
While searching for other artists' work to inspire me, I found the group exhibition 'Reverb' at Stephen Friedman Gallery
I was purely interested in the title, as it starts with 'Re-', and is a word I haven't heard. According to the press release,
.... the exhibition takes inspiration from Michael Veal's (Professor of Ethnomusicology at Yale University) description of dub music and its use of reverb as a "sonic metaphor for the condition of diaspora". Reverb is an effect that occurs when sonic waves bounce off surfaces and create a series of echoes that gradually fade away, making the listener feel like they are physically enveloped by sound.
I suppose loosely, I could also be categorised as a Japanese diaspora as I left the country. So, I wanted to see how artists responded to this phrase.
The space was filled with hanging sculptures, textile works, drawings, and paintings. As you would expect from the title, there was a sound installation, and the sound vibration spread in the space.
Some artists used objects and materials with significant cultural meaning, and other artists visualised events, scenes, and figures from their experiences and cultures. This inspired me to use materials related to my hometown or Japan for my work.

Then, while I was at the "Monet and London. Views of the Thames" exhibition at The Courtauld Gallery, I read Monet's words: "... fog, sunlight, smoke, coal particles, steam these create the atmospheric view, dissolve the solid forms of the city bridges and buildings." For him, these things symbolised modernity, and he saw beauty in them. For example, sulphur in the air created a yellow colour in the air for Monet. Today, these things symbolise the deterioration of the natural environment due to human activities, and we are trying to reduce it. In this case, the air pollution is recontextualised as a medium to create a beautiful vista for the artist.
He repeatedly painted the same scenery, such as Charing Cross Bridge, Waterloo Bridge and the Houses of Parliament to capture the different lights created by fog, smog and clouds. He also noted that London is most beautiful in winter because of fog, changing lights and clouds. We often complain about the grey winter sky here, but I understand what Monet said. I think the grey sky makes the green and other colours softer, delicate and gentle. The strong and harsh sunlight I experienced in Australia makes everything look vivid and energetic but creates a strong dark shadow behind them. I think it comes down to personal preference, and I see and feel beauty in the colours under the grey sky that are closer to the colour palettes I grew up with. So, I will utilise these colour palettes for my piece for the 'Re-' project, considering it is likely my inward-looking, back-to-my-roots work.

Interestingly, I came across a Japanese American artist's work by chance at the Alison Jacques Gallery. They had Lenore Tawney & Toshiko Takaezu: Remarkable Friendship exhibition. Through Takaezu's ceramic work and Tawney's textile and sting work, casting beautiful shadows on the wall, I felt reconnected to my Japanese heritage. Since both artists have linked to Zen philosophy, they explore the nature and integration of art and life in simplistic ways.
Takaezu's enclosed ceramic contained poems or fragments that rattled inside. I felt this was very much a Japanese way of concealing emotions and expression but expressing them subtly by using metaphor and representation. While looking at her ceramics, I wondered what poems were concealed and imagined them from the look of the ceramics. Tawney's textile work cast beautiful shadows, and I kept looking at the lines and shapes of shadows, the white space between them, and imagining what they could be. This reminded me of the shadows on the Shoji door in my childhood - I sensed something or someone was there, but to imagine what could be from the shadow. This might be why I am fascinated by light and shadow and often want to create something incorporating light and shadow.

Again, by chance, I saw María Berrío: The End of Ritual exhibition at the Victoria Miro Gallery. I didn't realise until I looked closely at her work in the gallery. She uses layers of Japanese paper with brushmarks and coloured by hand for collage in her drawing. According to Berrío, it reflects cross-cultural connections and global migration. I was curious to know why she chose Japanese paper as a medium and if she has some connection to Japan, but I could not find it on the Internet.
Standing in front of her artwork, a pile of Japanese paper with my calligraphy and drawings at home appeared in my mind. My connection with Washi/和紙 (Japanese paper or rice paper in English) goes back to when I practised Japanese calligraphy as a child and experienced papermaking at a local traditional Japanese paper factory for a school excursion. Since I became serious about practising art for the last few years, I reconnected to my calligraphy practice and began mixing Japanese calligraphy and drawing. Through this process, I rediscover the beauty of the shades of Sumi ink, brushmarks, and ink bleed on rice paper.
Berrío's work showed me how traditional Japanese art could be combined with Western-style art forms, such as watercolour and charcoal drawing. I will definitely explore this approach in the 'Re-' project as it relates to me, living in a Western society with Japanese heritage. I felt that the collages of fragments of Japanese paper added a warm and delicate tactile quality to the somewhat chaotic scenes depicted in the work. Also, seeing the brushmark cut in half and crammed brushwork in a tight space, I felt a little uneasy. However, I guess Berro's work represents the world we live in today—people live away from their native countries, speak different languages, and bring their own culture to one place, like here in London.
These exhibitions and artists gave me further ideas and materials to consider for the 'Re-' project.
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