Ryohei Miyata

Shinji Ohmaki

Shinichi Sawada

The exhibition "Fukami" is an invitation to a two-part voyage into parts unknown: the delight of first encountering the artistic expression of a distant land, and the awe-inspiring discovery of new strata beneath an otherwise familiar earth. Through a duality of echoes, the exhibition prologue follows the theme of “Japonismes 2018: les âmes en résonance” or "souls in resonance."

It all begins with Miyata Ryohei's gong, whose sound welcomes visitors upon their arrival.
A brilliantly colored painting covers the floor of the first exhibition room. In Asia, floors were painted with patterns of mandalas and carpets. In Japan, where the walls were unpainted, mobile elements such as fusuma and screens constituted the space instead. Appearing and disappearing at will, the latter possessed a distinct temporality.
For his work "Echoes Infinity," Omaki Shinji uses the mineral pigments of a traditional Japanese painting technique with stencils placed onto a base of white felt that covers the floor. He creates delicate work by means of subtly colored mineral particles. Though his materials are palpably fragile, the colored sand sprinkled over felt provides a crisp and powerful visual effect, full of vitality. It transforms the space and seems to make the light oscillate. Rather than simply observing this light, visitors feel it in their bodies. The flower and plant patterns come from the artist's early childhood memories. They recall the symbols covering the kimonos in his family's clothing store. With urban development, the area surrounding his native village has disappeared and the memory of this lost place has become a floral motif, which he painstakingly adds to his work, dispersing them through his work to countries around Asia and Europe. In this exhibition, the echoes found in "Echoes Infinity" are the accumulation of temporal and memorial fragments from the artist's life, entering into a mutual resonance.
In this series of installations, where visitors are invited to tread upon the felted floor, the image quickly becomes abstract and eventually disappears, leaving in its wake an ocean of colors. The performance imagined for the final day of the exhibition is a complete disappearance of the work itself.

Ancient Power/Primitive
Expressing the Origins of Life—Deconstruction and Transmission in Animism

Jōmon Earthenware Pottery

ANREALAGE + Kohei Nawa


Pablo Picasso

Animistic beliefs see a part of the divine in all things and the Jōmon culture is accompanied by a particularly intense form of animism. The term "Jōmon" refers to the rope patterns (created by pressing rope into the clay) frequent on pottery at the time and describes a period of Japanese prehistory that began approximately 15,000 years from today. In 1952, the artist Tarō Okamoto, who studied in France with Marcel Mauss and spent many years studying the origins of Japanese aesthetics, wrote about these artifacts in his reflections:

"Powerfully superimposed, protruding, moving downwards, the linear relief patterns coiling around themselves. The tension is at its peak. The sensitivity so tangible. I have always dreamed of seeing a supernatural violence within the origins of art, I am in such awe that I could almost scream." Tarō Okamoto, On Jōmon Pottery (1952)

Okamoto was particularly interested in pieces decorated with flame patterns from the middle Jōmon period, shown to the public for this exhibition, which display the most dynamic shapes and most daring patterns. The body, adorned with S-shaped or spiral patterns through the application of clay coils, is dominated by four prominent protrusions around the rim. The remainder of the rim is decorated with sawtooth crests. We do not know what accounted for these elaborate, towering designs, but as their general appearance evokes a roaring blaze, they are known as "flame pots." It is interesting to note that these containers did not fulfil any ritual function: placed in the fire, they were used for cooking food. Through hunting, populations from that time had a strong relationship with the animal kingdom and the forest, both sources of life and death. These patterns reflect the attraction to and fascination with fire in all its diverse forms.

Some of this pottery, called "crown pots," show flatter rims and less exaggerated protrusions. The two types having sometimes been dug up from the same sites, it could be a way to graphically represent two opposing concepts. For the archaeologist Tatsuo Kobayashi, differences between these two styles indicate that the civilization of their origin embraced the idea of a dichotomy between two elements which, although opposed, were inseparable and involved the same world vision.

These undulating and winding clay coils have inspired the fashion designer Anrealage. The laminated and sculpted denim garments that were made in collaboration with sculptor Kōhei Nawa rise from the body like vigorous flames, recalling the spirit of the Jōmon period.

In this section, you will also discover wood sculptures by the 17th century Japanese monk Enkū, who made 100,000 statues of Buddha (votive statuettes), and wood sculptures by Picasso. Although a monk, Enkū possessed an undeniable talent for sculpting religious images. The votive images were carried out to celebrate a service held for the soul of a deceased person or as an offering to the Buddha himself. Unlike those intended for worship, they were imparted with a sense of mysticism and supernatural powers. Carved en route during travel for study or leisure, they were shaped quickly with any materials that were on hand. Each piece of wood could be used to create one or more figurines, arising from the material's natural shape. The ridges made from cutting the wood could represent the protrusions such as the nose, chest or praying hands of a Buddha, the sculptor leaving it to the material to guide him. The deep cuts, made by a steady hand in just a few strokes of the knife, seem to reveal the spirit living inside the wood, in a process that evokes modern sculpture and minimalism. The unassuming abstraction of Picasso's raw wood sculptures, made early in his career, testifies to the fusion between modernism and the spirituality of African sculpture that inspired primitivism. The figurines of Enkū, as with some African sculptures, were offerings. Picasso allowed us to rediscover the concept of primitivism, which marked the boundaries of Western civilization, in a new abstraction of the form.

Alchemy: transforming matter, transforming perception

Anne Laure Sacriste

Shibata Zeshin

Itô Jakuchu

It is said that people have been using lacquer since the Jōmon period. Coated with a layer of sap from the lacquer tree, whose range is confined to an area that extends from Southeast to East Asia, the surface of wood becomes smooth, hard to the touch and shiny. When properly maintained, this coating is durable yet mutable. Japan has been exporting lacquerware to Europe since the 18th century, when it was so popular that it was sometimes called by the name of the archipelago. Lacquerware was also prized by 19th century French followers of "Japonism," who appreciated its refined designs and decorative appearance.
The craftsman and painter Shibata Zeshin (1807-1895), who enjoyed widespread popularity in this milieu, began with maki-e before turning to painting, including lacquer (urushi-e). The technique of applying maki-e patterns on a three-dimensional object such as a box were influenced by the shape of the support used and appear different depending on the angle from which it is viewed. Centered around a flower or a bird, the modern compositions are a bold use of asymmetry and Ma (deliberate use of void space), which, coupled with the finesse of the details, creates a sense of refinement and lightness. The images represented are more than simple designs. They have such an ontological presence that one might well ask how they attach themselves to matter, or what hidden stories they hold.

Patterns add to the overall embellishment of lacquer objects, but they are also integral to their tactile quality and are somewhat variable, such as symbols appearing and disappearing on an object of such stark black minimalism.

Lacquer transforms the material, making the wood a flexible and delicate sort of metal, while playing with our perception of the images drawn into its surface.

We find this peaceful alignment of symbolism and minimalism in the work of contemporary French artist Anne Laure Sacriste, whose minimalist reliefs and installations combine metal and fabric. Our choice of works for this exhibition depict, in particular, scenes of vegetation and a waterfall painted in the iridescent acrylic that emerges out of an entirely black surface. This notion of floating reflects what the artist was feeling when, in an enclave of the Bois de Boulogne, the scene she was painting transfigured into an allegorical world with a life of its own. Here the transformative power of the alchemy attributed to matter and materials not only affects the design, abstraction and symbols, but also the connection to minimalism, which delves into the essence of things, and symbolism.

The works of Sacriste serve as an introduction to the shifting effects of maki-e.

Aesthetics of Disappearance/Minimalism

Lee Ufan

Noriyuki Haraguchi + Min Tanaka

Hiroshi Sugimoto

Yoshihiro Suda

In Japan, minimalism is linked to the asceticism of Zen culture. Unlike baroque elements that employ ostentation and frivolity in honor of life, the aesthetics of austerity goes straight to essentials. It is born from the coalescence of Japanese Zen philosophy, which plays an integral part in this pursuit of understanding the things around us, and the reductionist aesthetics of less is more that seeks to transcend ostentation after having fully explored it.
In this exhibition, the theme is divided into two rooms: the section devoted to the minimalist expression of contemporary fine arts and section n°7 devoted to Zen painting (philosophical thought hidden behind lightness and brevity).

This artistic expression that attempts to reexamine space and materials using a reductionist approach, took place at the end of the 60s and the early 70s. At this time, artists from the movement called Mono-ha (School of Things), such as Lee Ufan and Haraguchi, used wood, earth, stone, paper, iron or glass, playing with contrasts by combining these materials to feel substance and existence. Engaging with materials as little as possible, and thus restricting expression as much as possible, they sought above all to show things as they really are. In Japan, Lee studied Hegelian philosophy at University, where he focused on an ontology of things and pondered on how to configure a space through its relationship to the field. His ideas were related to the philosophy of Zen gardens, such as the rock garden at Ryōan-ji Temple. In one of his more well-known works, Lee places a large rock on glass, cracking its surface. His intention is to create fractures and intervals on a given space to open it up and superimpose new fields. The endless vibration of minuscule constituents in the stone reveals memories and information from time immemorial. "Like an event, the various elements of the work enter into a mutual relation and generate a vibration, until space-time opens and becomes a field.” In this work, Lee breaks a piece of conglomerate rock with a hammer and then the recomposes it and spreads it on the ground. It is then we feel the force of cracks that divide the earth and the force that unifies it once again.

Haraguchi is also actively concerned with the creation of a field. One of his key works is an installation, consisting of a low container made from iron plates and perfectly filled with oil, where he challenges the order of matter and emphasizes place as a transformation of space. Using the reflective surface and deep black of the oil, he places serenity and tumult together in an uneasy coexistence. A major feature of this exhibition is the creation of an additional field, through a video performance by avant-garde artist Tanaka Min dancing in an oil-filled basin.
The photographic series Seascapes (marine landscapes) by Sugimoto Hiroshi depicts the seas from around the world shot with long exposures in all weather, seasons and times of day. The height of the horizon line is identical in each photograph and the sea cuts the screen in two parts. The nuances and almost imperceptible variations in this demarcation conceal an extraordinary diversity of information. From the Pacific to the Indian Ocean, by way of the Atlantic – the ocean is ultimately unique. The message communicating life’s essence can be detected in a slight oscillation that shows reductionism and diversity taken to extremes: the power at the starting point of all things.

Expression/Southward Bound

Isson Tanaka

Dokkyaku(Visiteur solitaire)

Paul Gauguin

This section focuses on the work of two artists who, at odds with the world of conventional painting, went south in search of new forms of expression, seduced by the surrounding vitality: Tanaka Isson (1908-1977) and Paul Gauguin (1848-1903). Early in his career, Isson painted in the style of the Southern School of Chinese Painting, for which he had a rare talent. He then abandoned the movement, instead devoting himself to painting from nature and expressing the essence of the Japanese ecosystem as it really is. The fervor with which he pursued his goal, and his way of juxtaposing life and death in order to explore the notion of existence, did not resonate with other artistic circles, who at the time were obsessed with formal beauty. In his early 50s, hoping to focus on his work in a new environment, Isson went to Amami-Ôshima, an island off the coast of southern Japan. Once there, his style changed enormously: his paintings depicted subtropical vegetation with abstraction and bold colors, expressing an entire cosmology characterized by a teeming life force, a great sensuality and the eternal cycle of life and death. Isson was not just one with nature: he was so absorbed by his subject matter that it possessed him and drove him to paint. In the 1960s, post-war hardship had given way to the first stirrings of our consumerist society. During this period of excess, Isson abandoned everything to live alone and destitute in Amami. His vision, like the motivation behind his work, helped the locals to see their island and the rest of the world in a new light. In the Amami archipelago, there is a belief in the connection to the marebito (visiting gods), the neriyakanaya, who consider the newcomers with different customs as gods from another world bringing new techniques and new ideas. A new video work connecting a text by Édouard Glissant to the landscapes of the Amami, entitled Le visiteur solitaire or "the solitary visitor," will be projected alongside Isson's paintings, which are seen as a hybrid between the arts of the Japanese metropolis and the cosmology of a remote island.

In a small adjacent room is an exhibition of a series of woodcuts by Gauguin, Noa Noa. Influenced by Japonism and a key figure in both Cloisonnism and Symbolism, Gauguin distanced himself from the rigidity of the artistic circles of his time, before leaving for Tahiti in 1891 at the age of 43. He too was a kind of "solitary visitor" who abandoned his civilized world in search of something other, something primitive and raw. The woodcuts he made while weighed down by poverty and ill-health reflect his intense drive to express life with sensuality and mystery. The artist seems to have dug up the spirit of the wood and polished its remnants, giving birth to scenes that exude a "perfume" (Noa Noa means "fragrant" in Tahitian) whose notes hold a cosmology of life and death.

The hybrid vision that these solitary visitors, these marebito who headed south to escape modernity and its consumerist society, shared with the local populations, illustrates the cyclical processes of reactivation and renewal of creative energy on the "fringe."
Gauguin's journey of 1895 was to be his last, as he would never return to the metropolis.

The representation of disaster and crisis—Towards a new form of media

Daito Manabe

Ryo Hiraoka

Human beings of the Anthropocene, a time of control of most of the terrestrial environment, are forced to take a new look at the words ‘nature’ and ‘environment’. Japan, having been struck by many natural disasters such as typhoons and earthquakes, has historically been particularly sensitive to nature and the environment. The crisis finds therein distinctive expressions.

Félix Guattari mentions three different ecologies: one of nature, one social and one of the spirit. He also evokes the ecology of information. This fourth ‘environment’ was drawn by Daito Manabe at Rhizomathiks. With the rapid progress of the computerization of the environment around us, it becomes difficult to understand the big data to which we have access. By treating technology and digital information in an organic way, the artist tries to take the viewer to the field of a new personal and emotional commitment.

Manabe is an artist specializing in data visualization, doing extensive research and using high-level programming techniques. He makes use of digital media as creative tools for a new environment of existence. In a world where political, societal and environmental crises coexist, the digital space as a place of co-creation, becomes a means of survival.

During the triple disaster of March 2011, the computer map of risk areas helped many people to find refuge. Created by Manabe and the Honda company, it offers a precise treatment of information as well as a magnificent visual design.

The artist also performs a live performance during which he develops black box algorithm trading, or high-frequency trading, creating a visualization of the Tokyo Stock Exchange transactions live, and virtual exchanges of Bitcoins. The works in this exhibition are part of a new project focussed on making visible the incidents and storms represented by cyberattacks in the environment of the net. Beyond the deep web, already not found by classic search engines, is the dark web found in the abyss of the Internet. This unreachable space, inaccessible without a special interface, is the focus of cybercrime and the epicentre of big shocks, not only on the Internet, but in real society. Manabe uses the so-called ‘honey pot’ technique to expose these usually undetectable computer attacks.

Also, in this section are the works of the young painter Ryo Hiraoka, whose theme is the storm. The classic representation of lightning that splits the blue of the night echoes this extreme opposite represented by the storms of Manabe's invisible space.

Repeated rebirth,
rebirth of the intangible


Aïnu Shin’Yo Shu
(Tombent, tombent les gouttes d’argent)

In Japan, the aesthetic is not that of the material, but that of the value of the immaterial, its continuity and its renewal. One finds therein the inheritance of an idea of ​​the form of new life, of reinitialization.

A representative example is the ritual reconstruction of the Ise sanctuary. Bruno Taut compares the sanctuary of Ise with the Parthenon and recounts the importance of its architecture, heir to the style of the sanctuaries of the primitive time of Yayoi. The Ise shrine was rebuilt for the first time in 680, then, with the exception of a temporary period (130 years, during the time of Muromachi), every 20 years until today, 1300 years more later. In addition to the inner and outer sanctuaries, fourteen other buildings of the sacred place are also rebuilt. It is the renewal of the purity of the Shinto spirit (its eternal youth) that is sought after. The intention also evoked is that of reactivation of the divine vital impetus, which weakens because dilapidation is seen as a stain. The need to continue transmitting the techniques of building sacred places to the craftsmen and carpenters of subsequent generations is obviously one of the considerations. In Shinto, the gods are of nature, and behind this enterprise of reconstruction hides the testimony of a deep respect towards these divinities.

This reconstruction every twenty years is a repeated renaissance, a biological model. For Isozaki Arata in ‘Genshi no modoki’ (The original legend), “Living beings preserve their species by generating similar forms. In this process of rebirth, the building and ceremony are reproduced identically to the original form, and eternity is concretely achieved through this building. This wish for eternity is also found in the stone construction of the Parthenon. This eternity is that of Heidegger, the “eternity of the vertical fall towards the moment”, a perpetual rebirth. Such a process pursues eternity and resorts to the ‘regenerating force’ hidden in nature. The model of the SANAA agency reproduces the different elements of the Ise sanctuary with the greatest minimalist transparency, and from this aesthetic of purity, the sacred place becomes alive.

The second rebirth present in this section is that of poetic language; the presentation of Yukie Chiri's ‘Ainu Shin'yoshu’. The Ainu, an ethnic minority living in Hokkaido in northern Japan, were originally a hunting people. In their pantheistic religion, animals, plants, tools, and natural phenomena are all inhabited by a soul called ‘rama’. Traditionally, the Ainu did not use written language. Their knowledge and their history were transmitted entirely orally. Uepeker (prose stories) and Yukar (epic poems) are found in this oral literature. Deprived of the bases of their life by the Meiji government, their land, their right to fish and hunt, the Ainu received a fatal economic blow and fell into extreme poverty. Yukie Chiri, a young Ainu, wanted to prevent the extinction of the traditional culture of her people in crisis. She translated the Yukars into Japanese from the Ainu language. Transcribed in the Roman alphabet and in Japanese characters, the ‘Ainu Shin'yoshu’ is a great turning point for her people, restoring their cultural identity. The familiar ‘animal deities’ are found in these Kamui Yukar, stories that wish daily happiness upon people, and all is written in a simple and beautiful language. In January 2006, at the announcement of the publication of a translated version in French, J. M. G. Le Clézio went to visit Yukie Chiri’s tomb.

In this exhibition, like the work of Chiri, the poem in the original language and its translated version in French will appear in images and accompany the narrative of the researcher, Nobuhiko Chiba.

Subjective landscape—
The philosophy of lightness

Katsushika Hokusai

Sengai Gibon

Hakuin Ekaku

From 19th century Japaneseism to the present day, Hokusai, otherwise known as Gakyojin, has been the best known Japanese painter. About these portraits, Ernest Chesneau declared in 1868: “They are alive, rich with multiple and immediate expression and full of truth.” The charm of Hokusai resides in this mixture between nature, which seems to have been reproduced as is, and what looks like the materialization of his highly eccentric imagination. This gift for the composition of spaces rich in images as original, powerful and nervous, was also nourished by his illustration work in books and the kibyoshi of fantastic news and literary works.

This exhibition presents some of the works from the series of ‘thirty-six views of Mount Fuji’. Hokusai's landscapes are characterized by the multiplication of points of view (the combination of the foreground and the background in bold compositions), and deformation processes such as the biomorphism that gives life to waves, water and to the rocks. A pebble impatient to move and a monstrous wave throwing itself on men inspired Theo Van Gogh, the younger brother of the great painter: “This wave is a claw. I have the impression that the boat will be seized by this claw.”

Mount Fuji is personified, its shape, reproduced in every detail, changes according to the seasons, the moments of the day, and the points of view. The contrast with the peripheral elements transforms the character and the impression conveyed. This transformation, like a metabolism, is constantly renewing itself. Here, this interstice between pre-modernity and modernity, straddling an animist and realistic thought, and this quasi-photographic spatial construction born from a particular modern point of view, allows us to put ourselves in the place of the artist.

Through the personification of nature (Mount Fuji), Hokusai operates a reversal between subjectivity and objectivity: it is no longer the man (who sees) who looks at nature, but nature that looks at man.

In the same way as in the minimalism discussed in section 4, the new element here is the importance of the philosophy of simple expression, that of ‘lightness’, representative of Zen painting. Zen abandons explanation by words for learning through personal experience. Zen painting was born of the unique personal experience of the monks. From portraits of fathers of the discipline to popular caricatures for comic purposes, the representations are numerous. Their sanbuns contain teachings such as morals and allegories. In the Zen experience, rigour and gentleness, comic and joking, the weight of dogma and the lightness of expression, are all contrasts particular to Japan.

The works of Hakuin, while striving to open up with candour and as simplistic as those of an amateur, express a strong vital impetus and show the power of nature in its raw state. One of the works representing an enso is produced by a slow circular movement with the help of a brush. Hakuin's breathing, just like that of the universe, is felt in these subtle nuances and prominences. The circle is the symbol of total awakening. The meaning of the san, a small text added to the drawing, oscillates between a joke and a philosophical teaching and conceals the absurd spirit and the instantaneous awakening contained in Zen.

Responding to popular demand, Sengai also produced light and casual works. Behind his rough and impromptu drawings hides an innate nobility. The allegories very present in Hakuin are no longer found in Sengai who developed his own school (muho no ho, the process without process), characterized by a deliberate clumsiness and a facetious spirit imbued with innocence. This process is reflected in his work “Hotei (laughing Buddha) pointing at the moon with a finger”. In reference, the simplest geometric shapes, which are the circle, the triangle and the square, seem to come into mutual contact. Many interpretations are possible for this drawing.

According to Daisetsu Suzuki (1870-1966), the circle represents the infinite (the set of foundations), the triangle the beginning of a form born of the sensations and intelligence of men, and the square, composed of two triangles, an endless process from which the whole and the universe come to life. Another explanation connects the circle to Buddhism, the triangle to Confucianism, and the square to Shintoism.

Hybridization, coexistence

Justine Emard

How can one enter into a relationship and live in symbiosis with the other and the non-human? This time, it is not a question of the constant search for harmony or impersonal collectivism, often attributed to the Japanese.

There exists among the Japanese an ambient flexibility of personal identity, which does not resist opening to the other and transforming itself, like a system that would use the circuits of the body to renew the knowledge and the image of the foreign without worrying about the original context. The different aspects of this animistic inclination of the organic to link with the non-human, exchanges and fusion with the animal, robots and foreign culture, are here made visible in a contemporary form through bodies.

The relationship between people and digital technologies is a good example. In Western anthropocentrism, man and the machine are two distinct things. Unlike Japan, with its animist foundations, where it is natural that man and technology (machines, artificial intelligence) merge organically. Recounted in the legend of Pygmalion, there is in the West the idea that a particular spirit is breathed into the body, that the body and the mind are one and the same. In Japan, the body is only a possible container for the soul (a puppet or a shell), the ‘soul/spirit’ can move freely from one body to another, be it animal or machine. This is shown in Mamoru Oshii's animated film, ‘Ghost in the Shell’.

The video work ‘Co(AI)xistence’ by Mirai Moriyama and Justine Emard is based on an experimental performance. The work shows the mutual exchange of the Alter robot, developed by the collaboration of the research laboratories in artificial intelligence of Takashi Ishigami and Hiroshi Ishiguro, and the actor-dancer Moriyama. Alter's design is modeled on human neurons, incorporating a system generating unstable cyclical movements and the CPG (Central Pattern Generator), an artificial neural network creating disturbances. Influenced by information about temperature, noises, or surrounding movements obtained by sensors, the movements of the robot create a real ambiguity because they seem to occur autonomously. Alter tries to imitate Moriyama's gestures, but the limits of its design and that of its sensors create clumsy and irregular movements. With the greatest intimacy, Moriyama regulates his movements with those of the robot, addresses it, and the merger between the two protagonists soon gives birth to a third choreography. It is not a lesson in human gesture, but the genesis of a new form of communication through the mutual intrusion of the arithmetic calculation of the robot and the bodily movements of man. From this, an ecosystem of new possibilities emerges, in which man and AI coexist.


Kohei Nawa

It is not in the creation of an aesthetic of the essence of an immutable order at which the Japanese excel, but in the creation of an ‘aesthetic of the situation’, which is in permanent transformation. The metamorphosis observable in this transformation is that of a situation like a ‘new life’, which is reborn then perpetually disappears. Artists attempt not only to represent the passage of water and clouds in their work, but also attempt to reproduce their temporal experience.

Nawa Kohei envisions a new material and, by the invention of this latter, he strives to create a new “meeting between the work and the body”. In his work ‘Form’, the artist creates bubbles like so many cells in liquid containing a surfactant. The bubbles cover the surface and float there without disappearing. As their numbers increase, the bubbles attract each other and from this meeting appears the image of a large drawing. With the influence of gravity and air pressure, a balance is preserved between appearance and disappearance. A process using silicone oil is used to remove bubbles. The place and time of appearance and disappearance, as well as the air pressure, are programmed and controlled by the introduction of compressed air. The whole moves and evolves as if it were alive. The alchemy of Zeshin and the living landscapes of Hokusai use all the properties of materials and concentrate the entirety of the thought of the school of things.

Visitors roam about this bubble landscape, touching it and diving into it. Enveloped in this slowly evolving landscape, like an atmospheric phenomenon, they become an integral part of it. The boundary between the self and the other evaporates in this experience of fusion, without questioning personal existence. In the last room of the Fukami exhibition, all the works flow from the memory to the body, from the bubbles to the landscape, to finally return to the body.
This experience will not fail to imbue in everyone the Japanese aesthetic sense.