So sometimes
there’s a bit of a delay between when
you make something and people begin to understand and appreciate it. Do you
think maybe this delay is something you can’t control?
Yeah, most likely. I don’t really have a
strong drive “present my work to the world,” so once I make something I’m pretty much satisfied and content to shelve it for a while. That’s probably why I end up with these especially long delays. The thing
is, these same delays are what allow me to restart these projects with fresh
sense later on, and having them lay dormant for a while also helps things I
didn’t notice when I made them come to light. Sometimes
an after-the-fact positive comment from someone else is all it takes to get the
ball rolling. It just goes to show that sometimes the artwork itself needs time
to ripen on the vine.
It’s pretty amazing that your work
still looks just as fresh a decade later.
Well, as I mentioned earlier, the whole point of NEWLINE was
to make something that wasn’t anything, something
made in a complete vacuum that is impossible to identify. All that’s in there is pure enjoyment of the shapes and ideas, so I think
maybe there’s not a lot of clues as to when the entries
in the series were made, like they don’t have a sense
of being from a certain era. Graphic visuals,
particularly the kind I make, is oftentimes still images with no time axis like
you get with video or music, which in turn makes it possible to instantly convey
a feeling or ambience with a single look. That’s one of
the main reasons I love graphics. Creating in a
vacuum free of other people’s thoughts or hints of the
era makes it easier to emphasize this quality of offering something that sparks
a change in the viewer’s emotions without any need for
deep explanation.
Your
work certainly has that “made in a vacuum” quality to it, but at the same time
it has a very organic nature to it that no machine could ever produce alone.
Stuff like schematics or product designs can at times gain another
dimension of beauty by matching their function. The structure of molecules or
particles is at times similar to that of programming, and sometimes city
scenery can resemble a circuit board. These things that seem at first glance
mechanical or inorganic all possess that organic mystique found in things
created by living beings, so it’s only natural that
they have a beauty no machine could produce unaided. Maybe you could with
mathematics, but what I’m thinking of here is more
fundamental...
So if
you’re blocking out external
influences, does that mean the starting concepts of your creations come from
within you?
People often describe ideas as “coming to them,” and I always used to
think this was a bunch of nonsense. Lately, though, I’ve started to think there’s something to it.
This is partly because my thoughts and the things I know come together in a
big, complex knot while on an unconscious level within me, and while I may not
be pondering any of it deeply, all of this information is being processed in
some corner of my brain. Then, maybe when my mindset or physical condition are
right, it all comes together and the solution appears. So that’s what I now think an idea coming to someone is, like maybe there’s a certain timing to it.
What’s that sensation like? Does the idea
just suddenly well up?
Good question. Once I begin the creative process, it’s like something starts to take shape. The only problem is that I
know it’s a real pain in the butt once I start down
that road, so I don’t go there very often. I just know
that once that fire gets sparked on my PC or notebook I’m in for trouble. That’s why I’m so careful during those first steps. But once I do actually start,
I become completed absorbed, like I’m solving a puzzle
saying, “This goes here” or “That should go this way.” Once I’m in the zone I can’t think about anything
else.
At
what point do you consider a piece you’re working on to be complete?
I don’t ever really consider any of my
pieces to be “complete.” It’s more like I put them out
while they’re still incomplete because I don’t have any other choice, I guess. I’m always
going back to update, add more info, and tweak even finished pieces I’ve shown to the world, so in the end nothing I create is ever really
complete. I’ve always made my work in a vacuum that
rejects outside thoughts and elements, but perhaps because of my age or the
times, lately I’ve been doing collaborations here and
there. I’ve found them to be very stimulating and great
learning experiences, to the point where I’m
considering applying the things I pick up doing them to my own projects.
What
exactly do you mean by collaborations?
Well, I don’t often team up with people who
make visuals like myself. You could say that my projects with businesses are
collaborations, so to speak, and in those instances I pretty much have to incorporate
the wishes of the other party into my process. If whoever I’m working with happens to be thinking along the same wavelength as
me then we synchronize really well. Usually an original
idea of mine will serve as the base for the project, and while it is being
reused, it’s also being updated with input from my
collaborators. If, when expanding on a piece, it turns out we’re going to be making, say, something three-dimensional, then I’ll sometimes link up with an architect or product designer to do the
planning.
You make three-dimensional pieces?
I have several in-progress objects, stone sculptures, and so on that
came about after people approached saying they wanted to do some of my artwork
in 3D. I made a logo for the publisher Goliga in 2018 that they then had done
in 3D to hang on the wall at artbook fairs. They
posted it to their Instagram since it generated quite a response, and I think
maybe that’s where this all started. Several
of my visuals have grown in scale thanks to going three-dimensional, a good
example being the logo I did for Senrokuya in 2019. Once the architect firm Upsetters converted it to 3D and actually got it
installed, it seemed to generate really positive response.