Yama-chan, who are you?

A human being.

You were one grade above me, but we were both born in 1968. What year did you move to the U.S.?

It was 1994.

We had a farewell party at the Hard Rock Café. I actually have a video of it, but I’ve been looking and still can’t find it.
According to your profile, you got your master’s degree from Alfred University in 1997. What kind of school is Alfred University?

It’s in New York State, not near New York City, but in a really rural town, rather closer to Toronto, Canada. The New York State College of Ceramics is historically known for its specialization in the ceramic arts program, which is merged with Alfred University. It has since expanded to become an art school.

Even though you barely spoke English, you didn’t go to a language school; you jumped straight into studying ceramics. I remember talking to Shin-chan (SKATE THING) about how impressive it was that you just went to New York and got accepted into a university like that.

I got by with my only tool, smiling (laughs).

You got through it with a smile.

I grew up in Tokyo, specifically in Kiyose, where you could still witness small farmland back then. But when I arrived in Alfred, I could see cows across the street from the apartment I rented. This was quite shocking. I spent three years there.

From what I know, after that you went to Knox College? Then Minnesota?

After I received my master’s degree, I completed a one-year residency at the University of Massachusetts and was hired as an assistant professor at Knox College in Illinois.
*1 An artist residency program where creators stay at a university for a set period to engage in creative activities.

I brought my old Knox College T-shirt today. So, what made you decide to go to the U.S. in the first place?

I believe it was in 1992 that I saw an Isamu Noguchi exhibition at the National Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo, and it completely blew me away. But there was so much I didn’t understand, and I wanted to understand what I didn’t understand. That desire was so strong, it pushed me to go to the U.S.

So Isamu Noguchi was one of the key inspirations.

At the exhibition, I saw this guy in a white tank top explaining something to two students, something like, “Look at this, this thickness here is important.” I was so curious and moved closer to listen. He looked like an artist who had just come straight from the studio. I understood what he was trying to say, but not on a deep level. That made me want to study more. I wanted to see more and really understand.

You were already working with ceramics around that time, right?

Yeah, I started ceramics in college. I sometimes tell my students that there are many different paths in life. For example, I didn’t start ceramics because I was fascinated by it at first.
I didn’t believe in the high-pressure studying situation we had to go through to get into college in Japan. Then I found out there were art schools, and I thought, maybe I could aim for. So I started studying drawing. I originally wanted to enter the design program, but it was very competitive. The ceramics program had lower competition, and I thought, “Well, I like working with my hands, and I’ve done some clay work in my elementary school—maybe I can make it through four years.” So I entered a liberal arts college to study ceramics within the Art Department.
Over time, I gradually became more interested; I remember seeing ceramicist Tokuro Kato’s work in a magazine and thinking, “Who is this guy!?” He even got in trouble for forging Kiseto ware—he was a total legend. I also admired Toyozo Arakawa, who was deeply drawn to Shino ware from the Momoyama period and was later designated a Living National Treasure. I loved his Shino tea bowl.
*2 Pottery produced in the Mino region during the Momoyama period, characterized by a pale yellow glaze.

Shino has those amazing white cracks.

In tea ceremony culture, there are unexpected rules. For example, the crescent-shaped foot (mikazuki kodai)^*3, where the inner and outer trimming lines don’t align, creating a crescent moon shape. Technically, it’s not considered a successful technique at the basic level, but in the world of tea, this is celebrated. That idea had a strong influence on me. I also found the boundary stones^*4 used in tea gardens to be quite mystical. But up until then, half my life had been all about skateboarding, so I didn’t yet understand where skateboarding and ceramics might intersect.
*3 A ring-shaped support that is attached to the bottom of a bowl, pot, etc.
*4 A stone used as a sign indicating not to proceed beyond this point on the path leading to a teahouse

At that point, skateboarding wasn’t connected at all, right?

What I'd always loved was punk rock and skateboarding. On the other hand, I began to become interested in the traditional world of tea.
In a recent interview, what came out naturally, I found myself saying, “Just like Marcel Duchamp, skateboarding, or punk, the world of tea is radical too.”
Take the nijiriguchi (the small entrance to the tearoom) ^*5that Rikyu came up with; that’s a radical idea.
*5 This is the guest entrance to the tea room devised by Rikyu. Guests enter by bowing their heads and sneaking in, showing that everyone is equal in the tea room, regardless of rank or status. In addition, parring through the narrow nijiriguchi makes one aware of the mental separation from the outside world into the extraordinary space of the tea room, and also plays a role in enhancing the atmosphere of the tea ceremony.

The “nijiriguchi” is definitely avant-garde.

I don’t want to say that’s punk simply, but it’s interesting to think about those kinds of connections.

Breaking convention, that’s something both punk and Rikyu have in common. Even in tea ceremony, there are traditionists and avant-garde types.

I’m really drawn to the radical aspects of the traditional tea ceremony. I was shocked when I first saw the Koiga-Yaburebukuro^*6. It was a water jar that had a huge crack in it. It’s so powerful.
*6 An Iga-yaki (old Iga) pitcher. An unglazed pottery pitcher used for holding water in the tea ceremony. An important cultural property.

Yaburebukuro is avant-garde, for sure.

The theory of “avant-garde” didn’t exist in the Momoyama period, but it shares a similar spirit in terms of breaking the rules to push the boundary. Oh, by the way, when I applied to Alfred University, one of the pieces in my portfolio was a spray can I threw on the wheel and fired in a wood kiln.

You made a spray can out of ceramic? That’s so Yama-chan. Do you still have it?

No, I don’t have it anymore. I also made reconstructed vases, cutting them up and putting them back together. At the time, I was really into hip-hop, so my work had that sampling and mixing mindset. One American professor saw it and immediately said, “This is jazz.” That blew me away.

That’s totally avant-garde.

I’ve always felt that Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain” embodies the punk spirit. In 1917, the Exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists in New York allowed anyone to participate in their exhibition for a $6 fee. Duchamp submitted a urinal signed “R. Mutt,” but the exhibition committee rejected it, claiming it wasn’t art. Duchamp responded, “I didn’t make it, but I chose it.”
His intention was to challenge the traditional definition of art, which is tied to aesthetic value. But Duchamp paved a new path in Western art history.

There is no single standard for beauty.

He introduced the “concept” as an element in artwork. Speaking of which, do you know Constantin Brancusi’s “Bird in Space”?

Isamu Noguchi studied under Brancusi, right?

Yes, he did. And Brancusi and Duchamp were good friends. I think it was around 1912 when there was an aviation exhibition at the Grand Palais in Paris. Duchamp went with Brancusi and Fernand Léger, and they saw a propeller on display. Duchamp looked at it and said, “Can you do better than this?” For him, that was the moment painting died.

Kind of like, “punk is dead.”。

Brancusi had a background in craft, so his handwork skills were amazing. He was really driven by a sense of beauty. He also took photographs.

I didn’t know that.

When you compare Brancusi’s “Bird in Space” and Duchamp’s “Fountain, one seeks beauty while the other reject it; one is handcrafted, the other rejects the idea of hand-made.
And yet, the two were friends, and both works shared, at one point, their work wasn’t recognized as artwork. (“BIRD IN SPACE”, for example, was shipped from Paris for Brancusi’s solo exhibition in New York in 1927. But U.S. Customs refused to classify it as art, calling it an industrial object and placing a tax on it.)
This comparison is something I wanted to explore in my own work. My 2007 piece, “MORICE”, is a hybrid form, part Brancusi, part Duchamp.

I actually brought the miniature version that you gave me back then.