in the night sky.

-Although it looks very solid, it somehow looks light too.

Oyama: Styrofoam is a voluminous yet light material. There’s a piece by Jeff Koons which is a balloon-like sculpture made with solid metal. One of the interesting aspects of contemporary art is emphasizing the gap between how a piece looks and what’s it made of. The lightness of our postmodern society, sense of temporaly construction, and the way street art as signs floats and circulates in the urban space; those are some of the inspirations why I used styrofoam.

The act of redrawing lines creates new expressions and cultures

-The collaboration with composer and pianist Toshi Ichiyanagi during is one of the highlights of the exhibition, in my opinion.

Oyama: Mr. Toshi Ichiyanagi is the artistic director of the Kanagawa Arts Foundation, which hosts the exhibition. A project to commemorate the 20th anniversary of its inauguration is underway. Mr. Ichiyanagi was once active in New York, just like me. The keys of a piano, the music scores; they’re black and white, like my artworks. On the day of the event, a young pianist will perform Mr. Ichiyanagi’s compositions in the exhibition space.

-2020 was a year full of events that shook our social values, such as the coronavirus pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement. Last year, you published your exchange of letters with Mr. Tetsuo Kogawa entitled The Semantics of Aerosol: Thoughts and Arts after the Pandemic – A Dialogue with Tetsuo Kogawa; could you tell us about the post-pandemic mindset we should all adopt?

Oyama: The pandemic is still ongoing, and it’s hard to say anything conclusive about it, however, we could at least say that our post-corona values and perspectives are different from how they were in pre-corona. For example, the word hikikomori used to have a negative connotation, but after the virus, remote work is recommended, and we could say that hikikomori-like lifestyles are at the forefront of our era. What we’re doing is the same, but its value changes depending on how you draw the line between positive / negative, encouraged / discouraged. It is about changing context and I think this may also happen in different scenes, for instsnce, art / non art. I’ve started doing my practice since there was a deep gap between street culture and contemporary art. In recent years, street culture’s way of expression has stepped over the boundary line of fine art, and that’s why it’s now acclaimed in that field too, but the line drawn between them hasn’t essentially changed. I think what’s happening is some type of street art or artists are just picked up by and integrated into comtemporary art keeping the border between the two realms. Instead, I think that by redrawing the fixed lines, by changing and shifting the boundary line, the values and perspectives of the world can change dramatically, and new expressions and cultures can be born.

Enrico Isamu Oyama
Born in Tokyo, 1983. In 2007, he graduated from the Faculty of Environment and Information Studies of Keio University and completed his Master of Fine Arts at the Department of Intermedia Art, Graduate School of Fine Arts at Tokyo University of the Arts in 2009. Starting from his unique motif “Quick Turn Structure,” that reinterprets the visuals of aerosol writing, Oyama is developing his art into different expressions such as painting, three-dimensional objects, spaces and media. He recently published The Semantics of Aerosol: Thoughts and Arts after the Pandemic – A Dialogue with Tetsuo Kogawa (Seidosha).
Website: http://www.enricoisamuoyama.net
Twitter： @enrico_i_oyama
Instagram： @enricoisamuoyama

Enrico Isamu Oyama – Noctilucent Cloud
Dates: December 14, 2020 – January 23, 2021
Venue: Kanagawa Prefectural Gallery
Address: 3-1 Yamashita-chō, Naka-ku, Yokohama-shi, Kanagawa-ken
Time: 11:00-18:00 (admission is permitted until 30 minutes before closing)
Closed day: January 7, 2021
Entrance fee: 800 Yen for adults, 500 Yen for students and people over 65; Free for high school students and younger
A collaboration event with composer and pianist Toshi Ichiyanagi will be held on Sunday, January 17th.
URL：https://yakouun.net/

Photography Ryosuke Kikuchi

Translation Leandro Di Rosa

The post The Potential of Writing / Drawing Lines – Enrico Isamu Oyama’s New Praxis appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

This is the second part of a conversation between the two artists, who have crossed numerous boundaries without ever stopping their creative process. Following the first part of the conversation where they talked about the Japanese scene in the early ‘90s and their respective experiences in the US, they exchanged thoughts on the street versus art and today’s scene.

On the boundary between art and the streets

──Although this exhibition was held at an art gallery, you both have been active on the streets from the start. I’d like to know what you two think about the boundary between the world of art and the street. SNIPE, since your first solo exhibition, METAVIRUS, in 2018, you’ve also been working in the contemporary art scene, including a collaboration with Takashi Murakami.

SNIPE1: I wasn’t originally interested in it at all. Doing graffiti was enough for me. Now, I just take advantage of the opportunities I’m given.

KAZZROCK: I don’t really think about whether it’s “street” or “art” in the first place. I’ve felt absolutely no resistance to it since doing a solo exhibition in ’95.

SNIPE1: A lot of graffiti writers who break into the art scene change their style, but what I like about you is that you just bring your street style to the art world. I respect that about you. I feel a bit let down by people like Twist and KAWS—because KAWS’s lettering is definitely much cooler.

KAZZROCK: KAWS’s rough lettering is really cool.

SNIPE1: Right, it’s really great. But now, he always makes things with characters, and I’m not sure about it.

KAZZROCK: I know what you mean (laughs)

SNIPE1: In that respect, you do a good job of branding yourself, and with your Duckle series, you brought it to the street before bringing it to galleries. I’m interested in how good you are at that. In fact, I think that might be the important part.

KAZZROCK: Well, for me, of course, there are differences like the time constraints and the feeling of doing it live when I’m painting on a wall versus a canvas. And with the canvas, it’s not an ephemeral thing like graffiti since someone is buying and preserving it. It’s not like I’m unaware of those things, but essentially, there isn’t a huge difference for me. To put it simply, I just love painting.

SNIPE1: I end up thinking a lot when I have to put something on a canvas. Like the concept and the meaning. A lot of the people who buy my paintings are foreigners, and they place a lot of importance on the description. So they ask stuff like, “Why is this motif here?” I have to be able to explain that properly.

KAZZROCK: Wow, that’s admirable of you. (laughs) I just say, “Look at it and feel it,” and that’s it.

SNIPE1: It’s really forced for me too, though. Like after I drew a chicken, I looked up folklore about chickens, so it was sort of an afterthought. (laughs) I really just wanted to draw a chicken.

KAZZROCK: Right. I’ve had people ask, “Why a duck?,” but I’m like, “I dunno.” I mean, I understand why people want to know, but they should think about it on their own.

SNIPE1: That’s really true. That’s why I recently painted a piece called, “Think about it before you ask me.” Descriptions are too much. But that being said, I do think about the message with graffiti. It’s my own propaganda. George Orwell said, “All art is propaganda.” Although he also said, “On the other hand, not all propaganda is art.” Especially when it’s illegal, the message comes across really strong. Banksy and Kidult’s messages really resonate, don’t they?

KAZZROCK: I don’t have any message at all. Mear always included some sort of message, but I don’t bring that kind of perspective to my expression. I think it should be more fun and natural. The way I think of it, I’d like my art to be open to more people rather than targeting someone with a political goal. But that doesn’t mean doing something commercial. I just like fun things. I don’t know about the future, though. This has been my style for 30 years, but maybe it’ll change.

SNIPE1: Everyone changes, after all.

KAZZROCK: I guess if you think about it, that’s true. And your work can change a lot depending on who you want to show it to.

SNIPE1: Oh, I know what you mean. These days, I also want to paint pictures that my kids would be happy to see. If you think about it, we only really used to care about what other writers thought.

KAZZROCK: Right, writers were only aware of each other.

SNIPE1: Graffiti is that kind of game, isn’t it?

The graffiti environment today & experiencing the real thing

──In that respect, one could say that today, that game has expanded quite a bit. While there’s been a rise in surveillance cameras and the situation in the city has changed, I also think the introduction of social media is huge. The act of looking at graffiti has become something completely different from before. Illegal graffiti and legal mural art are displayed side-by-side on our smartphone screens, making it difficult to distinguish between them. On the other hand, the audience has grown dramatically. What do you two think of this change in the graffiti environment?

SNIPE1: Well first, from the 1990s to about the early 2000s, graffiti was completely different depending on the city. Today, those borders have disappeared, and it’s impossible to say where a graffiti style is from. I mean, I don’t know. It’s no longer like—it’s New York, so the throw-ups look like this. It’s all mixed up. It’s the same with pieces, isn’t it? We’re no longer in an era where there are top writers in each city, and the younger kids are copying them. Today’s kids start by looking on social media. They see that someone has good style and they start painting something similar, so naturally, style has become more globalized, and in a way, it’s become more homogenized. I don’t know whether this is a good or bad thing, but at the very least, we lose the characteristics of each city. We talked about how I’m NY style, and KAZZ is LA style earlier, but we can’t talk like that anymore, can we?

KAZZROCK: That’s true. Since graffiti has become borderless, we can’t tell where a style originated from. If we look at it positively, I think it’s become easier to learn thanks to social media, and it’s totally acceptable to start from there. I guess this is happening not only in Japan but all over the world. Today’s generation has better tools and everyone’s skilled, but if you’re only skilled, people admire your work and that’s it. But if you have a strong sense of dedication to the work, that admiration becomes emotion. That’s why I’ve always painted without a rough draft. It’s true that it’s easier with a rough draft to draw perfect, precise lines. My lines might be slightly off, but it all adds up to become my work. That’s what style is all about, so in that sense, I talk to SNIPE all the time about how there’s something off about the recent stuff.

SNIPE1: I mean, they can’t help it because they’re young. But I think it’s an issue that they don’t and can’t see much of the real thing. There are a lot of kids who just look at pictures and draw, but the real thing is different from pictures. It’s much rougher. That’s where the charm lies. It’s not enough just to paint beautifully. It’s the same with a solo exhibition—it’s completely different from looking at a picture.

KAZZROCK: That’s very true. Especially with graffiti.

SNIPE1: Because graffiti isn’t just about the technical aspects, but the atmosphere or vibe of the place. A picture could never convey how scary it is to get to the end of a tunnel.

KAZZROCK: We had no choice but to go.

SNIPE1: But today’s Tokyo doesn’t have any places where you can see the real thing in the first place. That’s a huge issue. There are only bombers.

KAZZROCK: There are no masterpieces anywhere. It’s sad.

SNIPE1: If there were something like that, I think the situation in Tokyo would change, but there’s no place to begin with. Even small cities have a free wall (Hall of Fame). Tokyo doesn’t have that. I don’t think this is the time for the Olympics.

KAZZROCK: Maybe. But the hard part is, can you really paint with the feeling of the street if you’re told, “You can paint here”? There’s no thrill or excitement there. And that ends up coming out in your work.

SNIPE1: It does. There’s that “live” feeling precisely because you’re painting frantically. Still, I want at least one free wall. In the ‘90s, Sakuragicho and Yoyogi had them, right? There were a lot of people who saw that and started painting.

──A few years ago, everyone was talking about how Governor Koike took a commemorative photo with a Banksy piece at Hinode Pier. However, the reality is that Tokyo doesn’t have a single free wall. There’s something twisted about that, isn’t there?

SNIPE1: Right. But…it’s to be expected with Banksy. Because everyone knows that Banksy is valuable. At the time, some writers were saying stuff like: If it’s okay for Banksy to do graffiti, then I should be able to as well. But I thought—No, no that’s different. Because your paintings have no value. (laughs)

KAZZROCK: I agree with that. It’s like saying you want to play in the finals when you haven’t even won the regional qualifiers.

SNIPE1: Actually, Banksy is really cool. I respect him a lot.

KAZZROCK: He’s good at realism, and his stenciling is good too.

SNIPE1: He’s just really bad at lettering (laughs)

KAZZROCK: I know (laughs). So, that’s why he found what he’s good at. He used stencils, a method that’s been around for a while, and his wit. I think that’s enough.

SNIPE1: Yeah, he’s really witty. I always feel like I’ve been gotten. I don’t like the kind of writers who don’t like Banksy.

KAZZROCK: He’s an incredible creator. And even with KAWS, I said that thing earlier, but I really love him. At the end of the day, the people who are ahead of the others are the ones who put in the work.

SNIPE1: For sure (laughs)

KAZZROCK: People who can keep doing things like that are really amazing. You have to acknowledge people first. That’s why I try not to say this and that about people’s paintings. Basically, I like them.

SNIPE1: Right, right. Despite everything, graffiti writers can become friends because they share the same goal. We’ve really grown up, huh? (laughs)

*

KAZZROCK
KAZZROCK is a graffiti writer/artist from Tokyo. In the early ‘90s, he founded VANGUARD, an organization dedicated to various activities within the street scene, including graffiti and hip hop. Later, he moved by himself to the US to hone his skills and joined the Los Angeles graffiti crew CBS, becoming the only Japanese member. After returning to Japan, he continued with street art while also doing solo exhibitions, making CD jackets and artwork, and designing things for manufacturers. In 1998, he started his own apparel brand, KAZZROC ORIGINAL, and in the following year, he established his own company, VANGUARD. In 2005, he became the main sponsor of the All Japan Road Race Championship in the ST600 class, designing the racing suit and helmet under the name KAZZROCK RACING. In 2015, he had an exhibition in Hong Kong, and in 2019, he had exhibitions in Taiwan (in 10 locations including Taipei, Taichung, Tainan, and Kaohsiung). Today, he continues to be active in a variety of fields both at home and abroad.
Instagram：@kazzrock_cbs
Twitter：@kroriginal

SNIPE1
SNIPE1 is a graffiti writer and artist. As a teenager in the early ‘90s, he threw himself into the NY graffiti scene. After exploring the graffiti community across the world and creating connections, he returned to Japan. Since moving his base to Japan, he has contributed to the rise of graffiti culture in Japan in many ways. In 2018, he held his first solo exhibition at Takashi Murakami’s Hidari Zingaro gallery, winning acclaim. To this day, he’s still bombing the art world through avant-garde galleries around the world, including in LA, NY, Bangkok, Hong Kong, and Melbourne.
Instagram：@fukitalltokyo

Photography Ryosuke Kikuchi

Special Thanks HARUKAITO by island

Translation Aya Apton

The post KAZZROCK x SNIPE1: Two pioneers talk about the past and present of Japan’s graffiti scene and where they are now ―Part 2― appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

“Graffiti is action itself.” Without a hint of pretension, KAZZROCK uttered those words on the second floor of BLOCK HOUSE. We were waiting at HARUKAITO by island for the arrival of SNIPE1, who contacted us right before to let us know he would be a bit late. There was no hesitation in his voice. No pause as he delivered his words. Perhaps it’s proof that none of the words he delivers are borrowed. Ever since the late ‘80s, when he stood before a blank wall in Tokyo holding a spray can in one hand, he’s been a living witness who independently pioneered Tokyo’s street art and led the scene. As a member of CBS, one of the craziest graffiti crews from America’s West Coast, he was the first person in Japan to have a solo graffiti exhibition. The people following in his footsteps often refer to him as a legend. But KAZZROCK himself smiles and says that he doesn’t want to be called such a grandiose name, even if it is an expression of respect. According to him, he’s the same as anyone who just recently started graffiti. And to this day, he’s on the same playing field.

During KAZZROCK’s solo exhibition, GOOD VIBES ONLY!, I visited the venue in BLOCK

HOUSE twice. BLOCKHOUSE, which is located in backstreets a five-minute walk from Meiji-jingumae station, was markedly different from its usual state during those few weeks. There was a sort of nostalgic feeling—that feeling of the ‘90s. That tingling sensation that I felt when I accidentally wandered into the back alleys of Harajuku back then. To tell the truth, the sensation of the street that we no longer feel in today’s Harajuku was certainly in the air around BLOCK HOUSE during those few weeks. At the bottom of the stairs on the first floor, guys with tattooed arms were gathered, skateboards in hand. In the corridor outside the second floor, where the gallery is located, I could see tough-looking guys with tattoos enjoying friendly conversation while smoking. Strangely enough, the fact that the TABOO1 exhibition was open on the fourth floor at the same time may have had a synergistic effect. It was as if BLOCKHOUSE was being occupied by the delinquents of the city, and the entire four-story building had turned into a huge hangout—a street.

At the center of this monkey park (in fact, the exterior of BLOCK HOUSE is somewhat reminiscent of a rocky cliff) that suddenly appeared in the backstreets of Harajuku was none other than KAZZROCK and the traces of aerosol spray that he had streaked onto the canvas. Perhaps the works on display were just an excuse for the men to hang out. Or rather, it seemed as if the fact that they were hanging out in and of itself was a conceptual work of art. (Of course, the exhibited works were without a doubt backed by KAZZROCK’s skills and vibes.) If this imaginary work had a statement, it would be something like this: The street does not summon graffiti; graffiti creates the street. In this sense, the infamous “broken window theory,” a theory that supported cleaning up the city’s landscape, may not be entirely wrong.

For a moment, something happened that made me a bit nervous. SNIPE1 was nowhere to be found, so while we were waiting for him, I interviewed KAZZROCK one-on-one for a bit. Around 45 minutes past our appointment time, KAZZROCK, clearly annoyed and standing up from his seat, said, “I think that’s enough—let’s call it a day. I’m going home.” At that exact moment, SNIPE1 came rushing into HARUKAITO by island. “Sorry, KAZZ-san!” I worried for a moment that there was about to be a confrontation, but KAZZROCK, who had been gazing at the same landscape for over a quarter of a century with SNIPE1, had already broken into a smile when he rebuked, “What the hell, man?”

“There’s no story more interesting than that of the scene in the mid-90s.”

SNIPE1, who is about five years younger than KAZZROCK, is also an active graffiti writer who has been on the scene since its dawn and continues to be at its forefront. Regarding the scene back then, which they are both familiar with, the two look back and say, “It was really wild.” So, what are their thoughts on the scene today, which is rumored to be the “street art bubble?” But honestly, that’s not really what I want to hear from them. I just want to hear them reminisce on old times. What happened back then—in Tokyo and the world? This is a two-part conversation between the two men, who are now “dad friends,” consulting each other from time to time on concerns about their children’s educations.

When the two first met: Tokyo’s graffiti scene in the early ‘90s

──When did you two first meet?

KAZZROCK: Hm, when did we first meet again?

SNIPE1: Around 1993 in Yoyogi Park.

KAZZROCK: Really? I don’t remember that at all. Were you by yourself?

SNIPE1: I was with IZO and others. But you were cold at the time. (laughs)

KAZZROCK: ’93, right? It was a cold time. (laughs) It was right around the time that Tokyo’s graffiti scene, though still small, was starting to gain traction.

SNIPE1: Right. You were a pioneer of Yoyogi Park, so I tried to keep out of that territory. I was at Komazawa Park. And you didn’t go there much either, right?

KAZZROCK: Yeah, I didn’t go there.

SNIPE1: At the time, you already appeared in the media a lot. You stood out. Even though you were in the public eye, you were doing what you had to do, and you didn’t just do legal work, but also illegal work too. I respected that about you. A lot of people stop doing illegal stuff the moment they appear in the media, don’t they? 

KAZZROCK: I did that consciously. To be honest, there were times when people would criticize me for making media appearances. But I thought there was no point in keeping everything within a small circle. It would be more interesting if, for example, because I appeared in the media, some kid out in the country might think, “I want to try that too,” right? In fact, I’d been going to Osaka since then, but there was no graffiti there at all, even in Amemura [American Village]. Even if I bombed in the afternoon, no one would say anything to me. At the time, there was hardly any graffiti in the streets of Osaka. The only thing I saw was when XLARGE opened and SLICK came to paint Kikaider. That’s how things were, which is why when the media approached me, I was like, “I’ll give it a go.”

SNIPE1: There are a lot of people in the generation below us who started graffiti because they were inspired by you.

KAZZROCK: But that’s not to say that I wanted to go down the commercial route. I was still doing stuff while being in the media. I thought God would forgive me. (laughs)

SNIPE1: No, he won’t forgive you (laughs)

KAZZROCK: Also, I joined CBS [Editor note: One of LA’s leading graffiti crews] around 1993, and when I’d tell the guys over there that I was in the media, they’d be like, “That’s dope, you did it!” I didn’t have to market myself—the media approached me and gave me publicity, so there was no reason not to do it. But I was getting a lot of hate from people in Japan.

SNIPE1: Really? There wasn’t anyone around me who was dissing you.

KAZZROCK: It’s because in any case, I handled that well while continuing to paint to this day. In the end, I think whoever keeps painting wins. If you quit, it’s all over.

SNIPE1: There are a lot of people who quit even though they said all kinds of stuff.

KAZZROCK: It’s a waste. Even if you quit for a year or two, if you have a love for street art in your heart, you can just come back to it.

SNIPE1: There’s no way you can quit. Once you know that joy, there’s no way to quit.

The LA scene in the early ‘90s and becoming a member of CBS

──KAZZ, what kind of impression did you have of SNIPE in the ‘90s?

KAZZROCK: This isn’t particular to SNIPE, but I wasn’t really aware of other writers, you know?

SNIPE1: (laughs)

KAZZROCK: Although when someone goes over you [Editor note: “going over” is the action of painting on top of another writer’s graffiti], it’s like, “What a pain in the ass—what’s his problem?” SNIPE wasn’t that type.

SNIPE1: I don’t do that.

KAZZROCK: Right. SNIPE has clearly defined his own rules—he draws the line, like, “This is fine, but I don’t do that.”

SNIPE1: But I do remember you once gave me a warning back then.

KAZZROCK: What are you talking about? I don’t remember that.

SNIPE1: When I was painting in Harajuku, I once bombed [Editor’s note: To graffiti on the street] your acquaintance’s store.

KAZZROCK: Oh, around Urahara, right? Back when that area was still dull.

SNIPE1: Yeah. You were like, “Leave that store alone.”

KAZZROCK: I guess that happened, huh. Well, we used to hang out around there with all kinds of people back then.

SNIPE1: But I have a strong impression that you worked solo. I think people respect that about you. Because I totally attack with numbers.

KAZZROCK: I was basically solo. It’s much faster that way.

SNIPE1: That’s true. But VANGUARD [Editor note: An organization founded by KAZZROCK in the early ‘90s that was involved in a variety of activities in the street scene, including graffiti and hip hop] had a lot of people.

KAZZROCK: At one point, VANGUARD had grown to around 150 people. There were all kinds of people— dancers, DJs, and skateboarders—but everyone loved graffiti. With those friends, I was always the one who took the initiative to paint. Wow, that takes me back.

SNIPE1: I tricked locals into carrying spray cans and dragged them into graffiti. And as we were hanging out at Komazawa Park, another group doing graffiti came up to us. We basically always rolled with about 20 people. We’d go on expeditions to Ueno or Asakusa, beat up a neighborhood in a single night, and go home.

──You both went to the US in the early ‘90s, right?

KAZZROCK: I used to go to LA a lot from ‘90-92. I went intermittently after that too. Plus, I joined CBS in ’93.

SNIPE1: It was the best time in LA, wasn’t it?

KAZZROCK: Yeah, it was a time when RISK (Kelly “RISK” Graval), SLICK, and HEX were painting like crazy, and Mr. Cartoon was really active in LA. There were the Los Angeles riots, too.

SNIPE1: There was also the Zero [One] Gallery [Editor note: 01 Gallery, an art gallery that made a big contribution to the street art scene], right? And there was the AM7 crew. I painted with those guys.

KAZZROCK: That crew was like CBS’s little brother, right? Wow, that brings back memories.

SNIPE1: A group of Europeans got together and formed AM7 because they couldn’t join CBS. They were great guys, and we got along right away because I was also an outsider. CBS painted on the front streets of Melrose, so we painted on the backstreets.

KAZZROCK: Because CBS is based in Midtown. Actually, Mear (Mear One) lived in an apartment on the corner of Melrose and Fairfax, and I used to go there all the time.

SNIPE1: There’s a high school there, right? There was a tunnel underneath that. I’ve painted in that tunnel before. I respect Mear a lot—he’s so cool.

SNIPE1’s experience of the NY graffiti scene

──SNIPE, you were living in NY at the time, right?

SNIPE1: Yeah. From around ’90 to ’93.

KAZZROCK: You can tell that he was in New York from looking at his style, right? His lettering has that NY style. Although of course, he has his own style, too. In that respect, I’m LA-style. That’s why I like characters more than lettering. California is more about characters than letters.

SNIPE1: Bronx kids (BEP, BRT, NSV) taught me all kinds of things about tags [Editor’s note: A graffiti writer’s signature] and throw-ups [Editor’s note: Drawing letter outlines in one or two colors]. To this day, I still talk to the guys from that crew.

KAZZROCK: You painted cool masterpieces, too.

SNIPE1: Wow, I didn’t think you’d say that. (laughs)

──So in NY at the time, did you go to the Alleged Gallery [Editor’s note: An art gallery that featured a lot of street art from its establishment in 1992 to its closing in 2002]?

SNIPE1: No, I didn’t. I was honestly just hanging out with kids from the hood. It wasn’t like writers were doing things in galleries then. But I went to the opening of Alife! It was around 2000, I think. There were fights all over the place. (laughs)

KAZZROCK: That’s true. It wasn’t a time where graffiti writers were doing exhibitions yet.

SNIPE1: I think there was the concept of street art, but it wasn’t pop like it is now. It probably changed after Twist (Barry McGee) and KAWS started to move towards art.

KAZZROCK: It was around 2000, wasn’t it? Actually, I did an exhibition at a gallery in ’95.

SNIPE1: What?!

KAZZROCK: It was a solo exhibition called Graffiti Art is Not a Crime.

SNIPE1: You were early. Oh, but there was also the Graffiti Expo 96 at the time, wasn’t there?

KAZZROCK: I also remember doing a discussion in Shimo-takaido.

SNIPE1: Oh, you were there too?

KAZZROCK: I was invited. I went with some people from my crew and my dog (Bulldog). We were supposed to line up on the stage and have a discussion. But even there, I was attacked. They said graffiti was vandalism, shady, and so on.

SNIPE1: I was rapping with YOU (YOU THE ROCK) there. (laughs) But I feel like at the root of the criticism you receive, there’s jealousy. For example, Mear isn’t the type to bomb that much, but even bombers can respect him. I don’t think it’s right to say that bombing is the only kind of graffiti.

KAZZROCK: If you only bomb, it’s hard to keep it going. If you want to make a living and dedicate your life to it, there’s also an aspect where you might need to think about what’s next. It’s not just about making money though. It’s also about how you can make time for art within your daily life. I’ve always thought a lot about those things. Because I always wondered why I was doing part-time jobs when I just wanted to use that time to paint.

SNIPE1: I get it. Well, if all you do is complain about other people, karma will make its way back to you. People who say bad things will end up having bad things said about them.

KAZZROCK: In any case, there was a lot of conflict back then.

SNIPE1: A lot happened. (laughs) You were pretty wild at the time.

KAZZROCK: I’m really nice now, right?

SNIPE1: You’re the best. Because you’re a graffiti senpai, and also a life senpai. (laughs)

※Continues to the last half part 2

*

KAZZROCK
KAZZROCK is a graffiti writer/artist from Tokyo. In the early ‘90s, he founded VANGUARD, an organization dedicated to various activities within the street scene, including graffiti and hip hop. Later, he moved by himself to the US to hone his skills and joined the Los Angeles graffiti crew CBS, becoming the only Japanese member. After returning to Japan, he continued with street art while also doing solo exhibitions, making CD jackets and artwork, and designing things for manufacturers. In 1998, he started his own apparel brand, KAZZROC ORIGINAL, and in the following year, he established his own company, VANGUARD. In 2005, he became the main sponsor of the All Japan Road Race Championship in the ST600 class, designing the racing suit and helmet under the name KAZZROCK RACING. In 2015, he had an exhibition in Hong Kong, and in 2019, he had exhibitions in Taiwan (in 10 locations including Taipei, Taichung, Tainan, and Kaohsiung). Today, he continues to be active in a variety of fields both at home and abroad.
Instagram：@kazzrock_cbs
Twitter：@kroriginal

SNIPE1
SNIPE1 is a graffiti writer and artist. As a teenager in the early ‘90s, he threw himself into the NY graffiti scene. After exploring the graffiti community across the world and creating connections, he returned to Japan. Since moving his base to Japan, he has contributed to the rise of graffiti culture in Japan in many ways. In 2018, he held his first solo exhibition at Takashi Murakami’s Hidari Zingaro gallery, winning acclaim. To this day, he’s still bombing the art world through avant-garde galleries around the world, including in LA, NY, Bangkok, Hong Kong, and Melbourne.
Instagram：@fukitalltokyo

Photography Ryosuke Kikuchi

Special Thanks HARUKAITO by island

Translation Aya Apton

The post KAZZROCK x SNIPE1: Two pioneers talk about the past and present of Japan’s graffiti scene and where they are now ―Part 1― appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.