ShogoOtani_KitchenChimera023pp.7-11_2003.PDF

Plants grow, rivers flow, and mountains remain still, and as the seasons change, new lives are born… This is the power inherent in nature. I truly hope that this richness of nature is able to be perceived by people eternally.

In my view, creating a painting is an attempt to reproduce one’s bodily sensations, while at the same time producing a new “quality” that exists beyond that perception.

My works are materialized through my process of accumulating lines, by using mainly sumi ink, white chalk pigment and silver paint, along with water and glue on hemp paper. I create my works through seeking the appearance of an unknown “quality,” and a picture plane that can be independent on its own.

I anticipate that my works in this exhibition can activate the surrounding space and that a new sense of Brownian motion can develop within the space.

January 1998

(Translated by Taeko Nanpei)

Born in Chichibu, Saitama Prefecture, Japan. Out of three siblings I am the middle child.

1988

I graduated from the Tama Art University, majoring in Japanese painting.　I participated in the group show “Expression on Site 88″ showing the work “Prologue”. After a making a mistake while coating paper I discovered a technique of rolling the brush. I completed that picture using mainly the Japanese ink I planned to use only as a first coat. I was going to paint a human figure but while struggling with the 540 centimeter surface I ended up creating my first abstract piece. In the period when I was painting human figures I felt dissatisfied because the figure and the background would not merge well or I would envision the finished painting and lose interest. The abstract work freed me from these problems and I felt exhilarated. However, I thought “I don’t want to make work in which I just change the composition but nothing deeper than that”, I agonized over this quite a lot. After that I began to paint with the feeling of something emerging as if thrusting out, and using ink, natural pigments and silver leaf created a feeling of drifting water and air.

1992

My first solo exhibition was held at “Ai Gallery” in Tokyo. From this time on I held solo exhibitions once a year mainly at rental galleries.

1993-95

I began trying to create “depth” by layering torn pieces of silver leaf, powdered chalk and ink washes.　I was able to create a surface where, depending on the angle and lighting, the color and impression of the work would change. However, I was unsatisfied with the way the silver leaf was too easily recognized and the way that it stood out from the surface and felt disconnected from the work. Using the leaf made it appear too decorative, I felt guilty about this and began using less leaf.

1995

My work “Deep Blue” was chosen for inclusion in the “Ueno Royal Museum Grand Prize Exhibition” show. For this work I decided to try and use only ink on Japanese paper. I wanted to eliminate any traces of the brush or feelings of the work being “painted” so I used a technique of washing the surface while I painted.　I submitted my work because painting and exhibiting alone I lacked input and reactions from other people and also I wanted to test the foundations of my work and way of thinking. The result was I gained confidence. My work looked different than all the other pieces in the show.

1997

“Wander”, “Beforehand”, “Appearance”, I didn’t care how these works looked to others, overall my pictures became blackish in color.

1998

I showed three pieces including “Appearance-Spirit” at the “Kanagawa Art Annual ’98 ‘Artists of Tomorrow’ ” show. Having the opportunity to show in a spacious gallery my goal was to create work that would change the surrounding environment. The image I had in mind when painting was of an atmosphere surrounding large trees. It was the first time I intentionally painted and applied silver leaf on the backside of the paper. When I was taking photos of the exhibition space one woman gazed at this work for a long time, repeatedly drawing closer to the work and then pulling away. I had to wait quite awhile to take a photo but I was really pleased by her reaction. Following this I had opportunities to show new work in two solo shows and two group exhibitions. Around this time ink dots became more prominent in my work and trees emerged as a concrete motif. In the last show of this year I did a minimalist landscape piece “Landscape” that was composed of only black ink dots. I feel my somewhat aggressive development in this period connects to my later works.

2000

In a solo exhibition called, “The Power of Rebirth” at the Tokyo International Forum Exhibition Space I showed three works based on cherry and plum tree motifs. I wanted to add lines as a different element and created the work “Spirit 2000.1″ with the prominent straight branches of the plum tree as the motif. I painted the branches clearly but not the shape of the trunk.

2001

“Power of Rebirth”, M.Y. Art Prospects (New York). My exhibition scheduled for December in New York went ahead as planned despite the terrorist attacks of September just happening. Feeling uneasy, I boarded a nearly empty airplane and went to America by myself for the first time. I showed various types of work from my transitional period such as “Veins II”, a combination of the complex space of a persimmon tree and my way of showing depth, like in another work, “Landscape”.　On the opening day, the guests, even waiting in line, only left the gallery after telling me their impressions of the work. As an artist that made me extremely happy.

2002

I had a solo show in the fall at Galleria Chimera (Tokyo), and for the first time I used a pine tree motif as their branches can be observed even in the summer. Indicating the trunk and branches of the tree with the plain paper these unpainted portions seemed to be captured by the rest of the painting. The frequent dots of ink continue elliptically so that when the whole work is viewed from a distance the ink becomes vibrations of air and gives birth to movement and rhythm. I was able to paint as though weaving wind and light into the picture. In this period I was painting most work on the back side of the paper but there were times when I used a more vivid black painting on the front side as well, even more vivid than the ink on the back. When painting on both sides of the paper it feels like I am sewing the painting. Using the tree motif I experience new problems and discoveries every time I paint and that has led me to where I am now.

2004

I paint bamboo for the first time. The bamboo leaves embrace the light and bend. The bamboo appears as entangled straight lines and so I become more conscious of depth and light.

2005

My first solo show in Moscow at the Gertsev Gallery was the largest scale exhibition yet for me. During the opening reception I was asked to sign the show catalog. As the guests begun to leave I finally had a chance to get my digital camera, when I returned to the gallery the remaining ten or so people gave me a gentle round of applause and called out my name. I didn’t know what was happening and turned around thinking it was for some else. I never thought that I would receive such encouragement while being involved in art.

(Translated by Nick McDonell)

A memory of luminescence spreading out in both eyes after unexpectedly emerging from a dark abyss.

This is the impression made by the recent paintings of Azami Takako. Looking at them disturbs one’s vision. There are spots of ink, single brush marks. And there are white, empty spaces, semitransparent lines and spots made with glue. The spots overlap and form criss-crossing. Spreading like splash marks, they are scattered over the surface in complex layers. Brushstrokes placed on the back of the hemp paper, both black and white, cross between the light and its opposite, reversing themselves. Light and afterimages of light create endless vibrations at “Inframince” moving back and forth between front and back.

These marks come together into one pine tree. The rhythm of the brush extends itself rationally in the pictorial space, governed by the dynamics of the branches. While looking at the picture and following its movements with the eyes, one feels a bodily sensation of being among trees in sunlight and in the flow of time. I believe that what the artist is painting here are waves of life force arising between the person who sees and the tree being seen.

The structure of the painting is based on radical principles: not taking definite form, not ceasing to move, and not being contained in the confines of the pictorial space. Between the planar expansion and the “Inframince” vibrations, the artist lays down brushstrokes that are one of a kind and can never be changed once they are made.

The spots in Azami’s paintings are as far removed as one can imagine from the pixels in digital camera images or computer output. Just the same, these paintings do not truly come into being until they enter the viewer’s range of vision.

I do not like to think of these paintings as a new development of traditional ink painting. I look at them as paintings that belong to the age of digital images, and that is why I have recommended Azami for this exhibition.

It is possible to specify that in Azami’s work, the repeatedly depicted oval shapes of various sizes are leaves, and the slanted vertical and horizontal lines are twigs. At the same time, her trees/depictions of nature can also be seen as being expressions only to the extent so that viewers might be able to “specify” that they are leaves and twigs. Rather, what takes away the viewer’s sight and sense of consciousness are the transformations of various shades that she creates by using monochromes: sumi ink (black) and gofun pigment (white). This is also achieved via the rhythmical movements that she generates through the repetition of oval shapes, resembling musical scores, as well as the structure of her work that looks simple at first glance, but which is in fact quite intricate.

It is not only the oval shapes and lines but also the ink and pigment that serve to overlap one another as layers and undulations are woven onto the surface. The rhythmical repetition manifested on the image seduces the viewers’ sight to stretch horizontally; the overlapping, layered structure continues to awaken their advancing and retreating sensations that seem to ceaselessly interchange before their eyes. The viewers can perceive a dynamic sense of advancing and retreating, as if dazzling white light is constantly pouring out from the crevices between the ink depictions. Azami’s expression can be described as a sense of time-space that can no longer be restricted by the laws of nature.

Takako Azami Exhibition: ART FRONT GALLERY (03-3476-4868), held until June 24, 2007, 29 Sarugaku-cho, Shibuya, Tokyo

(Abridged Translation, Translated by Taeko Nanpei)

The surface of Azami’s work consists of a mass of dots and lines done in fine brushstrokes. These innumerable, temporarily expressed traces conform to the physical characteristics of the materials that transcend human agency. These traces allow viewers to intuitively feel the boundlessly expanding sense of time-space behind the work, which has not actually been expressed despite of the highly condensed nature of the surface. In fact, Azami consistently uses a unique method of production in which she paints the backside of Japanese paper with sumi ink and chalk pigment, but shows the front side as her work, through which the sumi and chalk have oozed out from the back. Conspicuously found in her newest series of works are a sense of dynamism, which derives from the rhythmical repetition of her brushstrokes, and a sense of depth created by the multilayered brushstrokes.

I would like to now make a more careful analysis on the structure of Azami’s works and investigate the source of strength possessed by the medium of ‘painting’ that is indicated in her works.

First of all, each and every fine brushstroke in her painting can be considered the manifestation of the process of cognition by which she perceives one microscopic fragment after another within the seamlessly continuous external world. By ‘cognition,’ we mean the understanding of external objects via one’s perceptions, reasoning and memory, in order that we may cope with our surroundings. Our limited function of ‘cognition’ is also characterized as an eternally inconclusive ‘process.’

As if substantiating the said essence of her brushstrokes, Azami once wrote an interesting comment as follows: “When I was small, I felt as if I could actually see the movements of the particles of air in my room.” (January 1998) In her recent solo exhibition, her theme of “Viewing Light” called to the minds of viewers an intimate relationship with their surroundings that enveloped their own bodies.

Azami’s aim does not lie in creating a form that becomes its own end goal, which would sever the work’s relationship with the external world. Rather, she persistently depicts her paintings with an open mind toward the unfathomable, intricate and chaotic world. However, even when she faces trees that have grown dense, her mind is not confined within an ordinary level that would replace the ‘trees’ with words such as ‘leaves’ and ‘branches.’ Instead, she sees a continuum consisting of the nameless, infinitesimal portions of the trees, as one would view the phenomena of light. Regardless of the fact that the mass consisting of large and small and long and short brushstrokes in her painting allows viewers to imagine ‘leaves’ and ‘branches,’ these phenomena are in fact connected to the regaining of the “non-verbal cognitive processes,” which is the essence of the medium of ‘painting.’

We ordinarily connect ourselves with the external world via the segmentation of language. This is one of the outstanding abilities of humankind. But on the other hand, this ability also confines us within a monocentric world image, which is brought about by the fixed frameworks of preconceived ideas, as well as the trends of simple expressions. In comparison, ‘painting’ allows an artist to flexibly respond to still-nameless phenomena, and also to synchronously indicate the processes of his/her cognition into innumerable visual points that are created at different points of time. The viewers of this type of painting would not only look at the entire surface all at once, but would focus from one detail to the next on the multi-centered surface. This would position them to be in the “middle” of the multiple-view that was created at different points of time, whereby they perceive the distant boundless continuum of time-space, which would never directly actually appear on the surface.

The countless materialistic traces found in Azami’s paintings derived from her eye movements that were subsequently replaced with her hand movements. These traces are temporary replacements created to visualize the forevermore inconclusive and fragmental cognitive processes that have taken place within her brain. Thus, the traces themselves do not possess any reality; in a sense, they are equivalent to “nothingness.” Azami’s work is solely composed of multilayered traces that derive from her actions taken at different points of time, which conform to the physical characteristics of the materials she utilizes. Thus, her work emphasizes the fact that its surface consists of temporary symbols; at its core are the blur of the ink spreading on the Japanese paper and the tension created between the sumi and chalk.

Azami’s method of depiction, which reveals the surface’s character created out from only temporary substitution of symbols, does not weaken the strength of her expression. Rather, by returning the surface to the original state of “nothingness,” viewers are made to become strongly aware of the cognitive processes that have not directly appeared but which would naturally occur in their minds. Thus, the viewers face Azami’s cognitive processes by superimposing those processes with their own. The manifestation of her cognitive processes is merely composed of inconclusive and incomplete fragments that are depicted in the foreground of time and space that boundlessly expand into the background. But within the eyes that gaze into this expression, there dwells a solid ground for self-creation.

Now let us explore the underlying meaning behind the most significant feature of Azami’s production method, whereby she makes depictions on the backside of Japanese paper and displays the front side upon which the ink and the pigment have oozed out into. Surprisingly, her method that is, in a sense, irregular multilaterally demonstrates the mechanism that gives strength to the medium of ‘painting,’ while also greatly supporting her expressions.

The numerous overlapping layers of brushstrokes, which look as if they are receding from the surface, require viewing from countless visual points that intersect with all parts of the surface. Thus, one of the meanings behind her use of that method is so that viewers can perceive the state of “distance between the viewer and the work,” via taking in the entire view before then drawing closer and moving their eyes about as if they were wandering about the surface. It is also aimed at having the viewers perceive that the true essence of ‘painting’ lies in the physical sensation that can be felt from their relationship with the work. This allows viewers to become clearly aware that their own existence is on one side of that relationship.

Another underlying meaning is that Azami’s method manifests the function of “the other within the self” within ‘painting.’ As the artist paints on the backside of the paper, she also possesses the imaginary eye of the other-self who stands looking upon the front side. On the other hand, it is the viewer who superimposes the other-eye with the eye of the painter that is depicting the work from the back. This means that the other-self who looks at the self painting, and the other-self who is equivalent to the painter on the other side of the self can both be nurtured. The certainty of one’s own existence can be strengthened by being objectively gazed at by the fore-mentioned “other within the self.” Strangely enough, the idea of the origin of ‘painting’ as the place for one’s own self-creation can be confirmed in Azami’s method of creating her depictions on the backside of her paper.

When the brushstrokes depicted from the back are viewed from the front, what naturally always occurs is that the first series of brushstrokes come out to the very foreground of the surface. The following brushstrokes that came after the first ones recede into the distance in the order that they were created, while also being partially blocked by the earlier brushstrokes. Thus, the final brushstrokes are seen as receding to the most inner depths of the work. The first brushstrokes, depicted in advance through her initial physical reactions, are based on her overall intuition that she perceives from gazing at the subjects of her work. These brushstrokes are then repeatedly complemented through her additional cognitive process, which also allows them to gain more refinement and profundity.

Azami’s method of depiction is clearly different from the common method in which new brushstrokes are overlaid in succession as they erase the previous ones. Her method, which considers ‘painting’ to be the manifestation of the temporarily objectified “cognitive processes that continue to complement her initial intuition,” has succeeded in transforming the state of the self that did not make use of one’s past experiences. This method thus releases the painter from the sense of tension in which one has to determine the next move without having anything to go on.

On the other hand, the way in which the black-sumi and white-chalk dots and lines compete with one another, while also intertwining with one another on an equal basis, conveys that her expression possesses a double-meaning of certainty and uncertainty that must have occurred during her cognitive creative process. Generally speaking, a sense of peace of mind can arise from the self-creation process, possessing both certainty and flexibility, via the combination of relying upon the primordial cognitive process for the ‘next moment’ and accepting the fact that cognitive processes can never be absolute.

Takako Azami’s method of creating depictions on the back of her works became more intricate in her newest series of paintings, in which she created conspicuous differences in her brushstrokes’ directions and forms, as well as in their sizes and shades. This visual effect functions as a source for creating a sense of rhythmical liveliness that can lift the viewer’s spirit, while also acting as a source of strong impact on the viewer by seemingly approaching and directly speaking to him or her.

(Translated by Taeko Nanpei)

For example, there is a large-scale painting created in New York in 2008. It is called “Pine Trees“. An up-close view reveals a gathering of dots in all sizes and gradations in tone from dark black to light grey. White lines that are left unpainted or prepared with chalk pigment and glue crisscross over those dots in an unregulated way. But the viewer who steps away from the painting by several feet would recognize that these abstract forms start assuming an image of trees. The thick sumi ink line from the center to lower left makes one think of a pine tree trunk that is never straight, while thin lines in light gray and white seem to correspond to pine needles and branches spread out in all directions. Such a complex collection of dots and lines will never be automatically recognized in our memory as a “pine tree” because a “pine tree” in our memory consists of ever-changing impressions of a tree in different climatic conditions. Hence, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Azami represents the way the air around the tree changes rather than focusing on the specificity of the tree itself. This is rather like the Impressionist Monet, who dedicated himself to painting haystacks at different times of the day.

There is a slight difference in the air and temperature between Brooklyn and Queens, even though the two boroughs exist within the relatively limited boundaries of New York City. The temperature gap between Vermont and New York may be compared to that between Hokkaido and Tokyo. During her recent sojourns in these varied locales, Azami refined her sensitivity toward environmental differences and established her fundamental attitude in art making; her process remains unaffected no matter whether she is in Japan or in the United States. Her dedication to art making transcends the East-West cultural divide, as well as the existing limitations in the reception overseas of Japanese sumi ink painting.

Azami’s exhibition opportunities outside Japan prominently increased after her first solo exhibition in New York, which was held at M.Y. Art Prospects Gallery in December 2001, closely following the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. In 2005, she had a major solo exhibition at Gertsev Gallery in Moscow, which was received enthusiastically by a local audience. This year, she has been chosen to be among eleven artists featured in the annual exhibition of contemporary sumi ink painting, “Suibokuga Today 2009,” organized by the Suiboku Museum, Toyama, which has traveled to Nerima Art Museum in Tokyo. Furthermore, she is returning to M.Y. Art Prospects Gallery for another solo exhibition. These achievements should not be taken for granted considering the fact that only a few Japanese sumi ink painters have been rewarded with international exhibition opportunities.

Azami’s paintings, spare in their representation, have sought the essence of nature in ways that may remind the viewer of an early 20th-century series by Piet Mondrian, in which trees were increasingly abstracted; Helen Frankenthaler’s large canvases, stained with sponges dipped in paint, in the mid-20th century; and Agnes Martin’s series of white paintings covered with intricate pencil lines from the 1960s. Like Mondrian and Martin, both of whom invented their clear-cut abstractions by the use of grid lines, Azami created her own system consisting of dots and lines. Not unlike Frankenthaler, Azami created a non-flat, certain spatial depth with a rich texture in her painting surface by letting the ink saturate from the back of hemp paper to the front. Hence, it would be simplistic to search for her aesthetic roots within the ink painting tradition just because of her medium. Her current work does incorporate techniques that she learned at university from Nihonga, or Japanese style painting, such as the use of chalk pigment and gold leaf. When she employs these materials, however, they are so defused that we may overlook them unless we pay our utmost attention.

In order to capture her senses’ perceptions at different times, Azami is not afraid of melding nihonga and suibokuga freely into one process and adding renovations to the combination. Although it is important to preserve these separate traditions, she chooses to concoct a new expression, one that suits an individual living in the contemporary world. By inventing a method of painting that involves both sides of paper, she has even obtained, according to her own words, the feeling of “sewing a picture” as if she were “weaving wind and light.”

Indeed, the most compelling detail of Azami’s art is its openness to other traditions. Recently the artist has spent time in residencies in New York and Vermont, whose influence has been general rather than specific. But it is true that overall her painting is approaching a conscious combination of natural specificity and abstract idealism—qualities that reveal an appreciation on the artist’s part of achievements and legacies not necessarily belonging to her own culture. The endless assertion of Western art’s influence on contemporary Asian art, which seems a bit tired now, is truly enlivened by a double reading of Azami’s ink painting. It is easy to read her work as belonging to the great Japanese tradition of suibokuga (ink painting), but it is also true that the pieces easily take their place within transcultural vocabularies that owe their energy and effectiveness to the development of Western abstraction. Azami’s paintings show us that eclecticism continues to work as an esthetic, especially at a time when there is so much intermixing of culture.

Azami’s technique is unusual: working in her studio north of Tokyo, she uses ink to draw dots, small and large, and lines on the back of absorbent hemp paper. She allows the ink to partially bleed through to the front of the other side of the hemp paper, building a vocabularly thick with rounded splotches that mimic the form of a trees’ leaves. The effects of the ink forms are remarkable, bringing both anarchic energy and formal balance to compositions that are notable for their technical skill and rough fidelity to nature. In a practice that recalls the allover compositions of abstract expressionism, Azami refuses to focus on the particulars of perspective and so energizes the entire field of her subject. Viewers can see this put to spectacular effect in the 4 by 6 foot work entitled Pine Trees (2008), in which dots of ink, some as big as a clenched hand, crash and collide, suggesting the texture of trees in wind and light. Some of the dots are gray, while others are deep black; Azami regularly makes rows of dots connected by thin lines.

It is a pleasure to experience Azami’s art, which is descriptive rather than conceptual. In New York’s art culture, intellectualism has taken over the field, but there is room for other, more phenomenological art as well. Bamboo 8 (2006), more distinctly Japanese in its affiliations, is vertically hung like a scroll. Consisting of dots that hang from long stripes—the work is 63 by 19 inches—Bamboo 8 feels highly traditional. The sharp, narrow bamboo leaves are outlined in negative space, which is slightly yellow in hue. Seeing the bamboo foliage cascade downward, one has the sense that the artist is at one with her subject matter. One of the most interesting aspects is Azami’s negative capability: her technique demonstrates a willingness to expunge the self in favor of a poetic exactitude of description. This makes her art not only visually compelling but also spiritually charged.