Since her debut in 1990, Toyoshima has been presenting works that use a kind of rules and social systems that already exist in the world, such as sharpening pencils, filling out blank answer sheets, buying stocks, and opening bank accounts. What led her creating such works was a book she came across when she was a student.

──You were making paintings when you entered Tokyo University of the Arts. What inspired you to start creating works that incorporate the rules and systems of daily life?

In her early career, she created works employing common tools like pencils and rulers. In September 1990, as a senior in university, she participated in the group exhibition “ART TODAY 1990” at the Takanawa Museum (now the Sezon Museum of Modern Art).

Toyoshima   After creating the Answer Sheet piece, I thought I shouldn’t repeat it. So, feeling somewhat daunted, I challenged myself to approach familiar objects from a new perspective. I continued searching for the next object to explore. I aimed to uncover the paradoxical nature of objects that are commonplace to me, such as stationery–objects that pose no threat, that are neutral and innocent, or rather, that appear harmless to humans and animals.

──What prompted you to participate in “ART TODAY 1990”?

Toyoshima   In June 1990, the early summer of my senior year, I rented a gallery space called Tamura Gallery in Kanda and organized my first solo exhibition, using my own savings which I had saved from my part-time job. The exhibition showed pieces I had been diligently working on for a year. Etsuko Sugiyama, then curator at the Takanawa Museum of Art happened to see the exhibition and invited me to participate in the exhibitions she was curating.

──From the mid-1990s, your material transitioned from familiar tools to social system itself. In Mini Investment (1996), you purchased stocks and documented and disclosed their fluctuations, and in Open Bank Account (1996), you opened accounts at different banks. Transfer to My Account (1996) is where you continually transferred money into your bank accounts from ATMs and had “transfer cards” issued.

Toyoshima   The early 1990s was the time when my production methodology was being organized. I thought that using only familiar materials would restrict the scope of my work, and I was eager to challenge myself by exploring subjects that were distant from my personal experience. Consequently, I decided to engage with subjects that surrounded me and may affect me but that I usually don’t pay attention to. Initially, I had no interest in investing, nor did I still possess much knowledge about it. My perception of investing was mostly negative, which piqued my curiosity and motivated me to experiment with it.

──Opening accounts and making investments as a “work of art” seems like a very solitary process, not intended to be shown to anyone. What motivated you during this process?

Toyoshima   The idea of incorporating stocks into my artwork began in 1996 when I saw the MINAMATA exhibition in Tokyo with my mother, an event organized by a nonprofit organization addressing Minamata disease. It was there that I learned about the “one share movement,” where victims of Minamata disease purchase shares in the offending company, becoming shareholders, and voicing their concerns at the general shareholders’ meeting. I thought it might be possible to incorporate this action in the form of art. I perceived parallels between leveraging an opponent’s system and destabilizing its equilibrium, akin to the conceptual art movements in the 1960s, which coincided with the emergence of the one share movement. When I explained this concept to my mother, who wasn’t familiar with art, she expressed understanding, which encouraged me to pursue this unconventional artistic endeavor.

Despite debuting at a young age, the opportunities to show in exhibitions or to be involved in major programs dwindled afterward, leading to a challenging period. Although she persevered in her work, she faced a lack of exhibition or residency opportunities and found herself perplexed by the movements of those around her.

──Have there been any events since the 2000s that have become a turning point in your practice?

Toyoshima   The 2000s could be characterized by the absence of clear turning points, which in itself defines the period. a pivotal moment. Following my debut, I participated in an exhibition organized by art critic Akihiko Takami and others in 1994, expecting more opportunities to show my work soon after. However, this expectation did not come to pass. In 1995, I gave up my independent living and returned to my parents’ home in Saitama, and so the 2000's went on while I was confused.
I learned that peers slightly older than me venturing abroad, prompting me to explore alternative paths. However, works like Mini Investment and Open Bank Account were rooted in the Japanese system, which requires explanation for its complicated context. Amidst my uncertainty, the number of commercial galleries increased, and it became common for younger artists to be affiliated with them. I found myself caught between generations, feeling disheartened and wondering why my effort weren’t producing results. Rather than experiencing distinct turning points, the period from around 2000 to 2007 was marked by prolonged impatience, akin to traversing through a “turning zone.” It was a time of significant turmoil and introspection. It was not a "turning point," but rather a "turning zone," a period of long-term impatience that lasted from about 2000 to 2007.

──How did you get through that prolonged period of difficulty?

Toyoshima   It was around 2007 when I grew tired of the situation and expended so much energy that I became completely exhausted, to the point where I didn’t even understand why I was sulking. Just around that time, there was a peculiar period when I strangely found myself intensely focused on watching sumo wrestling. It was during this time that I would say the “poison was purged,” or rather, that the path gradually began to open.

──What drew you to sumo?

Toyoshima   At the time, there was a rikishi wrestler named Toyonoshima who was just beginning to gain recognition, and I found myself rooting for him because his name resembled my own family name. Prior to this, I had never taken an interest in sumo, and it was actually the first time I felt passionate about something other than art. I made Fixation/Motion (2009), a list of won-and-lost records for a grand sumo tournament, using the back of an exhibition poster while watching sumo. Looking back, I realize that I enjoyed exploring something outside of my usual realm. During this period, I delved even deeper into my personal hobby of pairing sumo videos with music, sharing them on the newly launched YouTube platform, and engaging with sumo fans around the world.

Her fascination with sumo led her to engage in a signature collecting campaign (2011-13). The campaign aimed to urge that the Japan Sumo Association to reinstate Sokokurai, a sumo wrestler from Inner Mongolia who had been advised to retire following match-fixing allegations.

Toyoshima   In 2010, I was awarded a grant to spend six months in New York. Shortly after returning to Japan, the Great East Japan Earthquake plunging the nation into turmoil. Around the same time, the issue of baseball betting during sumo tournaments escalated into allegations of match-fixing scandal, resulting in disciplinary actions against numerous foreign rikishi wrestlers. Like many sumo fans, I felt a strong urge to take action and bring about change. I decided to make the signature collecting campaign itself a personal activity. I started this work as a kind of hypothesis that if what I seriously do can be called a "work of art," then this must be it.

──The concept of transforming social action into a work of art seems to relate to the “one share movement.”

Toyoshima   I had a longing for “righteousness” within myself. I hypothesized that actions intertwined with society, such as civic movements, have more validity than actions confined to the isolated art industry because they have a tangible impact on the world. This sentiment may have been partly influenced by the 3.11 disaster. Engaging in the signature collecting campaign prompted me to actively communicate with individuals whom I had previously avoided.
However, as I continued to collect signatures, I felt conflicted and began to feel the need to abstract the relationship between this social action and my artistic practice. I began questioning the notion of labeling social activities as "personal" endeavors. Sumo exists within its own world, within numerous individuals involved in it. I worried that by incorporating it into my work, I might be exploiting it. Yet, I also felt uneasy about ignoring my genuine interest in sumo .... After much contemplation, I concluded, “Why not conceal it temporarily to fulfill my intentions?” This notion inspired the creation of Cover-up Maneuvering (2012).

In recent years, she has created a series of works featuring striking circular motifs, exemplified by pieces like The Copernican Theory (2020), where circular panels are arranged in concentric circles.

──How did you get started with circular works?

Toyoshima   Grass cutting (mowing). After 3.11, there was a movement to establish a renewable energy NPO in my hometown, and I joined it. A large group of us invested in a small solar power plant, which required us to mow the grass around the solar panels. So, I bought a Hitachi machine, and as I observed the spinning blade of the mower in action, it gradually became more abstract in my mind.
The grass, growing beneath the solar panels that generate electricity from sunlight, was being cut by a machine manufactured by a company involved in nuclear power generation. This rotating circle, in contact with the ground of the rotating earth. Also, I have long been interested in the circular device (a scale indicating the half-life of radioactive materials) held by Dr. Strangelove in the movie "Dr. Strangelove, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb " (1963), and symbols like the radioactive hazard overlapped with it, which led me to create many circular works. Recently, I’ve even creating pieces that merge The Copernican Theory  with Panel series.

Japanese original text: Tamaki Sugihara (Writer)
Photo: Osamu Kurihara
Translation: Kae Shigeno