A full moon, a sunset, a city like an ocean, a sea of stars
Tokyo, you are beautiful
Konnichiwa friends!
Last week I left Aomori drenched in thick snow, Tomo and Kai helping me to pull my heavy suitcase up to the car park on a sledge like Santa and his helpers, my drawing ‘Confluence’ rolled up in a ski bag.
After the relative seclusion of ACAC, Tokyo hit with a blast of full sensory overload; lights, noise, people, movement all coming at once from every direction. It’s thrilling, once you relax into it. Because although it’s overwhelming, there’s no sense of threat or danger. Things mostly function, and although getting around on the Tokyo subway takes a bit of figuring out, I found that my few words of Japanese are enough to communicate the absolute basics when I need help.
I remain, however, firmly tethered to Google maps, in a state of mild terror that my ancient and glitchy phone will conk out on me somewhere deep in the maze with no idea how to navigate back to my hotel.
This is a city full of art, and I know I can only scratch the surface in these few days, but one exhibition I’d been recommended to see was at the Mori Art Museum, a gallery on the 51 floor of a skyscraper in Rippongi. “What passes is Time. We are eternal” is a poetically titled exhibition of artists either active in Japan now, or with Japanese roots, that considers the preciousness and transience of time.
A beautiful, huge full moon hung over the neon-lit streets as I ventured out to explore around my hotel that first evening, and it must have lingered with me as I kept seeing its echo the next day; there are over one hundred works in the exhibition but the two that most transfixed me seemed to reflect the image of the moon, that bright beacon of times and tides.
Of Oki Junko’s embroidered works, one in particular sung out at me like the full moon, or a single cell, or a plant stem or bone in cross-section under a microscope, or a frayed lace doily, or all of these at once. Made from threads and scraps of fabric inherited from her seamstress mother and grandmother, Junko’s embroideries intricately stitch layers of time together, dense with love, care, craft and patience.
A.A. Murakami’s large-scale installation The Moon Under the Water, is made out of soap bubbles and smoke operated by an AI-written operating system, but it transcends technology to become a contemplation of life’s transience. The delicate and luminous pearlescent bubbles catch the light briefly, driven by the moving air, before vanishing, literally, in a puff of smoke.
After a long immersion in art, I ascended the building further to the viewing observatory on the 52nd floor of the building. I was planning to get a brief overview of the city before plunging back into its flow, but I ended up staying there for hours.
At first, I was struck by an odd familiarity. The sunlight glinting off the millions of roofs that stretched to the horizon felt oddly familiar, as if I was back home standing on the cliffs at Yesnaby gazing out to sea. But this sea was a city, an ocean of some 37 million souls.
As I lingered, the Sun began to set, silhouetting Mount Fuji in the distance and turning the sky the same shades of indigo and coral red that I was to see in the Ukiyo-e woodcuts of Utagawa Hiroshige the very next day.
Slowly the light drained out of the sky and the city started to light up with millions upon millions of tiny pin-pricks of light, like an inverted night sky, a Milky Way of humanity, stretching to the horizon in every direction, each one a person, a room, a car, a journey made, a dinner cooked and eaten, a child doing homework, an office worker finishing a report, a tradesman driving home, a taxi driver looking for a fare, millions of commuters dozing homewards on trains, buses, subways. I was awestruck, completely unexpectedly, moved to tears.
Eventually I had to descend again, in a lift that shot down so fast my ears popped and my head spun, to make my way to Teamlab Borderless, an interactive digital installation. More spectacle than art, perhaps, but I’d heard it was worth experiencing. Again, my expectations were confounded. I suppose I was expecting a video game or Manga vibe, but the ever-changing visuals draw heavily from the traditions of Japanese art and calligraphy. Sophisticated projection mapping sends tendril-like brushmarks, shoals of tiny fish, cherry blossom petals or Hokusai-like breaking waves swirling across floors and walls from room to room in a kaleidoscoping full-immersion that often feels serene and dream-like.
The Crystal Room held me the longest. The mirrored walls, floor and ceiling creating an infinite shimmering web of lights like a physical manifestation of the Jewel Net of Indra, a Buddhist metaphor for the web-like, interconnected nature of existence. I thought of the web of winking lights I’d just seen as the Sun set over this great city and of the complex interdependencies of everyday urban life, and again a great surge of emotion caught me unawares. I stayed until closing time when I was ushered out.
The videos on the offical website do a far better job of capturing the experience than my crappy old phone camera but I took this just before they had to fling me out.
I made my way back to the subway station and stood baffled at the ticket machine, my brain too overstimulated to take in any information or figure out where I was going and how much to pay. I gave up and hailed a taxi, an extravagance that topped off the day with a sail through the neon drenched streets of Shibuya district, set even more a-sparkle by the long avenues of trees bedecked with Christmas fairy lights, while a blaring television screen in the cab advertised at me loudly and constantly all the way. Back at my hotel, I immediately flopped into a blessedly dreamless, deep sleep.
After a further day exploring peaceful shrines, glass-and-steel streets crammed with people, hushed museums and busy galleries, today I’m glad of a quiet morning in a chilled-out café with good WiFi and excellent coffee to catch up on some work and gather my wits.
By the time you read this I will be cruising at 37,000 feet, on my way home to Orkney.
In the meantime, thanks so much for following along!
Jaa, mata! じゃあ、また
Sam
P.S. A quick reminder that there is no Life Raft co-working while I am in Japan. I’ve had some people asking why it’s not running – it would be the middle of the night here! We will be relaunching in the New Year so watch this space.
P. P. S. Oh, and a wee reminder for those in or near Edinburgh that I have a painting, “Winter Sun” currently on show in the exhibition ‘Nature Turns’ at the Royal Scottish Academy.
Aaah I love every Substack I read of yours. Wonderful. Thank you for sharing your words and your incredible art with us!
Thank you for taking the time to share your experiences in Japan, it’s been great to follow along on your journey and very moving to read this last post. Safe travels home!