In the 13th installment, we feature “inVisible”, a non-profit organization whose concept is to develop projects using art as a catalyst to “make visible what isn’t.” By exploring art used in day-to-day life while incorporating community engagement strategies, they have developed projects that enable societal change. In this installment, we met with managing director Akio Hayashi and deputy director and artist Hiroko Kikuchi at the venue where they reported on their efforts for their new project “MINDSCAPES TOKYO”, which rethinks mental health from an art perspective.

Akio Hayashi
NPO “inVisible” co-founder and managing director. Born in Tokyo in 1984. While a student at Ritsumeikan Asia Pacific University, Akio got involved in the non-profit “BEPPU PROJECT”, becoming the art project event manager for the organization. In 2012, he became the executive office head of “Konyoku Onsen Sekai”. He resigned in 2013 and started the non-profit inVisible in 2015. He was also involved as a curator in “OKUYAMATO MIND TRAIL Museum in your mind”, among other projects.

Hiroko Kikuchi
Deputy director of “Invisible”, artist, and creative director. Born in Tokyo. Hiroko has a B.F.A. in Sculpture at Boston University, and an M.F.A. from Tufts University. After twenty years in the U.S, she moved back to Japan in 2011 after the Tohoku Earthquake. She has been involved in community engagement strategy and development for the MIT List Visual Arts Center, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boton, the Aichi Triennale 2013, and for the Mori Art Museum.

Finding value in what isn’t visible

–– “inVisible” has been involved in developing many projects. I’d like to ask how you started the organization in the first place.

Akio Hayashi: I had personally been helping out with an art project eventually called “Relight Project”, which aimed at relighting Tatsuo Miyajima’s public art project “Counter Void”. For various reasons, it became difficult for the organization that initially ran the project to continue, so they asked me to take over. I was skeptical of trying to do it alone… then I found out about Hiroko on the Internet.

She was an artist who had been involved in community engagement for multiple projects in America. We didn’t know each other, but when I contacted her and met with her, there were a lot of things we agreed on. So we decided to establish an organization and work together in a light-hearted way, then started it in 2015.

However, instead of an organization meant for a specific project or issue, I wanted a way to be able to continuously interact with society and art. “Invisible” is about finding value in what isn’t visible. We’ve come so far and have been blessed with the other wonderful members on our team.

We work on many projects, but our main priority is to use art as a catalyst to communicate with people, to discover new perspectives, and to find something new from there. Of course, increasing the quality of the work or project is a part of it, but we are not only aiming for high-quality. We are also emphasizing the importance of whether or not communication is generated by the presence of the work or project.

It might take time, but we hope that the people who experience it or are a part of it can change. While we believe that it’s important to affect change on a large number of people, we also find it crucial to deeply impact each individual person at the same time.

In our projects, I mostly take care of the event planning and overall coordination and management. Hiroko handles most of the artist direction and the specifics of the projects.

–– I’d like to ask you about the specific projects as well. You develop art projects that spend a lot of time collaborating with locals.

Hayashi: We’re based in two locations: Tokyo and Tomioka Town in Fukushima Prefecture. We spend about half the month in Tomioka Town, where we’ve been working on a project called Professional in School Project (a.k.a. PinS) since 2018, which is a kind of artist residency-like program at elementary and middle schools.

I believe that the main objective of artist residencies is for the artist to create. PinS is the same in that the artists create, but they are enrolled as transfer students instead, not as artists. We have them do their work there daily, and the children can come and go as they please, and they can talk amongst each other. That’s how the children and the teachers can encounter “worlds that they don’t know”.

So far, a carpenter, Takatsune Hayashi, Mr. Tatsuo Miyajima, a painter, Akira Kamo, Yoshihide Otomo, and a designer, Akiko Koike, came as transfer students and created artworks. Mr. Otomo even created the new school songs for the elementary school and the junior high school. I think that the presence of professionals with creative abilities in schools has some influence on the value formation of children and teachers, with art and artists serving as one catalyst.

Hiroko Kikuchi: Another ongoing project we’ve developed is called “Tsumugu Project”. As part of the “Community Engagement Programs” jointly operated by Roppongi Hills and Mori Art Museum, I have been directing this project from the beginning, carefully gathering and expressing the thoughts of people who have walked together with the community in Roppongi.

In my role, I believe in the importance of unlocking the unseen or unheard aspects, as there are incredibly valuable stories in those hidden and unheard voices. By delving into them, I hope to reveal a previously invisible side of the community and bring it to light.

The Tsumugu Project aims to weave together the context of the community with the participation of the local people. While there is an artist at the center of it, the artist serves as the catalyst, allowing the stories to emerge from the process of communication among community memebers. What is interesting is that as this gradual sense of community building takes place, people naturally start describing art in their own words. This project is like weaving together these small stories.

I believe that art should inherently be a part of society, and I think that this project reflects that aspect. Our activities are tied to the concept of “social sculpture,” and we explore how to create society while harnessing the power of creativity. Instead of making significant changes, I believe there is potential in making numerous small changes that collectively contribute to shaping society.

If we set our goals too high, it can be challenging to reach them. But how do we bring about happiness that feels like a warm hug for ourselves? If we consider things on a personal or emotional level, suddenly it seems like there are a lot of things that can be done. While planning, I keep in mind the idea of creating such relationships between people and communities, hoping to bring that into fruition.

What is “mental health”, as explored during the COVID-19 pandemic?

–– “MINDSCAPES” is a cultural program by ”Wellcome Trust”, a UK-based charitable foundation, to deepen understanding, have discussions on, and fundamentally reexamine mental health. It’s an international project that is also conducted in the United States, India, and Germany. It is a perfect match for the activities of inVisible, which has been entrusted with the project as a partner in Japan.

Hayashi: “MINDSCAPES TOKYO” was launched in 2022 with Wellcome Trust and inVisible as co-organizers. The “Convening” was a dialogue meeting in Tokyo and Tomioka Town to consider mental health from multiple perspectives, and the “Urban Investigation Project” was conducted by youth investigators from Kadokawa Dwango Gakuen N High School and S High School to investigate mental health in urban areas together with artists. “MINDSCAPES TOKYO WEEK”, held at YAU STUDIO in Yurakucho from February 20th to 28th, was a community gathering as well as an event to report on efforts made in these projects.

Kikuchi: The purpose of this project is not to provide definitive answers, but to explore how we can talk about mental health and find clues to fundamental solutions. Some assume that there are limits to the scientific exploration of mental health. Many arguments can be made, of course, but in this day and age, there’s a need to think about it from the perspective of art and culture. I found this to be a very important message.

In the past few years, some countries have conducted projects online because of COVID, but Japanese people still have difficulty when talking about matters of the heart online. We successfully negotiated with the Wellcome Trust to hold the project in a space where we could have a realistic and palpable heart-to-heart exchange. In fact, when I engage with the youth and students involved in this project, I saw how much they longed for authentic connections. After all, online and virtual connections have their limits, right?

This project is not COVID-specific, but I think we’ve all had our emotional upheavals, at least over the past few years. I hoped to explore what mental health means in this climate while valuing what can be seen from the perspective of art and culture.

Hayhashi: During “MINDSCAPES TOKYO WEEK”, we held talk events and conducted social gatherings in the form of snack bars at the venue every day. I think it’s important that people who see and experience what we’ve done and thought about in this project think about what mental health means to them. In an age where 25% of the world’s population has some kind of mental health problem, it’s crucial for the other 75% of people to imagine the pain of others and understand that those people can exist around them, instead of believing “it has nothing to do with themselves”.

We posed the question, “Can art projects or museums become mental health clinics?” at the Convening. Rather than trying to answer the question, it led into a series of discussions with professionals from various fields. Although the project has come to an end, some very important thoughts came out of the discussions, and we would like to continue to consider how to put those ideas and concepts into practice in the future. How to make art function in society is one of our responsibilities and challenges.

Activities that will create “social sculptors”

–– Why did you initially decide to start this sort of work?

Hayashi: I didn’t graduate from an art college, and my involvement in art came about by chance. I was always thinking more about community development and improving local communities. I came up with an idea of how I could make a difference in society by acting as an intermediary. For example, I would think about how if we opened a temporary café in front of a hot spring inn that was on the verge of shutting down, we could create buzz and help the inn and the community. But then, I learned about art and figured I could do what I wanted to from a different standpoint.

I have a lot of respect for art and artists. I don’t want to use the word “artist” lightly, but I think it would be great if art were more accessible and if everyone could be creative.

For example, say most people who play sandlot baseball admire professional baseball players. If people like the youths who participated in MINDSCAPES become involved in art and start to think that artists are great not only for their artwork but also for the way they think, then perhaps one of them will become an artist who will leave their mark on future generations. They may not necessarily become an artist, maybe they become a mechanic or a housewife. I think that may be what Joseph Beuys meant by “social sculpture”.

Kikuchi: I have been immersed in the world of art for most of my life, but I’ve always struggled with communication. In fact, Hayashi is the complete opposite. In the midst of living such a life, I found solace when I was told that it is okay to pursue the unanswerable. I can’t live without art. Art is necessary for society, but I alone cannot accomplish much, which is why I want to nurture as many people as possible who have high expectations and believe in the power of community and creativity. Otherwise, art will become nothing more than an authoritative and uninteresting endeavor. I always hope that art becomes a more accessible presence for a wide range of people.

–– After “MINDSCAPES TOKYO”, what do you want the future of “inVisible” to be like?

Hayhashi: If we get into specifics, we have been asking artists through “PinS” to leave behind one artwork. Which means that if we continue for ten years, we can have ten works, right? I’d like to make the entire Hamadori area of Fukushima like one museum where we can have exhibition revolving around it. By designing a route where people can encounter artworks and spaces, I envision creating an experience that can be considered as a metaphor.

What I personally thought after working on this project is that I’d like to think of art in a way that distances itself from “contemporary art”, including the way it’s presented. At the Convening, artist Yuki Iiyama suggested that we redefine the word “art” to mean not only art or fine art, but also “expression”.

I hope that our presence can be like a catalyst, sprinkling water in various places. Ideally, the artists involved in the projects would consider their projects not only as one of their artworks, but as a representative work, including the community. That would mean that I’ve made some contribution to the idea of what an artist, as I envision it, should be.

Photography Hiroto Nagasawa
Translation Mimiko Goldstein

The post Art Series “The Shape of Borders” Vol. 13: The Challenges of Using “Invisible” Art as a Catalyst for Shaping Society appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Charlotte Wells
Charlotte Wells was born in 1987 in Scotland and is a filmmaker based in New York. Wells graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Classics from King’s College London and then a Master of Arts from Oxford University. After, she worked in finance and ran an agency for people working in film with a friend in London. She then earned a Master of Fine Arts and a Master of Business Administration at the Tisch School of the Arts. She was supported by the BAFTA New York Media Studies Scholarship Program while in school and wrote and directed three short films. In 2018, she was named one of Filmmaker’s 25 New Faces of Independent Film, and in 2020, she became a fellow at the 2020 Sundance Institute Screenwriters and Directors Labs. Aftersun (2022) is Wells’ first feature-length film.  

The blazing hot sunshine of summer. The waft of chlorine from the pool. The feel of sunscreen. 11-year-old Sophie (Frankie Corio) goes on summer vacation to a Turkish resort with her father, Calum (Paul Mescal), who lives apart. The two spend happy, precious moments with each other, sometimes conversing awkwardly with a camcorder in one hand. 

The above makes it sound like Aftersun is a heartwarming story about family, but it takes an unexpected turn as the film progresses. The film, which won over 70 awards at film festivals worldwide and was named the best film of 2022 by numerous influential platforms, portrays an adult coping with his mental health and people reconnecting to one another through memories and imagination.  

The film’s director is Charlotte Wells, who hails from Scotland, and this is her first feature-length film. We spoke to her about Aftersun, which was informed by her own experiences but is ultimately completely fictional.  

*This interview includes details related to the plot of the film.  

On choosing a camcorder as a medium  

—Between the first draft of the script and the completed film, what was the biggest change you made?  

Charlotte Wells: I removed a lot of characters. By focusing on the story of Sophie and Calum, I got rid of the conflict between them. There was more friction between them in the first draft. When I got feedback on that script, people asked me to push the [source] of their friction further, and I realized that wasn’t what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to make it about two people at odds with each other. I wanted the conflict to come from within themselves and their time apart, but I wanted them to have a positive experience for their time together.  

—The beauty of this film is how as an adult, Sophie looks back on the home video footage and comes face to face with her father, who’s no longer there. Plus, the father is barely in the videos.  

Wells: I think you’re the first person to notice that, so thank you. That was the intention. In the birthday scene where Sophie points the camera at her father, I directed Paul (who plays Calum) to avoid the camera, which is why he dances from side to side.  

The camera was a record he had for himself that Sophie now has. The footage is the only point of view of Calum that Sophie and we have. Through the camera, we have his only direct point of view during their holiday in Turkey.  

—You spoke in a different interview that there aren’t any videotapes of your father left and that you only have one photo of him. Why was a camcorder the medium of your choice despite that fact? 

Wells: One of the reasons is because it offered an interesting effect on the film in terms of perspective. There’s one home video taken at home that I remember strongly. My aunt tells my grandmother that the camera’s not on, but it is, and she points it at my grandmother during dinnertime. And behind her, above the table on the wall, is a picture of me looking straight down the lens. It was a surreal experience, seeing my younger self looking back at my current self on the couch. There was something about holding my own gaze, even though I wasn’t there. It definitely informed the end of the film, where Sophie holds her gaze. But Calum’s hands took the video. It’s like he’s an invisible person between the two Sophies.  

—Sophie “communicates” with her father while looking back at his gaze captured in the camera.   

Wells: I received one tape from a relative once this project was conceived. The tape is a series of still images. As the video goes on, you see my dad, his friend, and I playing chess around a table, but you can only see us from the neck down. Our faces aren’t in the frame. I stared at this tape and filled in the space around this static frame. I remembered the apartment and things I didn’t know. The stimulus of the tape brought things far from the back of my mind to the front. It got me thinking of the nature of records, searching beyond what is there, and filling in the gaps.  

For Sophie, the tapes are anchor points for her to remember memories. The things she sees in the tapes are a combination of things remembered and imagined.  

—Have you ever thought editing a film is like trying to make a memory stick in your mind?  

Wells: You create meaning by putting images next to each other. That’s the process of editing. In that sense, the process of memory is the same. But memories remain more fluid. They never set; they’re constantly adjusting and molding themselves when they need and want to. But it’s all about searching for meaning.  

I feel like most people’s memories are based on images, which is why film is a great medium for works about memory.  

The challenge of depicting a young and good father  

—I feel like it’s rare to see young, good fathers like Calum in films. Why did you decide to show a character like that? 

Wells: Fathers in films are often portrayed as deadbeat or absent. He’s absent from her life because they don’t live together, but that doesn’t make him emotionally absent. That was my experience with my dad, but that sort of father-daughter relationship isn’t represented onscreen often. It was also important to cast someone who looked young enough to be mistaken for Sophie’s brother. 

The driving force behind the film was my desire to represent that kind of father. At the same time, it presented challenges because people are accustomed to seeing the deadbeat dad onscreen, and that’s what they want to see. If they want to, they’ll overlook the character’s every positive action in favor of arriving at that interpretation. I occasionally see Aftersun being described as a story of an estranged father and daughter. I don’t know what more I could’ve done to convince them otherwise. Perhaps there’s no winning for people who want to see a positive depiction of fathers.  

—Calum struggles with his mental health; he uses tai chi and raving to cope. How did you land on these particular physical activities? 

Wells: Tai chi and raving show different parts of Calum. Raving and dancing are associated with his time away from Sophie. I think with tai chi and meditation, he’s trying to find a healthier inner peace. He wants Sophie to see that version of himself because he’s aspiring to be a better version of himself.  

My father and his brothers used to do tai chi (laughs). It wasn’t popular in Scotland then, so I think it was unusual. But yes, tai chi and raving are coping mechanisms for different sides of Calum.    

—The rave scene plays a vital role in the film. Do you go clubbing or dancing regularly?  

Wells: Yes and no. I only go dancing with a certain amount of alcohol in my bloodstream. I can’t be certain I could find the dance floor (laughs). Dancing is fun, but dropping my self-consciousness around it is hard. I envy that as a form of release. 

I watched a lot of UK rave footage from the 90s on YouTube. It’s a very specific time. It had great freedom, expression, and community, but I also saw another side of that; people on drugs with desperate facial expressions. It seemed like there were people trapped within it. What at first was a place of liberation could become a place of inescapability.  

The rave footage determined the direction and power dynamics of the film. At the end of the film, Sophie gets closer to a white, death mask-like face. It looks like a place of comfort and solace from a distance, but as you get closer, you see the face of desperation. That’s what I wanted the rave scene to express.  

—I see. That’s why Calum has a stern look on his face. 

Wells: There’s a parallel between the hotel and the rave. Calum tries to coax Sophie onto the dance floor, but she dismisses him. But as an adult, she constantly wishes to return to that moment. Sophie wishes to engage with him again in that space. But as an adult, she sees something she didn’t expect there as a child. 

Editing this film was more nerve-wracking than ever 

—I want to know about your cultural experiences. What sort of films and music did you grow up consuming? 

Wells: I had an unlimited pass for the movies, so it was like I lived in the cinema during my early teens. But they showed a lot of mainstream American and British movies. I started watching independent films after attending film festivals at around 17 or 18. I went to film school and started watching the kind of films I do now.  

I listened to a lot of music that led to pop-punk of the early 2000s in my teens; a lot of it is in the film. After that, I listened to slightly heavier rock. In my 20s, I became interested in electronic music. Music and films have played a big role in my life.   

—In another interview, you referenced the short story writer Muriel Spark. Do you like reading? 

Wells: When did I mention her (laughs)? It’s interesting; I was thinking about her again recently. I probably mentioned Muriel Spark’s book because I believe the best books shouldn’t be adapted into films. They’re written in the form of a novel. I’m interested in the idea of using a medium to the fullest. If a work does that well, I don’t think it should be adapted. 

But I also sometimes read while thinking about adaptation. Short-form stories are better suited for films because they’re about the tone and provide space to build a world.      

—Do you have other writers you like? 

Wells: Patricia Highsmith, Eileen Myles. I read a lot of poetry and classics because I studied classics as an undergraduate. The translation of The Odyssey by Emily Wilson, for instance. I have a diverse range of books on my bookshelf. 

—You’ve shot three short films in the past, but this is your first feature-length film. What was the most challenging part of shooting a feature-length film? 

Wells: Editing. It took about seven months to edit after the intensity of the shooting. It was a very long process that required stamina and was different from editing a short film. Small changes would have profound impacts on people’s perception of the film, so it was hard to edit, more than usual. There were ten times more people when we shot it, but that didn’t feel different from shooting a short film. 

—Which do you like better: shooting or editing? 

Wells: They’re both hell (laughs). But I like shooting with the crew. I like to be alone, but shooting this film was special because we were isolated due to covid. I used to do editing for a living until this film, so I enjoy it. Blair McClendon, the editor, and I went to the same film school, so I can put my trust in him. But editing this film was hard, so there was probably more joy in shooting. 

Translation Lena Grace Suda
Photography Yuri Manabe

Aftersun  
Out in theaters nationwide on May 26th, including Human Trust Cinema Yurakucho and Shinjuku Piccadilly Cinema 

Written and directed by: Charlotte Wells  
Cast: Paul Mescal, Frankie Corio, Celia Rowlson-Hall 
Cinematography by: Gregory Oke 
2022/England・USA/In color/Vista/5.1 ch/101 minutes  
Distributed by: Happinet Phantom Studios 
© Turkish Riviera Run Club Limited, British Broadcasting Corporation, The British Film Institute & Tango 2022 
http://happinet-phantom.com/aftersun/

The post A Dialogue Between a Father and Daughter Via a Videotape: Charlotte Wells, the Director of Aftersun, on Imagination and Memories appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

GEZAN
Formed in Osaka in 2009, GEZAN is an alternative rock band consisting of Mahito the People (vo., gt.), Eagle Taka (gt.), Yakumoa (ba.), and Roscal Ishihara (dr.). In 2012, the band moved its base to Tokyo and has been active throughout Japan based on its unique perspective. They run Jusangatsu, a label that sends out a variety of domestic and international talent. Since 2014, they have been holding the “Zenkankaku-Sai Festival,” a donation-based outdoor festival organized by Jusangatsu, which is free admission, with the idea of “letting people decide the value of fun for themselves.” The band released their fifth full-length album KLUE in January 2020, and in May 2021, they were joined by a new bassist, Yakumoa, and performed in “FUJI ROCK FESTIVAL”. The band released their first full-length album in three years, Anochi, produced with Million Wish Collective, on February 1, 2023.
http://gezan.net
Twitter：@gezan_official
http://mahitothepeople.com
Twitter：@1__gezan__3
Instagram：@mahitothepeople___gezan

February 24, 2023 marks one year since the start of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Why do human beings walk into an extremely tragic war? Not a few people must have lived their lives wondering how to overcome the worst of the situation, but feeling helpless and powerless to do anything about it. It is against this backdrop that GEZAN’s new album, Anochi, was released.

Even though it does not have the power to directly stop the war, the anti-war rally “No War 0305” organized by GEZAN’s own label “Jusangatsu” in March 2022 had great significance. Of course, anti-war demonstrations were held in various places. But most of them were organized under the slogans like “with Ukraine” or “anti-Putin.” This is not to say that they are wrong, but the logic of friend/foe itself has a dangerously close resemblance to the logic of war. In contrast, the focus of “No War 0305” was simply “anti-war.” Whereas one of the so-called powers of music is to unite people’s bodies and souls, this rally existed as a place where diverse opinions coexisted as they were, yet still offered a glimpse of the possibilities of solidarity through music.

The music of Anochi is also full of diverse and complex sounds and voices. It can be described as rebel music of a new era. At first glance, it sounds like an anti-war album, but Mahito the People says, “They are not protest songs.” The interview explores what exactly this album is. 

A cry of anger and a prayer for hope

–The theme of Anochi, which you created with the voice ensemble Million Wish Collective, is “voice.” However, even within the same theme, the first half of the album is charged with a sense of anger and screaming, while the second half, which is more like a prayer, seems somewhat more hopeful. If the first half is a real voice emanating from the streets, the second half can be seen as a science fiction-like world that offers a futuristic and panoramic perspective on what is going on now. What was the concept behind this dualistic composition?

Mahito the People (Mahito): I think that the various events you mentioned earlier (in the first part), such as the pandemic and the war, would be completely unrealistic to people in the time before they happened. Rather, they would probably think all these are the stuff of science fiction. No one would have predicted in the 2010s that Shinzo Abe would be gunned down. In other words, the reality is already in the world of science fiction. So, even if I am just doing my music, I have no choice but to work on a piece that has science fiction-kind of sounds. 

In terms of movies, for example, old science fiction like E.T. (1982) was predominantly centered on earthlings, and the story was about human beings meeting aliens, but now, works like Blade Runner 2049 (2017) depict the viewpoint of replicants. In a way, the film focuses on what was said to be “the other side.” In such films, we are not looking at them, but we are looked at by them. In such films, we are not seeing them, but being seen by them. So this process seems natural to me since at least science fiction is already free from the genre of glimpsing the “other side” and we are in such a confused and unknown zone.

We are also at the point of no return on the issue of climate change, but what is happening is a problem that cannot be grasped by individual human beings, unless it is measured over a very long span of time. But we have to face it. In a sense, the way to face this reality is to have a science fiction perspective. The same is true of the end of the planet Earth. If we start using nuclear weapons in a war, it will definitely break down, but now the danger has become so real that it doesn’t even seem like a far-fetched fantasy. So I thought it would be hard to face the reality of a science fiction-like situation without thinking about it through a street sensibility.

However, the fact that the second half of the album sounds more hopeful means that the world is clearly more chaotic than when I made KLUE, and that I have also been driven into a tougher situation. I didn’t want to depict that realistically in the midst of the sense of stagnation. I wanted to lie properly. The percentage of hope contained in Anochi is also a reflection of how distorted the world I am looking at is. I needed to say that there is hope, because when you are running after hope even your feelings become clearer.

Thoughts behind “No War 0305”

—Anochi is infused with strong anti-war sentiments, yet it is slightly different from what is called an anti-war album. Instead of upholding a specific ideology as it is, it seems this rebel music was created as a result of profound reflections on why anti-war/peace is necessary and on how human beings are living. How did the Russian invasion of Ukraine and “No War 0305” held at the south exit of Shinjuku affect the production of this album?

Mahito: I always think that I don’t want to judge people by some kind of symbols because the times we are living are so complicated that it is dangerous to make any clear statements. Everyone has a different background and sees different things, so it is not so simple to say that one side is an enemy and the other side is a friend. We sometimes use symbols to make discussions easier to understand, but that is not the right way to make judgements about others. With this in mind, I think even the symbol “I” is impossible. There are many other beings, including fungi, wriggling around inside me, and even if there is only one word or feeling that comes out on the surface, there are many thoughts and feelings behind it. There are angels and demons, but through a kind of small democracy, the first person “I” plays the role of being responsible for them. That is how messed up everyone is, and there is no way to categorize anyone.

So, while I don’t want to divide people into categories and foment fragmentation among them, even so, there would be no room for debate about “Anti-War”. As I wrote in my statement for “No War 0305,” I didn’t mean to talk about nationalism, insisting that Ukraine is all right and Russia is all wrong. There are many opinions, but at least there is no justification for people to kill other people, right? I thought it is worth getting together even for that, and that this feeling should be expressed more frankly. The symbol “No War” is used as a political term, but I think it should be used in the same way as “Love” or “Peace,” or even as a synonym. On top of that, it is not even a genre, considering how close it is to our lives and that everyone is a party to it, without exception. So, rather than clearly stating my principles and opinions, which will potentially divide people, I wanted to at least liberate our senses more.

That is also what I did with this album. So I don’t think of it as an anti-war album at all. Well, you can say that all the songs touch on something similar to that, but as I said, even love songs can also do so. It’s no different from affirming life.

–So, you are saying that even the song that cries out “Fight War Not Wars” is, in a sense, not a protest song, right?

Mahito: Yes. I don’t think it is even necessary to push it into such a genre. At the time of “No War 0305,” for example, Ayano Kaneko and Ikuko (Harada) did not assert anything in their stage banter, they just stood on stage and sang the songs they always sing and left, but I think that was rather very important. For me, it was like, why can’t we do what we usually do in a usual way? Why is it that when there is a war, people say, “No, no, each of us has our own position, ……” and get stuck? It’s not a question of position or anything, but from a primitive sense, war sucks without argument. So this album does not feel like a collection of protest songs at all, maybe it is even less protest-oriented than KLUE.

–What struck me about “No War 0305” was that even though Ayano Kaneko did not sing an anti-war song, the phrase “You will never get me, my tears are overflowing” in her song “爛漫(Ranman)” sounded as very sincere words. There were a lot of moments like that. So I thought that the very fact that “Anochi” is not a protest song, is exactly what connects the song deeply to politics that is different from ideology.

Mahito: Yes, right before we did “No War 0305,” I ran into a musician at a pub who said, “I can only sing love songs, so I can’t participate in the demo. But then I thought to myself, “No, no, no, you should think about how it is possible to sing love songs or to be in love. If peace is not guaranteed, how can we do all these things?” As you can see from these examples, many things, which do not seem to be related to “No War,” are linked to it. Or rather, many activities are allowed only in times when there is no war.

So it is not even about whether you are directly protesting or not. Spending time at home with your cat, drinking coffee, or taking a walk with someone you love are all connected to “No War.” One of the purposes of “No War 0305” was to show the three-dimensionality of such things, and in fact, I think the scope of the word itself should be expanded more. But I think more and more people are becoming aware of such things. Yuta Orisaka tweeted at the beginning of this year, “I wish you all a happy New Year. No War.” I think this word should be used as frankly as that

The contemporariness reflected in the music

— Some listeners seemed to associate this “Anochi” with, for example, Nanao Tabito’s “911FANTASIA”. What kind of rebel music have you yourself been influenced by or like to listen to?

Mahito: It may be totally different, but I sometimes feel a sense of reality when I listen to Nina Simone. When Maki Asakawa mentioned Nina Simone, she said something like, “Jazz is the body heat of black people,” and to me, the way she was breathing and the way she was there itself seemed like rebel music. I feel the same way when I listen to her music now. I think we should pay more attention to things like human breath. Nowadays, people tend to pay more attention to symbolic things. The act of having AI draw pictures is very popular, but from my point of view, it is not funny at all. If that thing evolves, in a few years there will be no more jobs for illustrators. The same thing is happening with music. In the not-too-distant future, songs written by AI will be comparable to those written by humans. Not only that, but the amount of learning that AI is capable of will far surpass that of humans. In other words, unless what is called culture takes responsibility and prepares to properly call beautiful what such symbolic manipulation cannot do, we will not be able to find the meaning of being human. That is why the AI boom is not funny at all.

For example, in Yoko Ono’s installation, The Blue Room Event, there is a line drawn, and below the line are the words, “This is part of a very large circle.” It is said that humans cannot draw a straight line, that even when we think we are drawing a straight line, the left and right sides of the line are slightly off, and that if we stretch it out, it becomes a circle. I think the strength of human beings lies in this inability to draw straight lines. I would have to say that there is potential in such strength, ambiguity, and imperfection.

–Nina Simone is also known for her quote, “An artist’s duty is to reflect the times.” Some people argue that musicians should just focus on making music, but do you share Nina Simone’s stance?

Mahito: Of course, I sympathize with Nina Simone’s stance, and I don’t know how I can create a sound that has nothing to do with the times. Whether you have words or not, you must have lived through this time, been hit by the same rain, been frightened by the same invisible virus, and felt the same sense of entrapment. I don’t know how you can remain irrelevant in the midst of it all. If I stay cooped up in my house all the time and produce music with the blackout curtains closed, even when missiles are flying outside or it is raining, maybe I can remain irrelevant to the outside world, but I can’t even imagine it.

I also wonder why those who insist that musicians should just make music cannot realize that even what is made in this way will reflect the contemporariness. And I think the attempt to ignore the contemporariness is, in itself, an expression that reflects the times as a reaction against it. I believe that not only facing the times hand in hand, but also distancing oneself from the times, or being out of step with the times, is also part of a relationship with the times. This is the same as what I mentioned earlier about the song sung by Ayano Kaneko embodying “No War.” There are not only straightforward ways of relating to the times, such as facing in the same direction or moving forward together, but also diverse and complex ways of relating. So, from that perspective, no one can be unrelated to the times.

I think it is narrow-minded to insist that musicians should just focus on making music. If you take that a little differently, you end up with something like “a careful and mindful life,” which is a lifestyle that only aristocratic people are allowed to have, but even such people could not have been unaffected by the pandemic and the war. Obviously, Anochi also reflects the times. However, as for me, I did not try to confront the times, but only to find a struggle within myself and focus on something like hope.

Experiences gained from involvement with the Ainu people

–Was your relationship with the Ainu people and the Utasa Festival in which GEZAN performed a major part of the source of inspiration for the making of Anochi?

Mahito: Yes, indeed.

–When did your involvement with the Ainu people begin?

Mahito: The first time was three years ago when I went to the first Utasa Festival in 2020. I was shocked at how close people were to the music. I am a musician, so usually I am singing on stage and there is an audience listening to it, but in the Ainu Upopo (one of the traditional forms of Ainu group singing), there is no boundary between singer and non-singer, professional and amateur, on and off. and the distance between the singer and the song is shocking. That close distance to the music was shocking and very interesting. Moreover, they are singing songs collectively and psychedelically, and I was simply drawn to them musically. The way Ainu people interact with songs seemed really new to me.

Bon Odori may be similar. Partly because of my occupation, I have a kind of obsessive thoughts about my identity, like “I have to be unique,” but when I become a part of everyone going around in a circle like that, I feel like I’m free from that kind of obsession. I don’t have to stand out, I just have to be part of the circle. It reminds me of a kind of animism, a sense of being one with nature, and it felt good. That is how I fell in love with Ainu’s songs.

–How does the experience you gained from your relationship with the Ainu flow through Anochi?

Mahito: Of course, I am the vocalist and tell the words as a storyteller, but a different story continues through the chorus. But there are actually many layers like these in the real world too. For example, there is the time ticked by the second hand of a clock. However, if you step outside, the season is slowly changing toward spring. There is also the time that the biological clock ticks inside me, and there is the time of my life span. There is also the speed at which the memory of the Utasa Festival that I saw the day before yesterday (February 5) is gradually becoming a memory. We live in a world where these multiple times coexist.

It is absolutely wrong to say that we live only in one mechanical chronological time, in fact, we all manage to live in multiple time periods. In Anochi in particular, I was conscious of the fact that multiple time frames revolve in an overlapping manner. This way of thinking was derived from the time I spent with the Ainu people at the Utasa Festival.

–By the way, I am not familiar with the word “Anochi” in the title. Is it related to the Ainu culture?

Mahito: No, it has nothing to do with it (laughs).

— Could you explain the origin of this term?

Mahito: For me, it is a kind of sense of the birth of something like a single living organism. For example, the komainu (guardian dogs) at shrines and temples have an “A” (open) and an “N” (closed) mouth, so they form a pair. Actually, this relationship between “A” and “N” implies life and death. And the “A” is the sound of the beginning. That’s why I wanted to put “a” there.

Re-encountering for the Zenkankaku-Sai Festival

–I see, I understand. Finally, I would like to ask you about the Zenkankaku-sai Festival (Festival of All Senses), do you plan to hold it in 2023?

Mahito: I would like to say that we will do it this year. We haven’t made any progress yet, but we will definitely do it. After all, in terms of what we lost during the pandemic, it was also significant that the festival crew fell apart. We weren’t connected by a business contract, so the team was inevitably fractured by the change in environment. So we have to re-encounter people properly to get a fresh start. I hope that anyone reading this now who has the passion to do so will meet with us. It is not so much that we need your help, but that we need to feel like we have been struck by lightning.

The song “Just Love,” which was included in the Anochi, has quite naive lyrics. The song goes, “I’ve been waiting for a night like this all my life / That’s why / I love to sing. I wrote those lyrics while imagining myself singing them at the Zenkankaku-Sai Festival. So I think “JUST LOVE” is not complete unless I sing it at the festival, and that is one of the reasons why I want to hold the festival this year.

–Do you think that also means that Matsuri (the Japanese form of the festival) is necessary for human beings?

Mahito: I do think so. Matsuris are different from so-called music festivals in that they are more integrated into our daily life, and they affect our lives before and after the matsuri. I do not want to present correctness, but rather to present the experience of an event that makes people’s cells perk up. The kind of live performance I love is like that, and there are many such experiences in our daily lives that are not even within the scope of music. Eating a meal can be one such experience. I feel that there is something inside me that I can only do at the Zenkankaku-Sai Festival because this festival is the only place where I can realize these things in a three-dimensional way. I think this is something that goes one step further than Anochi.

Photography Yuki Aizawa
Translation Shinichiro Sato

■ Anochi
Release date : February 1, 2023
Format : CD / Digital
Price : (CD) ¥3,300
TRACKLIST
1. A story before Life /  (い)のちの一つ前のはなし
2. Chuken – Death Penalty Dog / 誅犬
3. Fight War Not Wars
4. We Can’t Take It Anymore / もう俺らは我慢できない
5. We All AFall
6. Tokyo Dub Story
7. SUITEN – INTERSECTION / 萃点
8. SORA TAPI WATASHI TAPI (bird talk) / そらたぴわたしたぴ(鳥話)
9. We Were The World
10. Third Summer of Love
11. Prelude to Finale Red caught Anochi’s eye / 終曲の前奏で赤と目があったあのち
12. JUST LOVE
13. Linda ReLinda / リンダリリンダ
https://gezan.lnk.to/ANOCHI

■Anochi release BODY LANGUAGE TOUR 2023
January 27, 2023 at WWW X, Shibuya, Tokyo
February 1, 2023 at Sound lab mole, Sapporo, Hokkaido
February 25, 2023 at FORCE, Hamamatsu, Shizuoka 
March 2, 2023 at CLUB UPSET, Nagoya, Aichi
March 4, 2023 at UMEDA CLUB QUATTRO, Osaka
March 18, 2023 at LIVEHOUSE CB, Fukuoka
March 19, 2023 Hiroshima 4.14
March 21, 2023 at YEBISU YA PRO, Okayama 
March 31, 2023 at F.A.D YOKOHAMA, Yokohama, Kanagawa WITH Soushi Sakiyama
April 2, 2023 at Saitama HEAVEN’S ROCK shintoshin VJ-3 / WITH Ohzora Kimishima trio
April 18, 2023 at Sunplaza Hall, Nakano, Tokyo
https://gezan.net/live/

The post Mahito the People talks about GEZAN’s new work Anochi and the possibility of alternative music;Part 2: On Hope for Peace, Songs of Ainu and the Pluralistic Flow of Time appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

tamanaramen
Audiovisual unit consisting of older sister Hana (visual artist) and younger sister Hikam (singer/producer). They began working as a unit in 2021 after initially having solo artist careers. Through a fusion of abstract soundscapes, a whisper-like vocal quality, and visuals that reflect the texture of the skin and their consistent flow, the duo is able to create a unique worldview that is unlike any other. Their music and visuals mix together without borders, transcending genres and scenes.
Twitter：@tamanaramen
Instagram：＠tamanaramen

When I first listened to tamanaramen, I felt a coolness and a faint, hazy presence from them, as if I was being let in on some wonderful secret. Like a carefully folded letter, their sound, words, footage, nature, concept, and expressions were quietly waiting to be read by someone. Similarly, kuki (2019) was so gentle, almost too delicate for it to be their first EP. Organ (2019) gave off a sense of unrest and expectation, as if something was slowly awakening, little by little. We saw different sides of them surface with mabataki (2020), and their music took on a life of its own with the release of sour cream (2020). Eventually, we all collectively shed tears to future (2020), in which the forest, light, and life were translated directly into sound.

After that, tamanaramen delivered some new songs in bits and pieces, but no more news of a release in the form of a cohesive EP. Everyone has been waiting for new music from them. In 2023, their EP Hajimari and its music video were released, and they hosted their first release party. There, the sisters were reflected more clearly than ever before. 

From the abstract and icy style of their previous works, I had sensed something of a coldness in tamanaramen. However, the sisters I actually spoke with were rather warm and malleable, sharing a gentle sense of humor, which made me understand why tamanaramen’s expressions are always positive. The sisters describe the space created by their live performances as “a place where everyone is isolated but equally connected”. What does that mean? I hope you will be touched by their conversation, so full of respect.

— This release is the first one in a while.

Hikami: We started production in 2021 and was planning a release at the beginning of 2022, but I got sick. We had to keep postponing, and we were finally able to release the EP. Our previous EP was released in 2020, so it’s been three years since we released a full project.

— I see. Have you recovered from your sickness?

Hikami: Yes, I’m better now.

— I’m happy to hear that. This EP’s title is Hajimari (beginning). What was it the beginning of? This time around, I personally got the impression that you were clearer in where you wanted to take both the music and the artwork. 

Hana & Hikami: Yes, yes. 

Hikam: The work the two of us do hasn’t changed. I write the songs, and my older sister (Hana) makes the artwork, music videos, and the video elements. We showed our faces for the first time in our last piece “friday”, so this project is a new “beginning” in that regard. 

Hana: We also started living together.

Hikami: That’s true, that’s another “beginning”. 

Hana: Until recently, we both worked in the living room at our family home. Now that we started living together, we have our own rooms so we have a little time apart. (Looks over at Hikam) We’ve become independent.

Hikam: Exactly.

— Was there a change in the songwriting process?

Hikam: (Looks over at Hana) Not really?

Hana: My sister also wrote the songs this time, maybe up to the melody? And then we wrote the lyrics together and recorded it. We chose a couple out of the bunch of songs we wrote and consolidated it into an EP.

— Hikam, do you usually have an initial idea of the kind of music you want to make and then try to realize it, or do you find a good sound and build it up as you go along? Which process is more common for you?

Hikam: I’ve never made a reference track, so I look for sounds more often. That process is fun.

— What sounds have you been responding to recently?

Hikam: I’ve been liking the sound of club music lately. I got really into “Rumble” by Skrillex and Fred Again.

— What music have you two always listened to?

Hana: Bossa Nova.

— That’s unexpected. 

Hana: I don’t really like hyper pop, but my sister does.

“We want tamanaramen to be a pop presence”

— Out of the songs in your new EP, “friday” was especially pop-influenced, more than any of your other songs.

Hikam: We want tamanaramen to be a pop presence.

Hana: My sister likes a wide variety of music. Tamanaramen is genreless precisely because of this. We make music we want when we want it, which is why we have a lot of sides to us. Just as one person is multifaceted, so is tamanaramen.

— Both of your answers have been so interesting. Hikam is abstract, and Hana explains and materializes those thoughts.

Hikam & Hana: Hehehe (laughs).

— Do your conversations always have these roles?

Hana: I’m not sure?

Hikam: I think we actually take on opposite roles in our daily conversations (laughs).

— I understand you separate the work of songwriting and visuals. Do you share ideas and opinions with each other during your production processes?

Hikam: We show each other what we’ve done when we reach the halfway point. We’re like, “This is what I have so far, what do you think?”

— Do you praise each other?

Hikam: Yeah. We say, “That’s great!” or “Love it!”, and compliment each others’ work, but we also give our honest opinions if we prefer something else. 

— Have you noticed any changes in the way you view each other since you started living together and becoming more independent?

Hikam: I don’t think so? My sister is loved by the friends around her. She’s someone who people can’t stay mad at.

Hana: You think? Hikam is very decisive. For example, she suddenly quit the middle school she took an entrance exam to get into. The other day, she exclaimed, “I feel like going to Okinawa tomorrow” and went straight there immediately after the club. She’s decisive and quick to turn her decision into action. It’s impressive. She’s strong.

Hikam: Is that a good thing? (Laughs).

Hana: I’m complimenting you. (Laughs). 

Why they’re doing tamanaramen

— The visuals for this EP were photographed by Ayaka Endo. It’s very distinctive. 

Hana: I’ve always liked Ayaka Endo’s work, and we’re friends. I knew the time was now to ask her to be a part of this project.

— tanmanaramen has appeared in art events and has many connections in the art community.

Hana: We don’t have any music-related friends. We’re only close with artworld people… Easygoing types.

Hikam: Easygoing types…? (Laughs)

— (Laughs). You had a release party at Shibuya WWW on March 9th. I believe this was also a first for you. Why did you decide to do this now?

Hikam: It was time.

— Your EP is called Hajimari (beginnings), so it’s like a re-debut of sorts?

Hikam & Hana: Exactly!

Hikam: I like that, it’s fresh.

— tamanaramen is now in its fourth year since debuting, and is now graduating the newcomer phase. I think this kind of freshness is usually hard to find at this point in an artist’s timeline. It’s usually when artists start to feel more self-conscious.

Hana: What you’re saying reminded me of when we had to stop production because Hikam got sick. I thought our career as a duo was over then. But that transformed into being a time for us to stop for a second and watch and listen to our past work. By reflecting on our past, we gained more confidence because we were able to reaffirm our skills. That was our “beginning”, and looking back, it was a crucial time.

— You’re saying that there were things that became clear only when you stopped to look at it.

Hana: After looking back at our past works, we thought some of the things we did in a more rough way were quite good. There was a time I was weirdly self conscious and thought I had to shoot with a film camera. But I realized that’s not our production process. 

Hikam: I used to be someone who made music for myself so that I wouldn’t forget about the events that took place or the emotions that arose at that time. But I think I’ve slowly started to think outwardly. Tamanaramen has enabled me to see things objectively. Perhaps I’ve begun to keep my distance, in a good way. I’ve started to think about the nuance of me seeing everyone’s tamanaramen from a different vantage point.

— Perhaps you’re able to see yourselves objectively now.

Hikam: It comes down to why we do tamanaramen. Of course our love for music is a prerequisite, but we want a space where we can all come together and create.

Isolated but equally connected

— You previously mentioned that you want tamanaramen to become a big, tent-like presence. 

Hikam: We also have a BtoB DJ unit called 4NGEL KIDZ (angel kids). We had our first party at Enter Shibuya the other day. All types of people were there, old and young. It was the best kind of distance, where no one was isolated… actually, everyone was isolated but equally connected. We passed around a notebook for everyone to write in. Everyone, including those in the corner, wrote in it.

— I love that concept of everyone being lonely but being equally connected. 

Hana: It’s like a community without a central figure. It’s not like there’s one charismatic person that everyone flocks to. We’re all on the same plane.

— It’s not a centralized rule.

Hana: Exactly. The loneliness Hikam felt during COVID, the friends we made during that time, and the communication founded within the context of those relationships are the themes of this EP.

Hikam: We made Hajimari about a year after I started college. All my classes were online, so I was mostly remote. I only went in person three times, including for health checkups. I led a suffocating life then, and perhaps that is reflected in my work. When I looked around me, I noticed my younger brother starting high school and adults going back to work in person. College students were the only people left behind. That was the kind of insolation I felt.

— Are you still a college student?

Hikam: I took a year off, but I ended up dropping out because I wanted to do music.

Hana: Nothing to lose, right? (Laughs).

Hikam: Nope!

— Everyone’s lonely but no one is alone. Being on a level playing field is ideal. But it may be difficult to build that environment. You’ve always cited social and political events of the world as an important backdrop to your work. Wouldn’t you want to let your opinions and stances be known if such things are important in the work you create?

Hana: Our work is meant to connect people with different views. We want to honor the nuances in our music that enable people of differing opinions to like the same song. It would be fine if it was on a personal level, but we try not to be divisive with tamanaramen.

— Do you exchange specific opinions between the two of you?

Hana: Unlike with tamanaramen, we have conversations like that pretty often. I’ve been told in the past that if I don’t declare my opinions, I’m on the side of the perpetrators or complicit in their actions. But I think that’s different. The space we create should be a place that respects different opinions and values. It would be ideal to be able to maintain a relationship where we can have unbiased discussions. 

— What type of person, compared to the average listener, do you think gather around tamanaramen?

Hana: I think there are a lot of nice people. That’s only what I assume, though (laughs).

— What do you think about when considering tamanaramen’s future?

Hikam: The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve started to become the person who I wanted to be when I was in high school.

— What kind of person is that?

Hikam: At the time, I couldn’t go to clubs, and I wanted to go see foreign artists’ shows. I dreamt of playing big venues like Shibuya WWW and being invited as a guest artist for foreign acts (laughs).

— You’ve realized those dreams!

Hana: I want to be active abroad, too. Maybe I can move at the end of my lease. 

Hikam: By the way, we found out when we received attention from a  Russian internet bulletin that the name tamanaramen is good luck in Russia. 

— If you were to live elsewhere, where would you go?

Hana: London or Berlin. But I like London.

Photography Taisuke Nakano
Coordinator Yoshiko Kurata
Translation Mimiko Goldstein

■Streaming EP Hajimari
1.yurikago
2.moving like a wind
3.ebi
4.friday
5.baby fish
https://jvcmusic.lnk.to/tamanaramen_hajimari

The post tamanaramen’s New Beginnings (Hajimari): Sisters Who Create Their Ideal Space appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Thinking structurally and loving complexity

–How did you two become involved in making Kaguya by Gucci?

Makoto Nagahisa: Toshihiko Tanabe-san, who produced Kaguya by Gucci, reached out to Shibuya-san and me, respectively, which is how we got together. Before this project, I didn’t know Shibuya-san personally, but I had been listening to his music. I was also inspired by his opera, Heavy Requiem featuring Hatsune Miku and an android (editor’s note: a collaborative performance with Shingon Buddhist monk Eizen Fujiwara performed at Ars Electronica in 2019). So, I was elated to have been able to work with him. 

Keiichiro Shibuya: I was also happy to have been able to work with you. Nagahisa-san, you used to play music, right? When you gave me your opinions and instructions on the music for Kaguya by Gucci, you used words and expressions only someone knowledgeable about music would know. So, I looked you up online afterward out of curiosity (laughs). And I found information about your musical background, just as I thought.

Nagahisa: Yes. I played jazz throughout my school years. I played the baritone for six years and the tenor sax for three. 

Shibuya: Out of the various kinds of jazz, which do you like?

Nagahisa: I listen to a lot of kinds. But if I were asked who my favorite musician was, it would be Gil Evans. He incorporated something different into jazz and expanded the genre through big bands. For instance, he would play Jimi Hendrix’s music by introducing an electronic guitar into the ensemble. I find that very appealing. I used to cover his music at university. 

–Your 2019 film, We Are Little Zombies, featuresNaruyoshi Kikuchi-san. Was the casting your choice? 

Nagahisa: Yes. I love him as a musician and have also covered DC/PRG’s music. Kikuchi-san’s logical way of talking is also appealing to me. I reached out to him because I wanted him to be in my film, and thankfully, he said yes.

Back to my musical background: I gave up trying to become a professional sax player when I was around 20. I thought long and hard about what medium I could pour the same passion into and pivoted to filmmaking. But I’ve always loved music. 

Shibuya: I see. It was easy to work with you, and much of what you did made sense to me. I gel well with directors who like complex music, like yourself (laughs). People like you see one piece of work as a structure, whether that’s music or film. I’m the same, so it’s easy to have a mutual understanding. It’s difficult working with people who only like songs, as opposed to instrumentals, or three-piece rock bands, because they focus too much on the narrative and literary aspect of music and have a low awareness of the structure (lets out a bitter laugh).

Nagahisa: I guess you can say I’m pro-intricacy. I’m the type that thinks the more intricate the relationship between things or elements, the better. I love complex things or things that many people feel are a chore. 

How the modern-day version of The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter was born

–How was the concept behind Kaguya by Gucci born and nurtured? 

Nagahisa: The start of the project was when the producer, Tanabe-san, told me, “I want you to create a modern-day Bamboo Cutter set in Tokyo with Princess Kaguya, Okina, and Mikado.” As a storyteller of today, I wondered how I should handle and illustrate the oldest Japanese tale because it was created over a century ago. I had to clarify my perspective on The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. I let my thoughts marinate, and the conclusion I came to was to go against the original story. 

“Even if a story’s synopsis and ending are set in stone, each character has the right to insert their ideas and views into the story.” By rewriting a story based on this line of thinking, I wanted to express meanings and values that could exist precisely because of our current times. In Kaguya by Gucci, Okina resists saying goodbye to Princess Kaguya, and Mikado doesn’t stop loving Princess Kaguya even if he knows they won’t end up together. The lyrics sung by Alter4 in Shibuya-san’s soundtrack are written from that perspective. The lyrics say something like, “I don’t exist to play a role imposed on me.” 

–Alter4 appears in the short film with you, Shibuya-san, and its makeup packs a punch. 

Shibuya: Alter4 made its debut with this short film and played an important supporting role. When I explain that to people from other countries, they say, “Now that you’ve mentioned it, it makes sense.” 

Nagahisa: True. It might be easier for people from other countries to understand the story once you provide historical context, like noh, into account. 

Shibuya: Some cultured people from other countries are more well-versed in traditional Japanese culture than Japanese people. 

The AI learned Nagahisa-san’s text to generate a portion of the lyrics, so his name is credited alongside Cypher, the AI. The AI named itself. 

Most AI names are boring, as they come from ancient gods or classic figures (laughs). I didn’t want the AI to have a name like that, so I was like, “What should I do?” I asked the AI, “What should we call an emerging lyricist who people would want to follow?” And it answered, “Cypher.” It signifies zeroes and passcodes, which I thought was excellent. That became the official name. 

A structural approach to making the soundtrack

–What was your approach to making “I come from the Moon,” the track you wrote for this short film?

Shibuya: As I mentioned before, I view music and film in a structural way. I believe people feel moved by structure. 

The most important thing about this song was for it to be circular-shaped. In the film, many circular shapes are shown abstractly, like close-up shots of the characters and Alter4’s eyes, and the moon. The cyclical nature of the film is shown at the end when Aoi (Yamada)-san, playing the role of Okina, says the same line as the beginning, “This is a fairy tale.” Both abstractly and structurally, the circle was important. It’s the shape of the moon, of course. I thought about how I could portray that with the music. 

Another central element is the scene where Okina, played by Aoi-san, runs up Tokyo Tower to reach Princess Kaguya, played by (Hikari) Mitsushima-san. The shape of the circle in psychoanalysis can be interpreted as a symbol of female genitalia. Meanwhile, a phallic shape, Tokyo Tower, makes an appearance. It depicts a love story between two women, but a sign of maleness exists there too. I felt like that would play on the viewer’s subconscious in a powerful manner. I felt like the scene needed a melody with a strong drive. 

–I see. I can tell that you analyzed the story structurally and symbolically to create the soundtrack. 

Shibuya: But if the melody surged at that Tokyo Tower scene, that would’ve equated to reaching an orgasm, so I couldn’t do that (laughs). As Nagahisa-san said, the vital theme was to go against something, so I played a descending melody in contrast to the ascending chords. 

The BPM rapidly increases once she starts running up Tokyo Tower, but when Princess Kaguya and Okina embrace each other at the climax of the scene with the moon in the background, the BPM rapidly decreases and returns to the same BPM as the first scene. That’s how I portrayed the circular structure of the short film through music.

Nagahisa: The music is terrific in every scene. I love the part where Princess Kaguya and Okina turn into small figurines and dance together. In that scene, live action turns into CGI, and the tone of the music changes drastically too. It matches the visuals. 

–Speaking of tone, you used the sound of live drums and electric bass instead of synth bass, which you seldom use in your music. 

Shibuya: Because the android plays the key part of a storyteller and singer, I felt combining the singing voice with a human touch would sound more interesting. This project allowed me to consider the distance between machinic and human things. Aside from the bass, I used a simulation of electric guitar and live drums from the 50s. Whenever an android is the central part of a song, it makes me want to produce this kind of tone for some reason. 

–As you mentioned, Nagahisa-san, there’s a strong cohesion between the visuals and music. You must’ve paid acute attention to that.

Nagahisa: Yes. It’s about the small details: you’d get a vastly different impression if a song—with its swelling and reverberations—ends with a cut instead of lingering until the next. We matched each frame with the sound until the last minute. 

Shibuya: I’m sure Nagahisa-san’s experience in shooting commercials plays a big part in how he’s more meticulous about and aware of cuts and frames than directors who only create their own work. Even regarding the sound, he said, “People won’t feel moved if the attack doesn’t come in at the tenth frame!” I believe that sort of meticulousness is absolutely right. It’s ineffective if you can’t convey something that’s numerical by nature by using numbers. It’s out of the question.

What can we gain from androids?

–What was it like working with an android, Nagahisa-san?

Nagahisa: I make films based on the disconnection or discrepancy between life and death and emotion and expression, and I think that won’t change in the future. Androids are important to me because they’re relevant to my interests. Androids are bound to become more widespread and necessary in the future, so it was a memorable experience to sit down with an android that tells stories. 

Shibuya: Androids are interesting, even from the perspective of filmmaking and acting. In the past, the benchmark of a good actor or film was how well emotion and motion could be connected and expressed. (Jean-Luc) Godard “cut” into that with his own method and created a new form of film. With androids, nothing connects the android to the human being, to begin with. The very existence of androids begs the question, “What is emotion?” 

Nagahisa: I agree. I’ve always felt that emotion and motion aren’t aligned. We usually respond to situations out of reflex instead of emotion. I feel like that disconnect or inconsistency is so beautiful. That’s why I’m drawn to androids, as they embody that. 

Shibuya: People act out of reflex and habit, and there’s always a social component behind what they like. The existence of idols not only hinges on appearance but on the social values that deem them “kawaii.” It’s not rare to meet an idol that’s actually not that kawaii (laughs). It seems like more people are beginning to see that people don’t act out of emotion as much as we had thought.

–It also seems like our awareness and sensibility regarding human existence and emotion are changing because of AI and androids. 

Shibuya: Once the prerequisite of emotion disappears, the way we create stories will change. It’s a major opportunity for Japan. Fundamentally, Europe is anthropocentric, and they don’t doubt the existence of humans. It could be hard to eliminate the belief that humans have emotions and robots don’t. But I feel like we in Japan can create a new story based on a different set of values.

Nagahisa: People in Japan have created joruri for generations, so we have a strong foundation. 

Shibuya: Exactly. 

Nagahisa: There’s the belief that puppets have emotions and that humans don’t have emotions that puppets can’t express. I feel like that’s something people from other countries don’t feel. 

Shibuya: I call that the “new ethnic.” 

Nagahisa: I understand. My films are more popular in America and Europe than in Japan, but not because of the direct depictions or motifs. They see a distinct, ethnic Japanese quality in, say, my dry, blunt approach to giving up or how sadness doesn’t come to the fore. They think it’s interesting. 

Shibuya: Over the past ten years, I’ve portrayed the existence of the self in an obscure way and made the emotions impossible to ascertain in my work. I assume people from other countries are more prone to discuss such themes than Japanese people.

Nagahisa: I see. When we made Kaguya by Gucci, Tanabe-san told me you and I have similar views on society and human beings. I saw what he meant today while we covered various things. Thank you.

Shibuya: Thank you. It was fun talking to you.

Photography Tasuku Amada
Translation Lena Grace Suda

The post Keiichiro Shibuya and Makoto Nagahisa on Making Kaguya by Gucci and What Androids Can Teach Us — “Massive Life Flow; Inside the Mind of Keiichiro Shibuya” Part 8 appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

We at TOKION asked Peppe to create a manga series to find out what an Italian man thinks of Japanese culture. In the series, Peppe will experience Japan’s unique culture and introduce it in the form of a short manga story. For the 6th edition, as a spin-off, we asked Peppe, who is currently back in Italy, to try a popular ramen dish in Milan.

–This time, since you are in Italy, we asked you to try ramen, one of the most typical Japanese foods. How was the taste when you actually tried it at a restaurant that is said to be delicious in Milan?

Peppe: Hmmm……….If you want good food in Milan, you would definitely be better off going for the risotto! So far, I have been impressed by it no matter where I’ve eaten it or what ingredients were in it.

–What flavor was the ramen you had this time?

Peppe: It was hard to choose because all the ramen had strange combinations of ingredients, not like in Japan where they are categorized into miso(salty soy bean paste), shoyu(soy sauce), tonkotsu (pork bone), and shio (salt). I was surprised to find sashimi in some of them. I tried the vegetarian ramen this time.

–Is there any kind of ramen that is unique to Italy? 

Peppe: The restaurant I went had peperoncino ramen, so I guess that would be it (laughs).

— Do you remember the first time you ate ramen in Japan? 

Peppe: I remember it well. I had champon ramen at a famous Chinese ramen restaurant in Nippori called Bazoku. It was really delicious and brought tears to my eyes. I took a picture and even wrote “Thank you, Champon” on Facebook.

–When you come back to Japan, what would you like to eat first?

Peppe: Rice. I want to eat good rice. Since I haven’t eaten it for a long time, I long for that first bite of warm, soft, and delicious Japanese rice. Oh no! I think my taste buds have totally turned Japanese.

Translation Shinichiro Sato

The post How good is Ramen in Milan? : Italian Manga Artist Peppe’s Encounter with Japanese Culture Vol. 6 appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Kakeru Taira is a CGI artist who primarily uses Twitter to showcase his work. He creates arresting, realistic landscapes that evoke a feeling of unease, as if something sinister is about to unfold there. Taira has been steadily gaining fans since posting a series of 3D imagery starting at the end of last year. A year hasn’t even passed since he started making his original 3D models after teaching himself the know-how. We spoke to him about what goes on behind his creations.  

Kakeru Taira  
Kakeru Taira was born in Iwate in 1994. He started posting illustrations online after he quit his previous job. After drawing pointillist drawings and illustrations of women, he began creating 3D models using Blender, starting in December 2021. He currently creates 3D imagery of eerie spaces.  
Twitter：@taira__kakeru
Instagram：@taira_kakeru

Picking up CGI while looking for a job  

–Can you introduce yourself? 

Kakeru Taira: I’m a 27-year-old living in Iwate prefecture. I’ve enjoyed using my hands since I was a student, and I used to draw and play the guitar. After that, I worked part-time at a CD shop and worked behind the scenes in e-commerce. I’m currently looking for a job. I started posting my illustrations and CGI landscapes on social media because I wanted to do something I liked while I still had the time. 

–What prompted you to start making CGI?  

Taira: I used to draw illustrations based on the theme of women, but I couldn’t think of what to draw for a long time because my skill level limited me. That’s when I switched over to CGI. The catalyst was when I discovered that manga master Inio Asano uses Blender, a 3D modeling software, to create the background for his mangas. I became his fan after discovering Solanin since I liked playing the guitar. I started using Blender because I naively thought I could have a job like him, someone I admire, once I practiced using the software. It’s been ten months since I started making CGI landscapes. 

–What kind of software is Blender? 

Taira: The selling point is that it’s free and open for anyone to use. Aside from 3D modeling, you can edit videos and use VFX technology to create live-action content. I learned how to use it on my own because there are many tutorials on YouTube. 

I first made an air conditioner condenser, in which I pasted a real photo to add texture and patterns to the model’s surface. You can create hyper-realistic imagery quite easily, so I still use the same method with objects in the landscapes I make.  

–How did you establish your style of making eerie landscapes? 

Taira: My second or third 3D model was of a laundromat; I felt realistic depictions would get the most attention on Twitter. I was looking for a good angle and landed on an overlooking point of view, like a security camera in the top corner. I added meticulous details, like the setting and placement of objects, and ended up with an uneasy atmosphere that makes you feel like someone is living there. There’s a reason behind how many everyday things are placed, such as windows, doors, and other things. I discovered I could stimulate the viewer’s imagination by putting something somewhere for an unclear reason.  

Once I posted my work on Twitter, I got a big reaction from people. It made me feel like I could excite people by making things in that vein rather than simply pretty spaces.  

I’m working toward creating imagery viewers could carefully observe by leaving the interpretation up to them, like an obscure film. You can access different information with one click on social media, so I try to leave some space for imagination so people can sit with my work.  

–What are the steps that go into your process? 

Taira: First, I develop a rough theme and create necessary parts like furniture. Once I finish making a reasonable amount, I put them together to create a landscape. In many cases, things get pretty haphazard when I add objects or adjust how they’re placed. I take time to make minor adjustments because I want the objects to make sense from all angles. It takes around three weeks to a month to finish one landscape, even if I work ten hours daily. 

–Where do you get inspiration from?  

Taira: I get a lot of inspiration from films. One example is The Grand Budapest Hotel, a comedy film by Wes Anderson set in the best hotel in Europe. The film has many symmetric compositions, and I believe it has cultivated my understanding and way of formatting landscapes.  

I love it when I see an unfamiliar city in films, as it makes me excited. I’m figuring out how to evoke that same feeling in others through my work. 

Leaving behind a sense of unease for the viewer 

–The way you place different objects feel so true to life. How do you decide on the placement? 

Taira: I usually look up photos to get an understanding of a particular place’s layout and solidify the composition, or I create a model of a real place. It seemed like the standard for laundromats was to have benches between washing machines, so I incorporated them into my work. The 3D apartment I posted after the laundromat one was modeled after an apartment I actually lived in. The room had a unique atmosphere; it was damp, so much so that it would get moldy without ventilation. I came up with the resident’s personality and put in details such as garbage bags and condiments at the entrance to make it look realistic.  

I also have an artwork modeled after underground public lockers in Ikebukuro station. The placement of the lockers and photobooth are accurate, but I added the public phone and garbage can. I often rearrange real places too. 

–Do you have any rules when you create CGI? 

Taira: I leave a sense of unease for the viewer. I incorporate elements that make the viewer conjure a story, like leaving dirty dishes out and adding a clock to include the detail of time.  

Once I’m done with a landscape, I litter the place. When I do that, I always consider people’s movements. For instance, receipts get tossed to the side at public lockers because people walk in the middle. A landscape can look unnatural all of a sudden, depending on the way a space is cluttered, so it’s something I take seriously.  

–You work for ten hours a day; what motivates you to do it? 

Taira: I have more time than others because I’m in between jobs, so I want to use as much time as possible to create imagery. Many CGI artists on social media range from students to people in their early twenties, but I don’t want to feel defeated by them.  

–What’s your goal? 

Taira: I eventually want to try creating fantastical things. People have started paying attention to photogrammetry, a technology in which people can easily take photos and generate CGI models. Once that becomes the norm, my realistic style won’t be rare anymore, which is why I want to explore a style that has both realistic and fantastical elements.  

I won’t be able to convey a fantastical world if the details are inconsistent, so I want to hone my modeling skills and make more realistic imagery. I hope I can eventually take on CGI jobs. 

Translation Lena Grace Suda

The post The Eerie, Evocative Landscapes of CGI Artist Kakeru Taira appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

Winning the Heritage Award for Watashi wa Shingo at the Angouleme International Comics Festival inspired the manga artist to create his 101 paintings titled “Zoku-Shingo: Chiisana Robot Shingo Bijutsukan.”

Once you read this interview, there’s no doubt you’ll feel the esteemed Umezu’s energetic spirit. 

In the latter half of the interview, Umezu brings up Taro Okamoto, who believed humanity hadn’t progressed. He created the primitive-feeling Tower of the Sun and blew Expo ’70 out of the water, which had the theme “Progress and Harmony for Mankind.” You’ll see that Umezu shares a similar sentiment and soul, too. 

Kazuo Umezu
Kazuo Umezu was born on September 3rd, 1936, in Wakayama prefecture. He decided to become a manga artist in fifth grade after becoming inspired by Osamu Tezuka. Umezu made his professional debut in 1955 at 18 with Mori no Kyodai. He gained nationwide recognition as a horror manga artist with titles like Nekome no Shojo and Reptilia. In 1975, he won the 20th Shogakukan Manga Award for The Drifting Classroom. Umezu published hits like Makoto-chan and Orochi afterward. In the 80s, he published mangas that depicted the near future, like Watashi wa Shingo and Fourteen. He’s gained an international fanbase with his creative world-building. “Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition” is now being held at Abeno Harukas Art Museum in Osaka.
http://umezz.com/jp

The predilection for using pretty colors

――It’s been a while since your exhibition, “Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition,” was held in Tokyo from January to March this year. Have you received any responses and thoughts about the exhibition?

Kazuo Umezu (Umezu): People talk to me a lot whenever I’m walking down the street, so it seems like many people went to the exhibition. No one has told me it was boring (laughs). 

Everyone seems to have been moved by the exhibition; it gives me strength whenever they say words of encouragement in a lively way. It makes me happy when someone says, “It was great!” People saying hello or coming up to me proves they pay attention to my work. It’s reassuring that many people are like that. It makes me feel like it’s all been worthwhile.

――I also went to “The Great Art Exhibition,” and the thing that stuck with me is how beautiful the paintings and colors you used were. It seems like you made a point to use both primary and vibrant colors. Did you pay special attention to anything in terms of painting or incorporating colors?

Umezu: I realized I’m the type who tries to use beautiful colors to draw.

I used such colors to draw in middle school too. Aside from colors, I was also particular about using various kinds of paint. As a middle schooler, I would use red ink for red, dyes for blue, and food coloring for yellow. 

I used acrylic gouache for “Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition.” I was excited to choose which colors to use because they were all so beautiful. The dark colors are pretty too. Each color has a distinct beauty, but when you mix another pretty color, both colors can hold their own. That’s why I did my best to use beautiful ones. 

Some say you shouldn’t mix different colors or apply paint onto a canvas without anything else in art, but modern-day paint is pretty [so it doesn’t matter].

――Paints do look more beautiful nowadays.

Umezu: You can get paint that already looks like it’s been mixed, so you don’t have to do extra work. 

The theme for the exhibition is “A series of paintings.” I could draw whatever I wanted, but it was inevitable for me to create rules. If a random color popped up in a series of connected paintings, people would ask, “What’s going on?” One rule was to use red and pink for Marin, a girl, and blue and green for Satoru, a boy. I used those colors everywhere they went in the paintings. With that said, the color of his pants is yellow in some instances and brown in others. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if each painting were a complete piece, but using disjointed colors wouldn’t have worked since the paintings are all connected; the entire series wouldn’t be coherent and impactful. I’m sure there are rules to art that people from long ago created, but I think you can develop your craft by creating new ones for yourself.

“Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition” Tokyo (Closing), Tokyo City View (Roppongi Hills)

Wanting to make people thrilled and surprised

――You held your exhibition first in Tokyo and then in Osaka in September despite the pandemic. What was the significance of holding a big exhibition during times like these?

Umezu: I, too, was thrown into the pandemic, so I gave this some thought. Even in a world with covid, a recession, and conflict, we will always want stimulation and fun as long as we’re alive.

As the title of the paintings suggests, to feel “Zoku [zoku]” is to feel excited in any situation, even if the world is upside down. We should have things that draw us to them and make us go, “Wow! That’s so cool!” We need spiritual nourishment no matter the situation. 

But even without thinking about all that, I still believe we need things that excite us no matter what. I painted with the desire to make everyone excited and surprised, regardless of covid. I feel like your focus shifts on what you’re looking at [if it’s interesting], thus making you forget about your pain, even if it’s just for a second. That’s essential.

――I feel the same way. I read in another interview that the words “human deterioration” popped up when you were working on “Zoku-Shingo: Chiisana Robot Shingo Bijutsukan.” How did you try to reflect those words in your work?

Umezu: The paintings depict somewhat of a competition between robots and humans. I just thought that humans would deteriorate the more robots advance because they wouldn’t be able to keep up with robots. I feel like people are convinced that everything should and will progress. They don’t think about deterioration. 

I started thinking about this because people cause harm to others daily. I’m sure each person has their reasons, but seeing such things made me think, “Well, we’re going downhill.” When things are progressing, things go in a good direction. But things are going in the wrong direction, making morale low. I feel like the future is about returning to nature. Once there’s no civilization left to progress, the only choice would be to return to nature. We’ve reached a point where the forefront of progress is almost out of reach.  Modern progress is about numbers. Once we get results using them, we won’t be able to revert the process. Things will only continue moving forward. We listen to science telling us what to do and operate accordingly without understanding what’s at stake. If electricity stops working, progress will also stop. Then, we humans wouldn’t be able to do anything. We’d disintegrate. That’s why I feel like the direction we’re heading in is that of deterioration. I call it the reformation of deterioration (laughs).

“Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition” Tokyo (Closing), Tokyo City View (Roppongi Hills)

I won’t continue drawing unless I hear a voice inside me saying, ‘That’s good”

――(Laughs). Change of topic: you’ve been living in Kichijoji for a long time. I also live in an area not too far from you, and I sometimes see you walking around. Does Kichijoji influence your creativity or ideas?

Umezu: Not at all. Whenever I draw something based on Kichijoji, it’s more like a journal of my everyday life. Rather than it being dramatic, it’s more like nonfiction. But that’s not what I strive to do. Kichijoji, San Francisco, or New York; where I live doesn’t matter because I live in my head. However, I will say that Kichijoji is convenient for shopping (laughs).

――Your mangas are highly appreciated abroad too. How do you think your foreign audience perceives your work? What sort of responses do you get from them?

Umezu: I’m not sure since I’ve never met them, but some movies make me say, “They took that from my work,” so I think my work is recognized abroad. I also read a Spanish book that was written about me. 

I also read God’s Left Hand, Devil’s Right Hand in Japanese because I heard the translated version was published abroad. I don’t read my own manga once I’m done working on it. So, when I reread it, I was like, “Wow, look at that! That’s amazing!” I read it from the perspective of a reader. Not to toot my own horn, but it was impressive. I thought about watching the film adaptation, but I stopped because I felt like my manga would win (laughs). 

I sound like I’m praising myself, but that’s how impactful the manga seemed to me. People might hesitate to read it because the human aspect of it sticks out, but the story is excellent. My career abroad has only just begun.

――It’s as though your mangas predicted modern-day society. In Watashi wa Shingo, you illustrated the computer, for instance. I still get surprised when I read your work today. How did you come up with this idea? Amid an era where so many things are happening, what does progress and the future look like to you?

Umezu: People still believe advancement is inevitable but must realize they have the wrong impression. That’s the only way to improve the future. At one point, I realized the job of the manga artist was to draw what would happen next. 

I used to think of different stories in my head, but I never thought about reality or what was happening in the world. Looking back, every manga I drew aligned with whatever became popular afterward. There’s no other way to say it; my work has remained relevant through the years. But it’s not like I predict the future using logic. 

――What was the process behind Watashi wa Shingo like?

Umezu: When I drew Watashi wa Shingo, there was a curse of mangas with a lot of research that went into them not doing well. I knew the manga wouldn’t perform well if I half-heartedly looked into robots and incorporated that into the story because of the curse. I used photos taken at a factory to reference realistic designs, but back then, you would see rows of square computers that weren’t interesting at all. I had to come up with an exciting design on my own. The robots at the factory differed significantly from what I drew, but I asked computer experts whether the robots I drew would function. I tried my best to merge my imagination and reality.

I won’t continue drawing unless I hear a voice inside me saying, “That’s good.” Once I hear it, I draw obsessively, no matter what anyone says. You run into hindrances if you work on one manga for six years. If you pay attention to them, you’d be discouraged, and your work will be confused. It’ll fall apart because of the lack of cohesion. Even if whatever I’m working on isn’t well-liked, once I hear my inner voice saying, “That’s good,” I have to trust it and complete the process.

――You stick to your gut once you start drawing.

Umezu: Another good thing is that I feel like there’s something other people and I have in common. As long as my intuition is correct, the things I like will begin spreading among the rest of society. I believe this is something that happens to me.

Whenever I draw something new, the content naturally becomes about the future. I foresee future events before I even know it. I feel like having a childlike spirit plays a significant role in this. Just because something is made into reality through science and logic doesn’t mean a new story is born. If you write about what happens in reality, nothing is exciting or fun about it. 

Truth exists, of course, but it’s different from fiction. I want to create interesting stories. Having a childlike spirit is a profound thing. It’s a great thing I picked up. My stories feature children, so there’s a connection (laughs). The difference between adults and children is that adults might think something is childish, but children might think the opposite. Whenever I draw stories, the direction is usually determined by the protagonist. The age kept getting younger and younger, and in Fourteen, the protagonist became as young as three years old. That’s no longer about having a childlike spirit, as three-year-olds are children (laughs). 

――True (laughs).

Umezu: I recently read an article in which Yasunari Kawabata-san said, “You need to have a childlike spirit.” I felt there was a disconnect because his works were moving and dealt with everyday subjects. But I realized you need a childlike spirit to have an artistic and dramatic one, or else you wouldn’t be able to create a good piece of work. 

That’s why having a childlike spirit is an important criterion. But that doesn’t mean I’m disregarding nonfiction. Everyday life is nonfiction, so you must connect the two to establish a narrative. How that could look depends on the artist’s skills.

――That allows the artist to show off their skills.

Umezu: Old mangas have a childlike spirit, but recent mangas are about jobs, to put it simply. I believe mangas should have a wonderful youthful spirit; they shouldn’t portray work. It’s vital to have both a childlike spirit and polish. In that sense, I guess I’m the best at what I do (laughs).

The content of God’s Left Hand, Devil’s Right Hand, is chaotic, but I feel like it represents a childlike spirit. It’s like, “Now, this is what I want to draw! This is it!” The term youthful spirit can also be linked to artistry, which is why it resonates with me to this extent. 

With that said, I’m not making fun of reality. I can’t change reality, so all I ask for is to have a free inner world. If we’ve been able to evolve as humans regardless of the era, then I want to say that I’ve used my imagination to the fullest to create things.

“Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition” Tokyo (Closing), Tokyo City View (Roppongi Hills)

“I painted to the best of my ability, so I want everyone to see my works”

――Your exhibition in Osaka opened in September. What part of the exhibition do you want to highlight for prospective visitors? Also, what’s your image of Osaka? Do you have any memories there?

Umezu: I’m so grateful people want to visit my exhibitions many times. Those who saw my paintings in Tokyo and those who haven’t will find something about the paintings that move them. I painted them during covid, so I’m sure there’s something people could be drawn to. I hope they can look for that element. I feel like something about the paintings will resonate with people and make them say, “Oh wow, look at how detailed this part is!”

When I think of Osaka, I think of a big city. I’m from Gojo, Nara, so Osaka is the closest big city for those from Gojo. When I started drawing manga, I submitted a story to Shojo Book published by Shoeisha, and they decided to feature and serialize it. Haha Yobu Koe was serialized for a year, and I also drew other stories, but I felt that I still didn’t have enough skills. I brought my story to a publisher in Osaka because I wanted to start over. I drew mangas in Osaka until that publisher went out of business. After that, I came to Tokyo.

――I didn’t know you drew manga in Osaka!

Umezu: Unlike the culture in Tokyo, Osaka’s culture has no pretense. There were many unashamedly childlike mangas, so that was fun (laughs). People said pulp fiction books were low-brow, but that made them good. Yaneura 3 Chan is funny. I feel like mangas in Osaka were more open with their emotions, and the same could be said about the people there. It’d make me happy if people in Osaka could view the exhibition in a different light from people in Tokyo. I hope they could see the humor in my work and be like, “That was funny,” or “That part was a gag.” Some might also see the scary parts as a gag (laughs). 

I painted to the best of my ability, so I want everyone to see my work. When I think of Osaka, I think of Taro Okamoto-san, who was powerful and brilliant. I have my strengths in other areas, and I can proudly say I can come up with stories like no other! I’m just as good as Taro Okamoto-san! Picasso drew comics, but I’m just as good as him! I’m just as good as anyone else! If people could view my paintings thinking about how I feel just as capable as people from Osaka, then I believe they could feel even more excited (laughs). 

■Kazuo Umezz The Great Art Exhibition
Dates: ~ November 20
Venue: ABENO HARUKAS Art Museum, Osaka
Address: ABENO HARUKAS 16F 1-43 Abenosuji 1chome, Abeno-ku, Osaka 545-6016 JAPAN
Hours: [Tues. – Fri.] 10:00-20:00, [Mon., Sat., Sun., & national holidays] 10:00-18:00
*Last admission is 30 minutes before closing.
Admission:  Adults ¥1,700, University students / Senior high school students ¥1,300, Junior high school students / Elementary school students ¥500, and kids under 12 are free
Web: https://umezz-art.jp

The post Manga Artist Kazuo Umezu’s Undying Urge to Create appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

We at TOKION asked Peppe to create a manga series to find out what an Italian man thinks of Japanese culture. In the series, Peppe will experience Japan’s unique culture and introduce it in the form of a short manga story. In the fifth installment, Peppe goes to Sumida-ku, Tokyo, to experience for the first time the design of “Edo Kiriko” (a generic name for faceted glassware produced in Tokyo from the end of the Edo period to the present). Discover how it turned out.

–This time, you tried your hand at designing “Edo Kiriko,” a traditional form of Japanese glass art designated as one of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government’s traditional crafts.

Peppe: I was truly committed to it for an hour and a half, so it was just as or even more tiring than when I concentrate on drawing manga. Or it was probably because I am just getting older (laughs). I had a vague idea of what “Edo Kiriko” was, but it was great to know that this is how it is made.

–How was it to actually sharpen and design the glass?

Peppe: At first, as a manga artist, I was really worried that I might cut my hand on the machine. So this time I tried to express that fear in the manga as well (laughs). But in reality, I was able to work safely. And just as I had expected, it was fun to create things with my hands.

Just like when I drew manga for the first time, I couldn’t do it right at first. I really wanted to try a more complicated design, but I thought I must not fail, so I decided to keep it simple this time, using the form of a bamboo thicket. Now that I know how to do it, I would like to do it again after developing a specific design.

The post Is the “Edo Kiriko” Workshop Dangerous? : Italian Manga Artist Peppe’s Encounter with Japanese Culture Vol. 5 appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

My story begins in Japan. For a long time, I wrote articles about art, subcultures, and fashion for magazines. I’ve also written books. I was blessed to work as a writer from the late 90s, but my zest for everything vanished in 2011, the year of the Great East Japan Earthquake. That same year, on Halloween, I moved to New York on a journalist visa. Since then, I’ve worked as a chef and musician, using food and music as communication tools. 

A decade has passed since I started hosting dinners, making music on my computer, and drawing based on concepts related to food. All the while, I’ve been trying to avoid writing.  

In 2018, I married my partner, Brian Close, an animator, visual artist, and musician. We lived in a loft in Soho, New York, but moved to a farmhouse in Litchfield, Connecticut, in 2021, the following year of the start of the pandemic. 

We had one condition upon moving since we enjoyed our freedom in our Soho loft: no neighbors. We were able to play music anytime without any complaints from neighbors because no one lived in our Soho building. I felt like it was a miracle when we found an isolated farmhouse surrounded by pastures full of horses and cows for rent—a 36-acre plot of land. Today, the house is our living space and creative studio for food, music, and visual art. It might come as a surprise that I’m leading quite an active life here.  

New York City is a two-hour drive away, so I can go there if I miss being around people’s energy. But this physical distance hasn’t made me feel lonely thanks to increased online communication, such as FaceTime, Zoom, Twitch, VR, and games. I enjoy getting inspired by my new environment, just like when I left Tokyo. I initially didn’t want to write again, but I’m grateful to be given another chance to write for an online magazine. I plan to write about my life in two places, one in the American countryside, where I started living for the first time, and the other in New York City, where I return occasionally.  

We moved at the end of January 2021. We moved house by ourselves thanks to our friend Nathan and his truck. Nathan is one half of the artist duo Blazer Sound System and is a DJ, filmmaker, and producer. I DJed a lot for his friends’ and his dancehall and techno parties around 2014, and I’m also in HTRK’s “Chinatown Style” music video directed by Nathan. I released my first mixtape on his cassette label. As friends, we’ve shared many moments of joy in New York.  

Once the pandemic hit, we experienced lockdown and the pausing of time. We found ourselves in the vortex of an astronomical paradigm shift we couldn’t seem to comprehend. It felt like we went back to the beginning. Once lockdown was over, the Black Lives Matter movement gained momentum, and protests were held every week. We were relearning justice and equality. Things were still unstable, but people slowly started returning to the streets. With that said, covid showed no signs of stopping, and I held my breath as I continued living in a city that had lost its function. I eventually began envying those who lived among nature.  

Being physically close to others has been put on hold because of covid. It’s even hard to meet up with our neighbors now. I didn’t hesitate to move to the countryside because I felt it would be the same wherever I went. While driving his truck, I remember how Nathan said, “The community we built will never change, no matter where you go.” I can be myself whenever I return to the city and feel like I’ve come home precisely because I have a community there.  

My friends Evan and Liutas, who live in upstate New York, played a big part in my countryside awakening during the pandemic. They’re the pioneers of what I like to call “dual life,” as they also have an apartment in Chinatown. Their upstate home is an oasis, a place to escape all the noise. Their renovated farmhouse sits on a green plot of land in front of a river. Beautiful plants that almost seem artificially designed surround the place. They have a minimal kitchen, living room, vintage carpets, antique interior, a fireplace that burns brightly, and a classic cigar and library space. Liutas’s eye for detail as a gallerist is reflected in every corner of their house. Everything there feels fresh and beautiful because of the blend of the above elements and a farmhouse.  

In the summer, you can run out of the living room and jump straight into the river. The gap between the intense sun rays and cold water feels good on the skin. Once night falls, you can fall asleep to the sound of frogs and bugs. As such, I fell in love with their vibrant lifestyle in nature, one that couldn’t exist in the city. Lockdown ended in April 2020, but we still didn’t have enough information about covid. Regardless, Brian and I, wanting to feel rejuvenated, had the best time in nature because Evan and Liutas kindly let us stay at theirs. We began searching for our new home in November of the same year. But that story’s for another time.  

Translation Lena Grace Suda
Edit Nana Takeuchi

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