23rd June, 2017
Guest : Kanako Yoshida ( Poet, French literature scholar)
Foreword by the owner of Sukiwa:
Honestly it is such a relieve that so many people have turned up. I was worried an hour ago about how many people would turn up in such a hot day.
I originally worked for a fabric company. Around 30 years ago, I was transferred to Tokyo and saw Saito-san’s paintings for the very first time at Otemachi Gallery. After 10 years from that encounter, I serendipitously left my job and started this company. Here, we provide services in supporting Japanese painting artists, selling Japanese paper, painting silk and traditional silk. Furthermore, we also offers services such as framing, hanging scrolls framing and repair of old works.
Saito-san and I have a long history. Flashing back to 12 years ago, when the gallery in Kyoto Otsu was established, I asked Saito-san to hold the first exhibition to commemorate the opening. Since then, we have collaborated on exhibitions from time to time.
Today, I would like to welcome Ms. Kanako Yoshida, who is currently teaching French literature at Gakushuin- University. During this one hour talk, we will ldelve into the attractiveness of Norihiko Saito’s work and take the time to savor it once more. Thank you very much, and please enjoy the talk.
Kanako Yoshida (Yoshida): Would you like me to start first, or…?
Norihiko Saito (Saito): Well, we had a brief meeting the other day, and you mentioned you wanted to ask me why I started painting. So let’s begin with that.
Yoshida: Even if Saito-sensei doesn’t start talking, we have already entered a world just by stepping into this venue, which is filled with Saito-san’s artworks. I’m unsure how much or how deeply I can comment while sitting in front of his work, but it was already a pleasure speaking with Saito-sensei during our meeting.
Regarding his works, my initial impression is ‘nature.’ The nature depicted in his paintings embraces us softly and leads us to contemplate the relationship between humans and nature.
As a poet, I see poetry as something that encompasses both poetry itself and elements outside of it—things not usually considered poetic, such as human existence, nature, things related to social matters. Or even everything that are included in the historical timeline. Poetry is constantly interacting with and confronting what lies beyond it. This interaction creates the power of poetry.
Similarly, it might sound a bit schematic, but I believe the appealing point of painting extends beyond the artwork itself. It involves how we contemplate and engage with it. Consider nature, human being, or the breathe of someone somewhere. Aren’t these all essential elements in constructing a painting?
From my observations, artworks and artists often grapple with internal and external conflicts. However, when I saw the words of Saito- san in person, I hardly noticed any signs of struggle. His works seems to reflect the gentleness of space and time, like moments when children are having fun and play around.
With this context and the theme of the current exhibition, I feel as though I can hear the sound of the woods and smell the air depicted in his work.
Honestly, I had not seen Saito-san’s works in person until the recent exhibition at Sukiwa. Although I learned about the process behind your paintings through catalogs, I assume that your current works result from various experiences. Clues hidden in his paintings like using birds and crosses as motif, or even the change in using wooden board as support, show that he has been influenced by the British culture due to his study in UK. The surrounding environment can significantly influence the creation of an artwork. I am very curious about what you have heard, seen, or been inspired by. Saito-san has mentioned that he aimed to be a traditional Japanese painter when he was young. What experiences led to a change in your painting style and support? Additionally, I am interested in knowing what types of things and paintings you are drawn to over time.
Saito: I didn’t expect that there would be no signs of struggle in my artworks.
Yoshida: I think viewers would all agree with me on that.
Saito: I’m pleased to receive such a comment about my work. I must say that I have been deeply passionate about painting since I was young.
Yoshida: Can you tell me more about the painting you’re referring to? Were you surrounded by paintings displayed in your home, or were you exposed to paintings through books? Were these well-known masterpieces or works by people close to you?
Saito:The paintings I mentioned were not real but printed ones. To be precise, I read books like art encyclopedias. My family is rather unusual.
Yoshida: How so?
Saito: Well, every three generations, someone in my family seems to lose almost all their possessions.
Yoshida: Are they pleasure seekers, then?
Saito: Yes, that’s right.
Yoshida: Was this due to a business failure or simply because they were pleasure seekers?
Saito: I think during the end of Edo period to Meiji period, one of my great-grandfather’s relatives ran a pawnshop business called Taishou-Shareizan (大正舎麗山). Through his work, he gradually became familiar with literature (文学) of that time.
Yoshida: I see. So he was interested in traditional arts (文楽). Did he also involved in any kind of performance or works?
Saito: I think so. He was passionate about it and also composed his own Haiku.
Yoshida: Wow so he could be considered a Gidayu-reciter in some way.
Saito: Oh, I think you misunderstood. I was referring to literature (文学, bungaku), not traditional arts (文楽, bunraku).
Yoshida: Sorry for getting this wrong. Since you have mentioned they were pleasure seekers, I assumed that you were referring to traditional arts.
Saito: Speaking of his Haiku, there is a stone monument with his haiku at our family temple where I live. Some of you might have heard of it before.
Yoshida: So he was a real Haiku poet?
Saito: He wrote Haiku on his own. The one on the stone monument is ‘すそはまだくらきにあけてゆきのみね’ (meaning: A view of the mountain before a winter dawn)
Yoshida: I have not heard of that before.
Saito: There are no results online, so I guess it’s an original work.
Yoshida: So he was from your great-grandfather’s generation, around the end of the Edo period and the Meiji period?
Saito: I think so. He might have been a little older than my great-grandfather, somewhere between the end of the Edo period, the Bunkyū era, and the Meiji period. A few generations later, my grandfather became a calligrapher.
Yoshida: So he made a living as a calligrapher?
Saito: Yes, he did. Some of his students still live in our neighborhood.
Yoshida: Did you ever see how your grandfather taught or how he created his works?
Saito: He passed away before I was born, so I never met him. However, I have seen his work as a scrolling roll that was decorated at the alcove. The art books I mentioned earlier are from my mother. She wanted to work in art but gave it up due to the post-war situation.
Yoshida: Did she attend art school and forced to give up at last?
Saito: No, she learned painting from a local artist but didn’t pursue it further. She wanted to continue with oil painting but started working immediately after graduating from high school.
Yoshida: I see. That’s why you were surrounded by so many art books.
Saito: Yes, I remember not only reading impressionist art books, I have also read some about Japanese art like Ukiyo-e by chance. I would read them while sitting on the veranda in the warm sunshine.
Yoshida: And this was also during your primary school years?
Saito: : Yes, indeed. By that time, I had already decided that working in a conventional company was not for me. I felt I could only work in roles like a researcher or jobs that could be done alone.
Yoshida: So you had already started forming ideas about your career direction back then.
Saito: Well, yes.
Yoshida: Yes, that’s true. Art books, illustration encyclopedias, and even ethnology were foundational for me. Regarding what influenced my current exhibition, it’s the book I brought today, which I borrowed from my mother: Ryusei Kishida’s “The Real Form of Beauty”. It was the first art book I ever read.
Yoshida: Did you read that before going in to art school?
Saito: I read it during high school. I remember it was difficult to read because of the old Japanese syllabary. When it comes to Ryusei Kishida, he might been seen as a man who pursued painting works like the portrait of Reiko, or the Japanese paintings he painted late in his life, but but I was particularly drawn to the “Derori-ness” in his early Ukiyo-e works. There’s something in those works that transcends realism. The youthful indiscretion and the hidden darkness behind them make his early works quite alluring.
Yoshida: Instead of the youthful indiscretion, I think the incomprehensible elements make those works so attractive.
Saito: Exactly. The crumbled and crumbling images are so fascinating. Everyonehas their own preferences, but when I was young, I intended to paint in a darker way.
Yoshida: “Derori” is such an intriguing description. It conveys a mixture of crumbliness and darkness—a sense of “Derori-ness.”
Saito: Yes, and also a sense of flesh. It reminds me of Kagaku Murakami’s early work. Even though he eventually became religious, there’s a shared quality in how their works captivate viewers.
The same goes for Shinsen Tokuoka. He started with pure realism but eventually painted something more symbolic. I drew a lot of inspiration from his work during high school and college. Because of this, my work doesn’t quite fit the classic ‘Geidai’ (Tokyo University of the Arts) style.
Yoshida: To be honest, I’m not an expert in art. I believe that everyone here is more familiar with what Saito-san means.
Saito: Tokyo Geidai’s style focuses more on composition in their paintings.
Yoshida: So, does that mean you took a different approach by emphasizing sensibility?
Saito: At that time, only two people in my grade were admitted to Tokyo Geidai on their first attempt. Even among those who were accepted, there was a wide range in ages. Many people applied four or five times before being admitted. It was quite an unusual school grade.
Yoshida: As I know, you were accepted on your first attempt?
Saito: Yes, I was. However, since I hadn’t attended any cram schools, I was lacking in common knowledge. Everyone else was using foreign brand STAEDLER pencils which produced sharp, cool-toned sketches. I, on the other hand, used a domestic brand called Uni, which made my pencil sketches look muddy with a reddish-black tone. Perhaps only those in the art field would understand what I mean.
Yoshida: Did you not prepare for the entrance exam?
Saito: I did everything I could by myself. And then, I passed.
Yoshida: Luck is also a part of the skill.
Saito: I’m glad you think so. But it was indeed a unique and unusual class I was in. Nowadays it is like a must that university professors graduated from university. Back then, there were teachers who only attended private school, or even some of them just graduated from higher elementary school. As a result, we were exposed to various perspectives in looking at artworks, and it was so great to encounter people with different sense of values.
Yoshida: When did you started college?
Saito: 51.
Yoshida: Saito-san, you weren’t born yet at that time.
Saito: I mean Showa 51.
Yoshida: Oh, Showa 51, so that is 1976 in western calendar.
Saito: By the time we received our doctoral degrees, finally there was university teachers who have got college degree or graduated from art schools.
Yoshida: What an remarkable era. I studied abroad in France for four years starting in 1976. Maybe it was due to a reverse cultural shock, Japan has change significantly by the time I returned. For instance, students who previously wouldn’t go shopping suddenly started saying, “Let’s go shopping!” or the establishment of new fashion magazines like ‘Popeye’ and ‘Tarzan’ , indicating Japan’s shift toward consumerism. Which gave me a cultural shock and took me some time to adjusted. I assume you also noticed these changes to some extent. It seemed like a generational shift.
Saito: Specifically, my schooldays had overlapped with the ttransition from Japan’s Economic Miracle era to the Bubble Economy. It was such an extraordinary time. Unlike today, the unique works we painted sold easily. Moreover, most of us were financially comfortable, which is different from the situation for students today.
Yoshida: Unlike today’s circumstances.
Saito: In 1984, Junji Kawashima, who was the same age as me but in a lower grade, was the first Japanese painter to hold a solo exhibition at Watari (which later became WATARI-UM). His works were exceptional and showcased a variety of expressions in Japanese painting.
Yoshida: Before Watari become WATARI-UM?
Saito: Yes, it was called Watari Gallery back then. I think the location was slightly different from now, the old one was on the opposite side. Junji Kawashima held his solo exhibition there, and the art magazine Bijutsutecho covered it. The gallery provided a platform for artists to showcase their work without having to participate in open competitions.Soon after, up-coming artists from my generation or even younger, like Keizaburou Okamura, Hiroshi Senju and Makoto Fujimura began to make their mark. I started getting anxious and felt like I have to do something about my current situation.
Yoshida: I knew it. So you felt a sense of rivalry?
Saito: Rather than feeling rivalry, seeing younger artists becoming more active in the art scene reminded me of my own need to evolve. Thus,I focused on developing my painting style and reconsidered the support mediums for my work. This effort paid off when I won a prize in a Japanese painting competition held by the Yamatane Museum, which boosted my confidence in my ability to create work with individuality.
Yoshida: Does that mean that you were able to actively place yourself out there and engage with the society? Is that the nuance you’re conveying?
Saito: Exactly. From then on, I achieved my goals step by step. However, I remained ambivalent about Japanese painting—torn between liking and disliking it—and keep open wondering if I could do something for a change.
Yoshida: Could you elaborate on your ambivalence toward Japanese painting? Given your interest in Kagaku Murakami and Ukiyo-e, it seems natural that you would choose Japanese painting as your path. And I think you had instinctively going great in terms of the use of Japanese paints… so in what part…
Saito: That’s true.Like other art university students, I became accustomed to using Japanese paints after starting college. Tracing back to the time when I was in high school, I was a member of the art club and we frequently discussed what constitutes art. Through those conversations, I was quite sure that Japanese painting suited me best. Many young people believed that oil painting was superior, and I often felt out of place in those discussions. I have always had a deep-rooted appreciation for Japanese-style expression, and this preference has remained unchanged. I knew that I could hardly paint a work with Western expressionnever considered switching to that.
Yoshida: So, you felt discomfort with the idea of becoming more Western in your expression? Was that the reason that triggers you to study abroad in UK afterwards?
Saito: Personally, I wasn’t very enthusiastic about going to foreign countries. I could not even speak English…
At one point, Keizaburou Okamura and Junji Kawashima had initiated new painting styles which prompted people to question and debate the definition of Japanese painting. Around the same time, I was given the opportunity to study abroad.I wanted to go somewhere with a level of civilization similar to Japan—somewhere with four distinct seasons and a developed place in Europe.… and England became my destination. As I have said earlier, young people tends to be attracted to place with a sense of hidden darkness. Not surprisingly, England is also relatively dark and ambiguous…
Yoshida: Because of rainy days and the general gloominess?
Saito: Like, their sense of humor is rather vague.
Yoshida: I see. Since England, like Japan, is an island surrounded by sea, I imagine the weather is relatively humid. I visited England once for 3 to 4 days, just before my study in France around April during spring break. I remember the continuous rain gave me a lonely, dark, and somewhat depressed impression.
Saito: There is an interesting proverbs ‘April showers bring May flowers’ describing the weather of England. But it is still very humid there. Much more moss comparing to China.
Yoshida: Well England is not locating on the continent, so that makes sense.
Saito: While I was there, I wanted to see what aspects of my expression remained unchanged and what might change. This was during the time when Japan was experiencing the Bubble Economy.
Yoshida: Around 1995, 96?
Saito: Exactly. Furthermore, we went there at the end of summer. Getting through winter, returned during spring and early summer. Day time grew shorter as we stayed, a freezing and dark period.
Yoshida: It sounds like you would get downer as you stay there longer.
Saito: Absolutely. I could finally understand why Soseki described England the way he did.
Yoshida: But it was kind a great timing that you went during such kind of season, wasn’t it?
Saito: I think so too. So I did not paint unless I had to. Instead, I kept thinking about the flowers that should have been blooming at that time, even though they were not species that could be found in England. As a result, I spent time in plant nurseries and gardening shops, buying bulbs and seeds, and then planting them in the garden. I eagerly anticipated seeing them sprout every day.
Yoshida: Did you do any gardening there?
Saito: Yes, since I was staying in a house with a garden.
Yoshida: Where was it located?
Saito: The north of London.
Yoshida: A little beyond the suburbs?
Saito: If you compare to the place in Tokyo, it would be similar to traveling to places like Kokubunji, Tachikawa, or Hachiōji—about a 40-minute train ride from the city center. Beyond that, there are spacious fields.
Yoshida: Oh, that’s characteristic of England, isn’t it?
Saito: So, I was literally doing nothing… but I was experiencing something.
Yoshida: You spent your time in a shadowy place with muggy weather, taking care of your plants and admiring artwork there.
Saito: Right. However, I noticed that the approach to building their work is very straightforward. Since I grew up up with these values, so my expression in arts became like that. In which I think this kind of directness only occurs in foreign countries. I’m not saying they don’t refer to or are unaffected by art history, but they can clearly state that their approach is simply a reflection of who they are.
Yoshida: Is this related to the abstract versus realism discussion we had earlier? From an outsider’s perspective, artworks might be categorized as abstract or realistic subjectively, but from the artist’s point of view, the placement into these categories often happens unintentionally. And of course, it is important to see things from the perspective of art history, but I believe such classifications are becoming less significant.
Saito: Just focus on creating the work you want to make. Within just two to three years, the concept of shape began to fade for me.
Yoshida: The time before you head went to England?
Saito: Yes, I had been contemplating a lot during the two years prior to going to England.
Yoshida: Did it happened naturally.
Saito: Yes. There were times when I wondered if I had made the right choice. However, after seeing the work of other artists, I felt satisfied and decided to return to Japan.
Yoshida: Was there a specific encounter or influence that made you feel the concept of shape was fading, did it happen spontaneously and intrinsically?
Saito: Although I was recognized for my works on wooden board, the presence of the wooden board started to feel more like a hindrance than a benefit. The time and effort required to mount the boards began to overshadow the actual painting process. I thought that sticking to this approach might lead to something new, but I began to question whether it was truly significant in the context of “What is painting?”. At some point, I removed the wooden board from the equation and ended up painting the cross I mentioned earlier. Still, I was not craving to paint something symbolic with clear shape. Instead, I wanted to capture the thoughts that triggered me to paint that image. I want to visualize the thoughts that hidden behind rather than the shape itself. As a result, shapes and silhouettes started to disappear from my work.
Yoshida: It sounds like a process of subtracting unnecessary elements…
Saito: Yes, when you strip away elements from your work to an extreme, isn’t color the only thing that remain? Or only the texture of the materials? I’ve thought about these aspects from time to time.
Yoshida: You have also changed the material for support, haven’t you?
Saito: In England for most of the cases, I combine the use of paper and wooden board. But toward the end of my time there, I began using only one or the other. When I returned to Japan, I started to focus seriously on painting on silk.
Yoshida: 1995, 96, That was already 20 years ago.
Saito: Time really does fly.
Yoshida: That’s true for everyone.
Saito: When I used paper as the support of my work, first I need to coat a layer of sizing liquid on top then the paints will pile up on top of the paper. The physical friction created a visual resistance, leading to a lack of depth in the painting and every objects seem to float on the surface of the painting. Such painting style is easy to handle, however it is difficult for you to create depth in your work. With silk, you can achieve a greater sense of depth, which I’ve come to appreciate over the years.
Yoshida: In my own words, I’d describe that as a form of ‘circulation’. It’s the space not just on the surface, but also includes the flow of time. So have you ever thought of another kind of spacial movement that presence in your work?
Saito: Yes, that’s right. When I tried to create vertical movement which is not on the foreground of the painting, was quite difficult with paper. That’s when I started using silk. The paint and water soak into the overlapping silk fibers, allowing me to create various optical illusions in different layers. This process pulls something from behind to the forefront, creating a subtle space where a unique world can easily be established.
Yoshida: During our previous conversation, you mentioned ‘dripping paints on the surface’. While I would normally just use the term ‘paint’, I found your description particularly appealing. It gives a sense of working with your hands, interacting tenderly and softly with the medium. It might not be surprising to all listeners, but it impressed me when I first heard it.
Saito: If I had to explain why I continue using silk, it’s because the fine layers of silk themselves become a kind of painting. Like the 4 paintings that are exhibiting here, with their numerous thin layers, can be seen as both a painting and a representation of ‘time’ itself.
Yoshida: That’s what we call a true artwork.
Saito: It is not just about working on a single surface. ‘Dripping paints on the surface’ is like spreading the water over it, letting the paints seep into the gaps between the fibers. Something like that…
Yoshida: A permeating process. It’s similar to what we discussed earlier about moisture and a humid world.
Saito: If using an exaggerated analogy, it’s bit like getting a tattoo. Although I don’t have personal experience with tattoos, I imagine it’s similar to the feeling of embedding something into the skin with paint. An expression that is with ‘Derori-ness’, muggy and vague.
Yoshida: I’d like to ask about the work displayed around the entrance of the gallery. It consists of four overlapping pieces, with the top one depicting a summer scene, which is quite fitting for this season. Was it your intention to arrange them in this rearrangeable format?
Saito: Well it is possible to be rearranged, but I’m quite content with them staying as they are.
Yoshida: My thoughts were that the pieces could be rearranged according to the seasons—summer, autumn, winter, and spring. It reminded me of the traditional Japanese practice of changing the layout of a home to suit the seasons, like replacing sliding doors with ‘Su-do’ (Baboo door) in summer for better ventilation and adjusting furniture to lower humidity. It’s a beautiful example of living wisdom.
Back to the artwork, while it’s perfectly fine for the pieces to remain in their current arrangement, and I understand that the 4 pieces are being treated as one whole artwork… but after all, I wonder if you might be aware of the form of living in Japan as well.
In other words, where would be your artwork being displayed. In Japan, the context of display is significant—whether an artwork is hung on a wall or mounted as a scroll in an alcove impacts how it is perceived. You have to consider the support medium, if it is an ink wash painting…
Once the artwork is being placed in a certain place, it is connected to people. It is not just a matter of looking at it and saying ‘Hmm…’. And especially for works like yours, which seem to live with the viewer rather than just being observed, I think a lot about where they would be best displayed.
Saito: Hmm…
Yoshida: That’s my personal feeling.
Saito: These artworks were originally created for a cultural exchange exhibition between Japan, Korea, and Germany, focusing on painting scrolls (kakejiku). We adopted a modern approach to presenting these scrolls. Reflecting on the time and space shared during that exhibition, I’ve brought my own interpretation of time and space into this exhibition.
Yoshida: Just to interrupt a bit. By the way, you have mentioned folklore studies and I would like to dig deeper on that. I misunderstood earlier when you mentioned literature. I initially thought you were referring to traditional arts (文楽bunnraku) and Gidayu-reciter…but actually your ancestors are book lovers and Haiku-poet. I noticed that the title of your exhibition, “Skin of the Woods” (森の肤), is quite complex, and I had to look it up in a Chinese- Japanese dictionary.
I assume that you’re sensitive to words and literature. Since I’m more familiar with literature, I thought of Shinobu Orikuchi, who was also connected with literature. Could you tell me more about your interest in folklore studies and literature?
Saito: I am interested in folklore studies, but more like the part related to tribes.
Yoshida: Oh, there are 2 subdivisions in folklore studies right. Are you more interested in one side, such as the Aryan studies, or something else?
Saito: Which side… I am more into learning about what human beings are.
Yoshida: That sounds more aligned with anthropology.
Saito: More on that I guess. At some point I really wanted to go to Africa and carry out researches on monkeys, but then I had realized that was impossible for me to get in University of Kyoto and gave up. I am also curious in things like that.
Yoshida: I believe that the word 俗 for 民俗学 (folklore studies) conveys a sense of the secular (世俗) and the earthly(俗). Considering that you were born and raised in Hiratsuka, surrounded by nature and woods, and that these elements are evident in your paintings, it makes me wonder whether studying abroad was essential for you. Can you tell me more about Koma-yama (mountain)? Or is it more of a hill?
Saito: Koma-yama is a mountain about 160 meters high. It’s not very tall, so you can easily hike to the top within 20 to 30 minutes.
Yoshida: Hiratsuka is also near rivers and the sea. Was the mountain the only exceptional place for you?
Saito: While it’s not directly related to folklore studies, Koma-yama is a symbolic place that represents not only the fragments of my memories, but also the memories of ancestors. When I was a child, since it is 20 minutes away from where I lived, I often went there digging for fossils or hiking there. It was like a playground for me.
From a historical perspective, as reflected from its name Koma-yama (高麗山), it was a place of immigrants from Goguryeo and Goryeo in Korea, Sagami Bay nearby was the place where they landed. Going further back, during the Jomon period, Koma-yama was surrounded by flatter land and even submerged under the sea during the Holocene glacial retreat.
Yoshida: Geographically, it makes sense that they would settle there.
Saito: Yes, Koma-yama was a place of settlement for these immigrants and is intertwined with my personal and familial history. For instance, my relative at my great- grandfather generation named Taishou-Shareizan (大正舎麗山)incorporated Koma-yama (高麗山) into his name. My grandfather My grandfather married my grandmother, who came from the opposite side of Koma-yama. It really symbolize the roots a lot.
Yoshida: It seems like a true Topos.
Saito: You are right.
Yoshida: Speaking of Folklore studies, for example, the abandoned field (デンデラ野) from ‘Tono Monogatari’ written by Kunio Yanagita is associated with Satoyama. It’s not a towering mountain but a place with a slightly higher altitude near a village—a space connected to ancestors and the passage of time. Would you say Koma-yama is similar to Satoyama?
Saito: To some extent, yes, but Satoyama is more controlled by humans.
Yoshida: Yes, I understand.
Saito: Koma-yama, on the other hand, although the temperate forest in Sagami Bay has naturally diminished, retains certain parts of its original character. It’s still a mountain like it was in the past.
Yoshida: So you are saying that although it is different from the primary forest, it remains relatively untouched by human intervention?
Saito: Exactly. The woods are not managed by humans—they wither, become entangled, or fade naturally. It’s a place where people can truly interact with nature, unlike Satoyama, which is more influenced by human activities.
Yoshida: A place existing with time that without direct influence of humans…
Saito: Just a mountain itself. Although it seems like a remote place, it was just 20 minutes from my house. Or you could call it a countryside…
Yoshida: Actually I find that quite enviable. A remarkable time that you owned, living there over the years, a place that you and your ancestor have been raised. It’s been a privilege to hear about this, and I value this conversation even more than our previous meetings.
In 2012, during Saito Norihiko-san’s solo exhibition “Recalling the Landscapes” at Nihonbashi Takashimaya Art Gallery, I came across a beautifully written passage by him that struck me deeply. It reads almost like poetry, and I hope everyone has a chance to read it. As we’re nearing the end, I hope everyone has enjoyed our talk.
Saito: If it would be over-time if I read this?
Yoshida: Go ahead, it’s a long summer night.
Saito:‘Things that can be considered as Sceneries’
‘The kind of artworks that I am pursuing for is not merely a visual impact, but something that conveys energy and power. A sense that surrounds one’s body, penetrating your skin.
A flow of time that is not linear, but an ever-circulating continuum. Not a simple visual record for what you have seen once, but visualizing the memories over time, the fragments that accumulate. Rather than depicting the present reality and my ego, I choose to embrace everything around me as it is and turn it into magnified images.
‘‘Beautiful’ flowers certainly exist, but the beauty is not just about the flowers themselves. It’s not a matter of analysis but a feeling to be absorbed. I want to continue dealing with things in this way of thinking.
When the monitor is turned off, the images reflected on it vanish as if they never existed. Yet, things in front of us do not disappear when we close our eyes. The history of the city is nestled in fragments of time, proving their existence even if we don’t consciously notice them.
I drip paint on surfaces that are well-moisturized. The mineral paint particles spread continuously, creating the territory of our own world. In there, through my fingers, I transform old pigments, painting glue, and base materials into memories of touch. And as an extension for that, transforming the memories into lines and the abstract of colors. It might appear as a fleeting for visual contemplation for the audience, but for painters, the effort and anticipation far exceed initial perceptions. Lastly, rather than satisfying one’s desires, it is more important to abandon excessive desires. That is the only path to achieving a space of freedom within this confined world.’