Colouring with kozyndan

Well, just Kozy, actually. The Yamanashi-born illustrator (real name: Kozue) is in town this weekend with her husband, Dan Kitchens, as part of their first solo UK show And Then There Were None at the tiny Nelly Duff gallery on Columbia Road.

Kozy is pictured above with The Best Sushi in Town, an all-new panoramic which debuted simultaneously at the show and at a group exhibition in New York. The 1.7-metre-long work is their 17th panoramic piece and shows seafood masquerading as sushi chefs serving humans to their unsuspecting customers while a giant octopus (squid?) traps divers for dinner, all in a sushi bar under the sea. The true beauty’s in the detail, such as a tiny bunny-faced fish on a sushi-train plate, the fact that one of the fish is dressed as a sumo wrestler or even the tanned gyaru (blonde Japanese surfer ‘gal’) dining on her own. All of which you see better here.

According to Kozyndan:

People don’t know what the secret ingredient is and they don’t really care. All they know is this is the best sushi in town!

It actually comes from a rather despairing feeling we have knowing that people are literally eating fish species to extinction, particularly blue fin tuna…because people have taken to consuming huge quantities of sushi.

And Then There Were One also includes two limited edition silkscreen prints, other prints including the brilliant Takadanobaba on Acid and a new selection of Kozy’s abstract kaleidoscopic paintings. These works mark quite a change in direction from their most famous prints, although similar themes still abound (are they sharks? and possibly amoeba?) and there’s still plenty of detail to get lost in. When I asked Kozy why the new paintings were so different, she explained that if you keep doing the same thing over and over, you just get bored.

There was also a dreamy and somewhat whimsical colouring book from 2004 called Lactaid Dreams (£8), which they had apparently wanted to make for some time. In response to people questioning the themes in their work, the book opens with a kind foreward: …This is a colouring book, damn it! It isn’t supposed to be analysed. It’s supposed to be coloured!

There’s lots of Japanese imagery (both modern and traditional), crazy animals,  and simple outlines just bursting with detail. Oh yes, and there’s plenty of bunnies:

As for Kozy, she was friendly, warm and keen to get started on signing all the prints for their London fans. She was very positive about the exhibition, although she did seem a little perplexed about London’s low-brow art culture:

The response to the brief exhibition has been great, but it’s different here. In the US, or even Australia, low-brow art is much more popular.

She also told me how Kozyndan produce their work. Generally, Kozy produces the initial outlines, which Dan then fills in with the smaller details and characters. The pair work in layers on Photoshop, rather than Illustrator which she said ‘many people use, but I find too difficult!’.

Each piece goes back and forth between the pair with both Kozy and Dan adding their own touches in a composite process to produce each Kozydan piece.

The only sad note of my visit was discovering one of my favourite works, the SARS-inspired Chinatown panoramic - where citizens of Chinatown fight an approaching virus with what looks like dumplings/steamed buns, while Peking ducks stroll casually away from a knife-wielding chef - is no longer available. Why didn’t I buy it at Melbourne’s Outre gallery, so many years ago? Here’s a taster of the full print:

After And Then There Were None finishes on Saturday, Kozyndan are off to Barcelona before heading home via a few other stops. You can find more of their work at their website or much of their back catalogue (and personal travel shots) at Flickr.

Read more on the UK exhibition here.

All pictures from Kozydan’s Flickr except the Lactaid Dreams photos from my copy, which I’m tempted to slice apart and frame. Thank you, Kozy-san!

The solitude of ravens

The British Journal of Photography has named Japanese photographer Masahisa Fukase’s 1986 Karasu (Ravens) as the best photobook of the past 25 years*. According to the BJP:

The book is a mournful reflection on Fukase’s past relationship, but has also been interpreted as an allegorical critique of modern industrialised society.

Through dark, grainy images of karasu, Fukase chronicles a lonesome trip to his hometown in Hokkaido in the late 70s while deep in the throes of divorce from his wife/former muse.

Fukase is said to have first become engrossed by the brooding karasu as he sat aboard the train from Tokyo, not knowing his collection would one day be hailed an obscure masterpiece by British critics. Despite three sold-out editions and a revised, slightly more impressionistic name (The Solitude of Ravens), Fukase’s work has remained largely unknown until this recent accolade.

Karasu are plentiful in Japan, particularly in the cities where special anti-karasu nets are used to protect domestic rubbish from being strewn about the streets. In Japanese mythology, they are said to represent foreboding and dangerous times ahead. I had always translated the word karasu as simply crow, rather than the more mysterious raven, but the Japanese word can apparently mean both black birds. It will take someone far more ornithological than me to know which is actually represented in Fukase’s book.

On a melancholy note**, Fukase has remained in a coma since the early 1990s. He is said to have fallen down stairs while drunk, which merely adds another level of sadness and solitude to his work.

*The Guardian subeditors may have been skeptical about the BJP’s choice of Kurasu. Their article by Sean O’Hagan, Masahisa Fukase’s Raavens: the best photobook of the past 25 years? is a pretty clear example of poorly-chosen punctuation, considering the overall positive tone of the piece.

**On a totally geeky linguistic note, did you know the collective noun for ravens is an unkindness? I did not, until I heard The Unkindness of Ravens, a cool little London two-piece who tend to hang out in Camden.

Images from The Guardian and Mass Observer.

Japan’s town flag typography

Town flags L-R: Taketomi (in Okinawa) shows 竹 (take); Hachijō reflects the kanji for Hachijō 八丈, arranged in the shape of a bird.

Studying Japanese is tough. There’s three written languages, one of which, kanji (the complex ideograms) can be read using both Japanese and Chinese pronunciation. Every year, the government lists nearly 2,000 essential kanji characters for all high school students to learn, without which they cannot fully comprehend a national newspaper.

To make things interesting for those folks studying the many kanji (& to pay tribute to the graphic designers who come up with this stuff), I present an extract of Pink Tentacle’s collection of Japanese town flags that ingeniously incorporate kanji in their design.

L-R: Ibaraki: Note the pigeon resembles the character for 茨 (ibara); Ōme combines the kanji 青 (ao) and plum blossom 梅 (ume) to signify 青梅 (Ōme).

Scrolling through the collection, you’ll notice many resemble the traditional monotone mon symbols (similar to a coat of arms), where birds, flowers and other natural elements abound. Sometimes you need to squint to see what they’re getting at, but it’s fascinating to think that Japanese (along with Chinese, and any other ideogram-based language) has a whole extra element to its representation. For example, the ‘take’ from Taketomi (top left) means bamboo, yet the design focusses on the shape of the character 竹, rather than the literal meaning.

On second thoughts, that could kinda work in English too, couldn’t it? The difference is that a single letter doesn’t necessarily signify a whole concept or idea, like an ideogram does… Ok, now I’m getting confused. Let’s just enjoy them on a purely aesthetic level, shall we?

L-R: Shinagawa: Reflecting the kanji for 品 (shina) - looking slightly reminiscent of the Mitsubishi logo - and one of my favourite cities, Matsumoto, where pine (matsu) needles encircle the kanji 本 (moto).

There’s 42 more flags over at Pink Tentacle; or a list of 100 flags here at Web Designer Depot.

Japanese fine art auction at bonhams

Above: 18th century print attributed to Suzuki Harunobu and Isoda Koryusai, est. price £800-£1,200.

Feeling flush? No, me neither, but if I was, I’d consider a trip to Bonhams for the upcoming Fine Japanese Art auction on Tuesday May 11.

Almost 500 pieces of Japanese history will go under the hammer, including a vast array of ukiyo-e (woodblock prints), paintings, ceramics, carvings and screens. For the samurai enthusiasts, there’s also armour, swords and intricately carved netsuke (used to attach small inro boxes/holders to pocketless robes and kimono).

Bonhams has estimated the collection should sell for around £1.6 million, and selected Lot 366, a rare Nabeshima shaku-zara  (large dish, above right) decorated with Buddhist images, as a key piece for collectors. Nabeshima wares were extremely limited in production and this particular dish (est. £100,000 to £150,00) is one of few pieces remaining today.      

The same amount could also get you a remarkable suit of armour from the Edo period (18th-19th century). Listed as Lot 68, this mogami do tosei gusoku armour previously belonged to the Hotta clan, an aristocratic Japanese family with links to a Shogun. The black lacquered iron suit includes a 16th-century signed helmet, a pair of sandals and an adapter for wearing civilian swords.

L-R: Lot 105 Utagawa Toyokuni I & Utagawa Kunisada; Lot 99 Ando Hiroshige.

For those on more modest budgets, the two 19th-century Spring sakura (cherry blossom)-themed prints above are estimated to fetch between £600-£800 and £2,000-£3,000 respectively.  

My eye is on Lot 111 above, a pair of Kawase Hasui prints dated Showa 8 (1933).  These oban (10x15”) prints - depicting a scenic evening in Osaka and Nara’s Kasuga Shrine in the rain - are estimated to sell for £600-£800.

Head to Bonhams or view the catalogue online for more. Please note Lots 78 through 86 are not safe for work, unless of course, your boss appreciates 18th century shunga (erotic art). At this point you may also want to revisit the picture at the top of this post, paying special attention to the bashful old man shielding his eyes as he passes the lascivious couple…

Bonhams Fine Japanese Art auction, New Bond Street, London, UK
Tues 11 May, 2010.

All pictures from Bonhams.

Guitars, cymbals & zebra finches at the barbican

Céleste Boursier-Mougenot’s installation at the Barbican’s Curve Gallery may be my new favourite interactive art piece. By arranging horizontally mounted amplified Les Paul guitars, cymbals and basses on grassy islands around an airy exhibition space with 40 zebra finches, the Nice-born composer and musician has created a piece that’s equal parts art, music and ornithology.

An earlier version of the work was described as a form of aleatoric music, wherein some element of the composition is left to chance and/or dependent on the whim of the performers. These (darker) male and (lighter) female zebra finches flit happily from instrument to instrument, unintentionally playing chords as they go. And according to the Barbican’s description of the work, the gallery visitors are just as important to the resulting soundscapes as the actual performers:

The piece relies on the visitors’ movements around the space, which elicit counter movements by the birds, resulting in a subtle choreography.

…What is more, Boursier-Mougenot has tuned the guitars and basses so that whenever a string is touched it produces a clear chord.

It’s rather mesmerising watching them go about their business, swinging on hanging guitar leads and bathing merrily in an upturned cymbal filled with water. At one point while I stood watching a male and female meticulously re-arranging a blade on grass on a guitar bridge, a curious male came and hopped onto my shoe. I actually froze a little - possibly due to stage fright as many of the other visitors stopped to watch the encounter - as he pecked at the frayed edges of my ancient Converse*.

The birds’ welfare has been monitored by the relevant authorities, and gallery visitors are limited to 25 at a time. This makes it quite relaxing as there’s plenty of room to find your own space/performer to watch. The friendly attendant informed me that the birds are happily nesting and even laying eggs (with 63 laid so far), while the Guardian reported their reproductive behaviour even stopped the show last month, when an egg was discovered balancing on one of the guitars.

The Barbican is also hosting a number of events related to the work, including a discussion on birdsong and how it inspires musicians, and an exploration of unexpected places and the nature of sound at the Songlines Family Workshop. If you can’t make it, check the video below.

Céleste Boursier-Mougenot at the Curve, Babican Art Gallery, Silk St, London UK. Free admission (go early to avoid the queues) until 23 May 2010.

*I’ve since read one visitor had an egg laid in her handbag, which I think wins in terms of performer/audience interaction.

<Images from Scopict Le Monde, Harsh Media, Getty, video from the Barbican>

When is japanese food not japanese food?

When an international star like Jared Leto blogs about it.

Not too long ago, 30 Seconds to Mars frontman Leto was in town and raved online about  ‘Great Japanese food in London’ – only to post the above picture of Yauatcha, one of London’s finest dim sum emporiums.

And I know, I know, he’s a big film rock star who may not grasp the delicate intricacies that distinguish Chinese from Japanese cuisines, but still… this cross-cultural confusion made me lose all faith in the man. (Even more so than his choice of film roles/women/wacky hairstyles of late).

In Leto’s honour, I present some recent examples of sushi art, just to prove that Japanese food can take different guises (none of which look like dim sum, though):

Exhibit A: Brownie ‘nori roll’ cupcakes and Rice Krispies/Bubbles with Swedish Fish. These amazing sweet sushi creations come from Saucy, a Canadian blogger/supermum who tends to refer to herself in the third person. (It’s fine though, as her talent for re-imagining sushi through sugary sweets is worth the occasional little idiosyncrasy).

Exhibits B & C: Neither of which I would like looking back at me.

So am I just being pedantic, or does someone need to give Jared Leto a culinary education? If he wants to start at Yauatcha, I’ll quite happily volunteer.

<Sushi sweets from Saucy via Paper-, platter from ulteriorepicure>