Mind and Matter: Interview with Kohei Nawa

You studied in both London and Kyoto in the late 1990s. How did each of those places influence your perspective on the arts? 

I completed my master’s degree at the Kyoto City University of Arts, but prior to that I spent seven months in London for an exchange program at the Royal College of Arts. That experience influenced me in a major way. Back in the ’90s, many young artists gathered in London, so the arts scene was very competitive and energetic, especially with the presence of the Young British Artists. I befriended Antony Gormley and Anish Kapoor and we often visited each other’s studios. After London, I started creating my own artworks. 

You’re known for the use of various materials in your works, including glass spheres in the PixCell series (2009– ) and silicon carbide powder in Particle (2017). How does materiality—especially when digitalized through techniques such as 3D printing—inform your process of creation?

Traditionally, sculpture is connected with materials such as wood and stone, fiber-reinforced plastic and resin. I think it is more interesting if I don’t restrict myself to such materials. I consider the possibility of different kinds of materials and how broadly they can be applied in my creations. Whether it is iron, stone, or wood, all materials contain various forms—but most of the time we only understand one aspect of the material. For example, water can be mist or ice, and in different temperatures, you can also create different forms of water. I would like to explore this range. 

Sometimes I visualize an image, and then try to find the materials to realize that image. I tend to use lighter materials for my new works. Sometimes the new materials that I encounter inspire me and give me new ideas. It depends on the project, and whether the material or the image comes first. 

In your new work Catalyst (2019), you used a glue gun to create a textured map-like pattern. How did this type of experimental “painting” evolve?

I started drawing with a ballpoint pen when I was a student. I used a special kind of paper that doesn’t absorb water to create “cells.” The gel ink then becomes liquid, flowing, and stays on top of the paper. I was thinking of ways to expand this idea into painting, so I experimented with a glue gun. It’s a drawing, but at the same time it’s also a sculpture—a very thin one—that you can touch. It looks and grows like living cells. 

You also experiment with traditional paint itself. In the Direction series (2012– ), you tilted the canvas on the wall and poured pigment onto the top section, allowing the paint to fall vertically. Thus the straight and thin parallel lines are essentially created by gravitational forces. You use a similar technique in the Moment series (2014– ), where you drop ink onto the canvas like a Foucault pendulum. Could you talk a little about your interests in space and gravitational forces? 

I have been fascinated with astronomy since I was little—I used to observe stars at nighttime. We have only begun to truly understand gravity in recent years. Looking at this research, we might be able to understand the creation or the future development of the universe. There are many theories about the multiverse and our universe. One of the theories states that to understand gravity, we have to consider how the multiverse influences us. We are not able to understand gravity or explain this universe unless we take other parallel universes into account. If this is correct, then our world seems like a thin chip, and we are just a part of a much greater world.

This is why gravity is such a major theme in my work. For the Direction painting series, I combined water, pigment and retarder to create a solution that would dry slowly. I also used silicone oil to get rid of the bubbles. I tried different things to create this special kind of pigment­—it creates a fine line on the canvas that looks like a needle, or hair. For Moment I didn’t control the ink, but let it fall and move on the canvas freely.

How do you view the relationship between your works and architecture? There seems to be a shift in your recent practice, from making works for enclosed gallery spaces to large-scale public art projects—for example, the monumental Throne (2018) at the Pyramide of the Museé du Louvre. 

I feel that the architecture of the Pyramide of the Museé du Louvre embodies many meanings for the city of Paris. It’s a transparent pyramid through which you can enter the Louvre. On one hand, when looking at the pyramid, you see the modern present, but then when you go down into the exhibition halls, you see the past in the ancient civilization collections of the Louvre. I liked this idea, so I created Throne with two faces: one looking to the present, or future; and the other looking down into the past. Since the Louvre collection is also made up of many treasures of the French royal family, I was thinking about what power and authority meant back then, and how computers and artificial intelligence could be seen as the new authority today and in the future.

Previously, you’ve mentioned your fascination with manga artist and film director Katsuhiro Otomo and your love for sci-fi films, such as Blade Runner (1982). How do these anime or films shape or inspire your work?

I love and really respect Otomo-san’s works. I was just drinking with him a few days ago. He really had a great impact on me when I was a child—he was like one of my heroes. When I was young, I tried to draw from his manga. Although he works in a different genre to myself, he is very creative and he changed the history of manga.

Next year will be the Tokyo Olympics, which happens to be the setting for Otomo’s Akira (1988). The story explores the possibilities of the human body. The use of performance-enhancing drugs in the film is very interesting to me, and it is also an inspiration for several series such as Particle. Otomo-san called me two days ago and said that I should drink with him after I return to Japan. Hollywood producers are going to make a live-action version of Akira, and I would really like to work with Otomo-san on it. 

This year, you collaborated with Belgian-French choreographer Damien Jalet for the performance Vessel (2019). To me, it looks very much like a kinetic sculpture composed of human bodies moving on stage. How did you come up with the idea? What was it like working with Jalet? 

The performance is a metaphor for life and death. Life emerges and grows up from the soil, but when it dies, it returns to the earth. In gravity, everything is pulled down to earth equally; everything falls, including water. Water can become a river or the sea, but it can also be represented in a drop. 

Damien has many images and ideas in his head. In our discussions, he never stops talking. Whenever I asked him questions, he would give me more than ten answers, but he also provided different types of creative stimulation that way. Performance is totally different from sculpture—it’s about transformation, and you have to consider the lighting changes and the timing. Different scenes happen in the same place, so it’s very different from an exhibition. It was a challenging experience but I enjoyed it.