—Please tell us about any turning points in your career.

SUWA: In 2011, with the intention of repositioning myself within the industry, I took concrete steps toward change. My first move was organizing my inaugural solo exhibition at Gallery Naruyama, where I am working together still at present. What drew me to this gallery was its unique presence in the contemporary art scene and its focus on working with a select group of artists. The reason behind this shift was the existing division in the Japanese art industry between traditional art salons, often referred to as gadan, and the contemporary art world. ...... Things have become a bit more complex since then, but that’s a rough overview. There have also been changes in business practices.

When I first embarked on my artistic journey, I found myself labeled as a painter belonging to the gadan salon world. It was a choice that, to put it frankly, didn’t align with my true artistic inclinations. I want to make it clear that I’m not disparaging the gadan; it simply wasn’t the right fit for me. Ironically, I didn’t realize this until I had already set off on that path. It was only after I had taken my initial steps that I recognized an inherent discord between my artistic direction and the gadan tradition. So, in 2011, during my solo exhibition, I seized the opportunity to chart a new course into the contemporary art realm. This decision was unconventional and came with its fair share of trepidation. I was fearful because this shift meant a significant change in my artistic surroundings, and there was a possibility that it could impact the marketability of my work.

Fortunately, at that time, NHK’s TV program “Sunday Art Museum” broadcast a documentary titled “Paintings That Stay in the Memory: A Painter Who Draws the Dead,” which closely followed my artistic journey over an extended period. The program received a positive response from the general public. This was followed by the publication of a collection of my works, titled “Can’t See Anything Anyway: Atsushi Suwa Paintings” (published by Kyuryu-do).

—Do you tend to rely more on your intuition?

SUWA: While people may perceive me as strategic painter, my nature inclination is to be opportunistic and laid-back. Nevertheless, when circumstances align with an opportunity, I believe I prioritized my instinct, or rather, my senses. I do contemplate matters, but more often than not, I find myself ultimately following my intuition.

—In addition to being a painter, you are also a teacher.

SUWA: Yes, in 2018, I began my role as a professor at my alma mater, Musashino Art University, specifically within Department of Painting.

—How do you interact with students at the university?

SUWA: Students often approach me with technical or logical questions, and I find that I’m able to offer precise responses in these domains, as they often have quantifiable answers. To avoid discouraging them, I’m inclined to study even more than I did when I was a student. I believe that everyone should have the opportunity to teach others—it’s a valuable experience (laughs).

Conversely, I’m more cautious when it comes to delving into the content or direction of their paintings. Each student is essentially a researcher with their unique style, even if it appears somewhat inexperienced. I’m hesitant to impose my own values on them, regardless of how misguided their approach may seem at this stage or how much it might resemble a detour. Therefore, I consider it more crucial to provide the right environment. In a way, a professor is akin to a gardener, nurturing and cultivating the individuality of each student.

The solo exhibition “Fire in the Medial Orbito-Frontal Cortex,” held at the Fuchu Art Museum, consisted of three distinct parts. “Part 1: Abandoned People,” showcased a series of paintings inspired by his late father’s memoirs. Mr. Suwa personally visited the region that used to be Manchuria (now northeastern China) for documentation, and this part brought his experiences to life on canvas. “Part 2, On Still Lifes,” delved into the realm of realist paintings, while “Part 3, We Meet Again,” featured a diverse collection of portraits.

—Could you provide some context for the title “Fire in the Medial Orbito-Frontal Cortex”?

SUWA: I believe that the title of an exhibition is of utmost importance. This solo exhibition at the Fuchu Art Museum marked the first in six years, so I spent a considerable amount of time ponding the perfect title. Ideas don’t just materialize out of thin air; I had to work diligently to conjure them. “Fire in the Medial Orbito-Frontal Cortex” emerged only after extensive contemplation, as all my previous attempts yielded lackluster and uninspiring words. This title suggests a state where “sensitivity to beauty is shaken.”

I experience what I can only describe as “flashing dark spots,” which may result from visual abnormalities related to blood flow in the brain. There intense lights I perceived have no tangible substance, and it feels as though the corners of my vision are burning. Yet, I find myself unable to concentrate and fully grasp the situation. I also wanted to use the word “裏” (behind). It may be the desire to understand what lies behind the ambiguity of vision.

In addition, I was influenced by research conducted by Professor Tomohiro Ishizu of Kansai University. His findings were quite surprising; through fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging), he identified areas in the brain that become more active when it perceives beauty. These findings contribute to our understanding of aesthetic experiences. The specific region identified is the medial orbitofrontal cortex, located behind the upper orbital area, just behind the eyebrows. Initially, I considered the title “Fire in the Eye” for the exhibition, but I ultimately opted for “Fire in the Medial Orbito-Frontal Cortex,” incorporating a more medical terminology.

—Regarding the "fire" theme, how did that concept come about?

SUWA: The symptom of the flickering dark spot bears a resemblance to a cold flame, devoid of any warmth. Yet, I've hesitated to delve into the precise circumstances surrounding this phenomenon, for I fear what revelations might await me. What I do know is that it is somehow related to blood flow in the brain. I first noticed these symptoms around the time of my father’s passing. Initially, I didn’t consider reproducing the flashing dark spot in my painting. Instead, while drawing my father’s corpse, I began with a simple black dot as a reference point. It was during this process that I pondered the possibility of capturing my physical experiences in my paintings, rather than merely staging them.

—Did your intentionally structure the exhibition into three parts?

SUWA: The choice of a three-part structure was influenced by the museum’s layout, as it has three exhibition rooms. Nevertheless, I incorporated element like a “basso continuo” that serve as connective threads between each room. Part 3 featured human figures, including a series depicting father and son, Kazuo and Yoshito Ohno, known as the “Ohnos.” I spent an extended period working on this series because, during my overseas training as an artist in Madrid, Spain, from 1994 to 1996, supported by the Agency for Cultural Affairs, I became keenly aware of the physical differences between Japanese and Westerners. This naturally piqued my interest in the recognition Japanese butoh dancers were gaining in Spain. I felt compelled to meet Kazuo Ohno and his son Yoshito, both renowned dancers who played crucial roles in the development of butoh alongside Tatsumi Hijikata, the genre’s founder in the world of dance performance art.

SUWA: The contrast between the East and the West is a challenge that resonates in the realm of painting as well. During the Meiji Era, Japan felt compelled to adopt Western painting techniques as a symbol of modernization, effectively grafting the concept of art onto Western-style painting. Being aware of this historical context, I admired the originators of butoh dance for their remarkable feat of shaking up Europe, shifting values, and revolutionizing the very notion of dance. As I mentioned earlier, I sensed a degree of stagnation in the art world, which drew me to the vibrant atmosphere of the 1960s. During that period, artists and literary figures, such as Genpei Akasegawa, Natsuyuki Nakanishi, and Tatsuhiko Shibusawa, engaged with one another across their respective disciplines.

I’ve longed to continue the series of painting “Ohnos,” but haven’t found the opportunity since the passing of both Kazuo and Yoshito Ohno. Around that time, I think it was 2017, ......, I was contacted by Toshio Mizohata, a long-time dedicated member of Mr. Ohno’s and now the president of the NPO Dance Archives Initiative. He recommended that I attend Takao Kawaguchi’s conceptual performance titled “About Kazuo Ohno.” I was truly impressed by Kawaguchi’s flawless portrayal of Kazuo Ohno on stage. Simultaneously, I experienced an uncanny sensation, as if I could strongly perceive Takao Kawaguchi’s distinct personality. It was as if the act of embodying someone else led that person’s essence to the surface.

At that time, I received an invitation to exhibit a work from the “Ohnos” series at the Sapporo International Art Festival 2020. I hesitated about showcasing only older works and pondered how to incorporate new pieces into the festival. Eventually, I conceived the idea of portraying Kazuo Ohno through the medium of Takao Kawaguchi. Unfortunately, the Sapporo International Art Festival 2020 was cancelled due to the pandemic. As a result, the inclusion of Part 3 in this exhibition serves as a form of retribution for that lost opportunity.

SUWA: The exhibition also featured a number of paintings that I couldn’t complete. One such piece was Solaris, which I added additional brushwork for this exhibition. Initially, it depicted a face that distorted the equilibrium of a human visage. The current serene expression emerged almost accidentally, capturing a moment of unexpected tranquility.

The pose was based on Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. The Mona Lisa has become a relay of representations with countless tributes and homages. One of the most renowned examples is Raphael Santi’s Young Woman with Unicorn (c. 1506), possibly influenced by his observations while working on the Mona Lisa. This was followed by Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot’s The Woman with a Pearl (c. 1868-70). Furthermore, although not a direct homage to the Mona Lisa, Balthus’ Young Girl with White Skirt (1955) invokes a sense of déjà vu, even though the body’s orientation differs. This chain of artistic messages and references found its way into my painting, with the attire drawing inspiration from that of Harry, the suicidal wife of the protagonist in the movie “Solaris.”

I positioned Solaris as an icon in my work for two reasons: Firstly, my overall body of work often evokes the enigmatic act of “Solaris Sea,” a concept that beckons the deceased. Secondly, I aimed to convey the enduring nature of the painting’s creation by drawing an allusion to Leonardo da Vinci, who continually worked on the Mona Lisa.

—Could you please share with us the reason for displaying this piece?

SUWA: This nishiki-e woodblock print, called seppuku (ritual suicide) work, titled Kaidai-Hyakusenso Obata Sukerokuro Nobuyo, is one of the iconic works of nishiki-e, often referred to as “blood-soaked pictures” or “cruel pictures.” It’s known to have been a favorite of prominent figures like Yukio Mishima and Ryunosuke Akutagawa. During the Boshin War, the former shogunate forces and the Shogitai used what is now Ueno Park as their base of operations. The ensuing “Ueno War” saw government forces ruthlessly quelling the rebellion. The defeated soldiers and casualties of the Ueno War were denied proper burials and were left exposed. Despite its seemingly absurd title, Yoshitoshi’s work is said to depict the grim reality of these events. While he presented them to the world through musha warrior paintings, his true intention was to capture the individual and collective tragedy of those involved. By displaying this haunting artwork, I aim to remind viewers of the unwavering dedication of artists like Yoshitoshi, who pioneered the realm of realism overshadowed by the harshness of reality.

—When you were young, you were also influenced by Kazutaka Sato, a journalist who is currently reporting from Ukraine.

SUWA: It was around the time I was 20 years old, and it was hard for me to believe that someone who always appeared so composed when I met him in Suginami (Tokyo) was covering a war, a scene that lays bare the brutality of humanity. Mr. Sato would soon become an important pioneering figure in video journalism, a reporting style that emerged with the miniaturization of filming equipment and the widespread use of the Internet.
His work includes “Sarajevo no fuyu—senka no gunzo wo kiroku suru” (lit. Winter in Sarajevo: Documenting groups of people in war) (1994), a documentary broadcast on NHK-BS, which I watched and found profoundly influential. It was not conveyed as information about the war from a panoramic, god-like perspective. I was overwhelmed by the images that empathized with those who had to live under irresistible violence, including the people on the receiving end of the bombs and the interracial lovers who complain of the absurdity of their situation.

Currently, Mr. Sato occasionally travels to Ukraine to report on the ongoing war. As such time, I check his work on television and feel relief at the occasional LINE message he sends to me, which is truly a world away from what it was in the past. It was through my encounters with him that I started pondering what might transpire if I were to replace the act of documentation with the relationship between a painter and a model.