Yayoi Kusama, My Eternal Soul. Tokyo 2017

 

Following on from seeing her work in London last year, I was fortunate to visit this beautiful retrospective of Yayoi Kusama’s work in Tokyo recently. I haven’t blogged much recently, I’m struggling with my words. So today I share hers. In the entrance to the museum, a humble introduction to her life, her beautiful prose, like an epitaph, it set me up for the exhibition, to cherish every moment, from the giant colourful hall filled with 400 pieces of her work, milling with adults and children running around in awe and excitement, to the smaller galleries covering every decade of her long life. It struck me then, how we don’t have her for long. And as I read I felt sad how we live in a world of such rage and turmoil, where parents bury their children and the wise are shouted down. She’s fragile, a vulnerability pervades her. But she has led such a full life and planted seeds of gentle inspiration in many. There’s always hope.

“Message

Today’s world is marked by heightened anxiety connected to ever growing strife between nations and individuals, and to elusive prospects for peace. In the midst of such turmoil, we must, as human beings, be ever more vigilant and determined to build a better world through strengthened cooperation.

I have always been dedicated to my art, struggling day and night to create it. I intend to continue creating works of art as long as my heart keeps beating. I hope my fervent efforts might live on through those who view my art even after I am gone. my greatest desire is that my vision of a future of eternal harmony among people can be carried on.

In more than 70 years as an artist, I have always been in awe of the wonder of life. More than anything, this strong sense of the life force in artistic expression is what supported me and gave me power to overcome feelings of depression, hopelessness and sadness.

I have been guided by my belief in this power.

I am profoundly gratified that I have always had the fortitude to live with the unwavering dedication through the vicissitudes of my life’s long journey.

I believe that my mentality as an artist has sustained me throughout.

The creation of art is a solitary pursuit.

As an artist, I am committed to sharing my passion and inspiration. I wish to convey my message widely and I intend to continue my struggle until I leave this earth.

There is no greater pleasure for me than to imagine that my creative spirit, my expectations for art and my passion, may be felt even after I am gone.

I deeply hope that the life I have led and the ideals and worldview I have advocated might help the young people of today, and generations to come, create a world where spiritual and material suffering in human life can be overcome. This is my sincere wish.

The struggle is endless

I want to creat more innovative works

I am sleepless thinking about that

Thoughts of creating are yearning for the unknown

I want to pursue my struggle as an avant-garde artist

Until I expire

 

My heartfelt gratitude to all who have supported me in my life as an artist.”

Yayoi Kusama, Avant-Garde Artist.

Yayoi Kusama, Victoria Miro gallery

 

Undoubtedly I would say this is one of my favourite art exhibitions in recent years. In her autumn years, Yayoi Kusama, from the safety of her hospital and nearby studio, generates art of poignancy and moments you can feel.

The paintings and the pumpkins on their own are gorgeous, but it is in the magic of the three infinity rooms where you experience the real highlight. They are both intimate and eternal, an otherworldly, Alice in wonderland like experience, you climb in through the small door and and you are immediately transported, surrounded by mirrors to accentuate the cascading reflections of her work and your own image, as an awkward, unworthy traveler climbing into her dreams or her fragile heart and seeing something of her essence.

She is world famous, a recognised brand, but her art hasn’t lost any meaning, she works tirelessly, art grounds her, the polka dots that dominate her work are like a ward against her fear of self obliteration through the hallucinations that have plagued her since childhood.

‘One day I was looking at the red flower patterns of the tablecloth on a table, and when I looked up I saw the same pattern covering the ceiling, the windows and the walls, and finally all over the room, my body and the universe. I felt as if I had begun to self-obliterate, to revolve in the infinity of endless time and the absoluteness of space, and be reduced to nothingness. As I realized it was actually happening and not just in my imagination, I was frightened. I knew I had to run away lest I should be deprived of my life by the spell of the red flowers. I ran desperately up the stairs. The steps below me began to fall apart and I fell down the stairs straining my ankle.’

The first of the three infinity rooms is “Chandelier of Grief, 2016”, I was a bit stunned to be honest and I need to visit again, as my undoubtedly false memory is telling me the chandelier was slowly rotating, but I know it wasn’t. One thing to take note of if you are visiting their N1 Islington gallery between Old Street and Angel tube stations, is it can get very very busy. Times inside the exhibits is limited, controlled by some poor member of staff who has to check a stop watch to ensure people don’t get too immersed or lost in the dream. And of course to allow a new guest to get a chance to visit.

(all photos – Mel Melis)

Although there is no mandated route, the next mirror room to visit was the magnificent “All the Eternal Love I Have for the Pumpkins, 2016” – anyone who knows Kusama’s work will understand how the pumpkin, in combination with polka dots is such an important motif for her. I would have loved more time in this beautiful place.

"Pumpkins have been a great comfort to me since my childhood. They speak to me of the joy of living”

“They are humble and amusing at the same time, and I have and always will celebrate them in my art"

And the third room is outside in the lovely garden of the gallery, the infinity room called “Where the lights in my heart go, 2016” has little perforation holes to allow light in, which shine on the inner black surface to create intricate constellations of stars. In the silence and accompanying darkness you get a brief feel for floating in space, at least until the door is opened to allow the next guest in!

“When I was a child, I used to paint intently. The older I become, and the closer death approaches, the brighter my life gets day by day.”

In summary, this is a wonderful exhibition. If you want to witness for yourself the leftfield, sensitive and beautiful works of one of the world’s greatest living artists, then please visit. You’ll thank me. But mostly, you’ll thank her when you step into her magical infinity rooms.

It’s at the Victoria Miro at both of their gallery locations.

Shonen Knife, Bedford Rock City, May 2016

 

It’s amazing to think that Shonen Knife have been going since 1981, this was their 35^th year of touring and writing material, with fifteen studio albums of quirky punk pop behind them and a bonkers repertories of lyrically wonderful songs to perform, this was going to be great. For me, Bedford is my local town, so I didn’t have to go into London for a change. Bossman came up from Kent and we hit the venue Esquires.

The current line up saw the return of original member Atsuko on bass, joining her perma-guitarist sister Naoko with new member Risa on drums, who was the happiest person in Bedford it seemed! Atsuko revived her historical role of designing the band’s costumes, so the stage was silver sheen and sparkle!

Brill fan vid

Opening with the savage Konnichiwa! “Are you ready to rock? Yes!” with synchronised axes spraying the crowd with happy rock bullets and hair flying - they went straight into Twist Barbie

“Blue eyes, blond hair
Tight body, long legs
She's glamorous
She's welcomed by boys, ooh, aah aah”

Atsuko

They then embarked on a whirlwind set which squished in many of their classics and older songs including the cute love song Loop Di Loop, Riding on the Rocket, E.S.P and BBQ Party where the eclectic crowd went insane, their brilliant array of hairstyles, ages, musical tribes and social groups merging into a senseless seething mass of bludgeoning sweaty bodies and grins in the mosh pit. We stood on the fringes, enjoying the carnage!

“Riding on the rocket I wanna go to pluto
Space foods are marshmallows, asparagus, ice cream
Blue eyed kitty cat said, "please let me go with you"
Iko, iko everybody let's go”

Risa and Naoko

They also played songs from the new album, Adventure. As well as the punk influences, especially the Ramones, you can hear elements of British heavy rock, such as Sabbath and Motorhead, and little nods to Nirvana along the way (Kurt Cobain was a huge fan and they toured with them on the Nevermind tour). Stand out tracks with such as Rock and Roll T Shirt and Wasabi (Hot Hot Wasabi, why are you so hot?) were licked out and afterwards the band signed CDs and posters. The semi acoustic Green Tangerine was a very catchy break from the rock and punk.

“Green Tangerine, Fruit of sunshine, Tons of Vitamins, I me mine, I me mine”

The girls. And yes that man pretty much got mosh happy naked. 

I also got my rare 2000 yen note signed (show a 2000 yen note to any Japanese person and chances are they might never have seen one and they’ll deliver a cartoon style double take!).

Sometimes you don’t need earnest and well meaning, sometimes you just want to have fun and laugh. Shonen Knife delivered.

“We've always enjoyed writing songs about everyday things. Besides, there are already enough bands out there singing about pollution, war and poverty. While we all care very much about those things, we also feel that music should be fun” – well, yes.

Thank you Shonen Knife, from a very grateful Bedford Rock City.

The Return of “A Haiku a day”

I spent a very interesting year in 2012 writing a Haiku a day. It’s a creative project I’m very proud of and though the quality is, shall we say, mixed, the output is a lovely tribute to my year. It’s a snapshot diary of events, some of which are not significant, some of which, when I read now, are disconnected from any memory they might have been associated with. The memory or inspiration for the writing has melted away and that pleases me, because I, like you, can take my own meaning from those words hanging in space, with no narrative to go with them.

Writing the Haikus was mostly a spur of the moment thing, I would have an idea, then I’d write it quickly, trying to avoid over analysis or indulgent editing. I diligently followed the 5-7-5 syllable structure and though I shouldn’t necessarily have used metaphors and should have written in the present tense, mostly I didn’t. I guess it doesn’t matter. As long as it conveys something.

Looking at the tags it seemed wildlife played a big part in my year, especially birds. Also death. And the weather, or more accurately, the changing seasons. It was, in many ways, a difficult year, but I learnt the discipline of writing every day and I learnt to be patient, to listen, to watch, to absorb, to feel more and to learn, academically and through my heart. Having the ability to just stop, step out of phase and become a ghost for even a few minutes felt like something of great significance. Modern life and the artificial pressures that come with it become meaningless in those moments. And… Inspiration? It can come from the tiniest thing. It’s often the little whispers, a tiny act, often overlooked or stomped over, which offer the most wisdom. Stop. Listen. Watch. Breathe. Feel.

So, in that I am travelling to Japan tomorrow, the home of the Haiku, the Haiku a day blog will make a little comeback for the sixteen days I’m there. I’ll post a single photo a day and a haiku to go with it. Just for the extra challenge. I have a feeling that the intensity of life, especially in the days I’m working will be more challenging in Japan. Phasing out and being a ghost will be harder, but I’ll try, even if it’s for a few seconds, even if the photo is a spark of neon smeared across the lens through a rainy taxi window. Whatever this turns into, I hope you’ll enjoy.

Mel

Reiko Watanabe, Hiroshima

 

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the nuclear bomb falling on Hiroshima. It’s often the story of the individual which hits home when contemplating the horrors of war and the associated loss of life. In Reiko Watanabe’s case, it’s her lack of a story, the hole left, the emptiness of a future taken from her, the life she could have led, which really hit home for me. She was only 15 when the bomb dropped, helping with fire prevention work with her fellow students. She might be alive today, a grandmother, or great grandmother. We can only imagine the dreams and ambitions she concocted in her youth. The war raged around her, but she had a future.

Her body was never found, she was working by a mud wall, and later, her lunch box was discovered, melted, but still distinguishable and full of the rice and peas her mother had prepared for her that morning. It was all carbonised of course, but it was a tiny glimpse to show she was loved. And missed.

The photo below is by Hiromi Tsuchida, it is Reiko’s lunchbox. I first saw this photo in an exhibition at the Tate Modern, Conflict, Time, Photography and I was both chilled to the core at the power of the weapons we’ve made to destroy each other and moved by the humanity of the portrait of this last memento of a young girl’s life.

I wrote these words for her.

 

Reiko

By the low wall, Reiko diligently performed the fire drill

she briefly saw the white light, In an eerie silence,

Before it blinded her,

moments later the force, hit her,

Vapourised her, leaving the girl,

In the the spring of her youth,

Just a memory to those who loved her,

 

Her future dreams, caught in the shock wave,

scattered, as single words,

Sewn seeds, in the poisoned fields,

The wall she worked by, it fell,

so that even her shadow,

was lost,

 

But her lunch box,

Buckled by the heat, survived,

A memento, a tribute to the love,

of her proud mother, who sent her out,

with precious rice and peas,

to help.

 

Poem © Mel Melis (photograph by Hiromi Tsuchida)

Pasty vs Japan

Here’s a bit of flash fiction (less than 100 words), based on a real event at work on Thursday, with only a teensy bit of embellishment… © Mel Melis

--

The Japanese visitors threaded into our canteen. Besuited and formal, I watched fascinated as one of them selected a pasty as his lunch choice. After paying, they found a bench table. They huddled round it, like they were conducting an alien autopsy. Hushed tones. The knife pierced the bready carbohydrate thick skin, a hiss of steam emanated, the pasty gasped in pain, dying and deflating. Surgeon-san then sliced it open, only to reveal… even more carbohydrate, this time in the form of potatoey cubes. They all looked very disappointed.