Konoike Tomoko: Inter-Traveller

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“First off. Get outside. Then go so far away that you start regretting coming to such a spot. Do something really difficult, and somehow or other, make your way back home.”
-Tomoko Konoike

Of all the art exhibits that I visited this summer, Tomoko Konoike’s Konoike Tomoko: Inter-Traveller (sic) was the most compelling, visionary, and delightful. Today was the last day of this exhibit. As usual, my timing is impeccably bad, but you’ll be able to see her latest exhibit, Twelve Wolf Poets, at my favorite sculpture park, the Hakone Open Air Museum, from October 9.

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Konoike flexes her artistic versatility in a multi-room exhibition that reads like a fairy tale adventure. There are delicate paintings on paper doors, animation videos, sculpture made of all kinds of materials, mosaics, murals, paintings, light designs, and even furniture.

Two animated videos were projected on books as if the books came to life. One was a creation mythology and the other was an Odyssey of Mimeo, a haunting faceless childlike character. Mimeo is an innocent wanderer, often traveling with a six-legged wolf. The wolf acts as a totem, along with streams of flying daggers, and also a bee girl. These motifs recur throughout the exhibit.

The path through the rooms/worlds mirrors the creation myth journey of Mimeo. Often, the transition between these rooms required the viewer to pass through low curtained entrances, change levels, or enter darkness.

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In the first room, which was veiled in white, there was a massive winged figure with dragonfly wings, that’s perhaps giving birth. A pair of legs stuck out of what can only be described as a vaginal opening. The bare child’s legs had on a pair of sneakers, and this image can be seen throughout the works. There was even a pair of the same disembodied legs sitting on a bench in the museum lobby.

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The second room was red. It had four large panels on each wall. To enter this room you had to pass through a low red curtained entrance. The paintings were vivid and spectacular.

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Another room was an installation with a surreal dioramic landscape. There was an enormous revolving baby head surfaced with broken mosaic mirror shards.  Around it was a shipwrecked boat, a miniature mountain and flittering winged creatures overhead. Sooo cool.

I thoroughly enjoyed the imaginative presentation of the art, and appreciated the integration of all the pieces into one interactive cohesive journey. It was as if I walked through a fantastical theatre performance.

“Don’t sit there gazing at a painting…get outside and feel the wind. Don’t mutter the lines of some old poem, get moving and create some friction. If you don’t keep playing, traveling all around and causing all kinds of friction, until you’re so tired you can’t speak, you’ll never stoke the fires of a robust imagination.”

The E.N.D.

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I went to the Blacked Eyed Peas’ The E.N.D World Tour concert in Saitama, suburbs north of Tokyo, on the autumnal equinox. It was my first big arena concert experience in Japan. And it was their last show in Japan, after playing for five straight nights.

I went with my buddy Kaz, who was giddy with excitement, even though he’s a veteran of the megaconcert.  He was like a teenage girl at a Jonas Brothers concert.  And quite honestly, so was I.  Before the concert, he was asking me starstruck questions like, “So what do you think Fergie is doing right now?”  And, “Do you think they’re nervous?”  I gave him smart-ass answers like, “They’re probably snorting coke and getting serviced by groupies.”

Isn’t that what rock stars do?  But truthfully, they were probably just chillin’ in their dressing rooms, eating fruit, giving each other back rubs, and writing poetry.

Here are my impressions of the concert: Continue reading

Unpeeling the Apple

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I’ve been using an Apple computer for about 25 years. Macs and I go back a long, long way. This past weekend, I bought my 4th Mac. So allow me to wax nostalgic on my long marriage to this line of tasty fruit.

Though my family couldn’t afford one in the 80’s, I still got to use them at school. Actually, very few people had computers then. Back then, Apple was the preferred computer in education, and the computer rooms were lined with them.

Macs through the years

It’s hard to imagine how we managed to publish the high school newspaper using these machines. The hard drive memory of the Mackintosh 128k could easily be filled with one of today’s tiny thumbnail photos. A stack of floppy discs wouldn’t even be able to store one Youtube clip.  It makes me smile to look at this clunky, green screened creature.

The first Mac that I owned was a Performa. These desktops were produced during a dark period of Apple history, when Steve Jobs was ousted from Apple’s board. The design was kind of boring, though better than whatever was offered by other brands, and Microsoft was pretty good at copying Apple’s operating system.

Macs through the years

The processor on the Performa hadn’t even hit a 100MHz. Now you can get a computer that hums past 3GHz, which as I understand it is about a bazillion times faster. I remember the debate, when purchasing the Performa, was whether to get it with 8 megabytes of RAM or splurge for the 16 megs. That’s just laughable now, eclipsed by machines with gigabytes of memory.

Macs through the years

My second Mac was the elegant, muscular (at the time) Powerbook. I loved this laptop. It was serious and sturdy. I still have it and it still works except for the loose power casing, where the power cord plugs in. I’d have gotten the casing replaced except for the fact that by the time I finished my Masters with it, the laptop was hopelessly outdated with a hard drive memory of 2 gigs. That wouldn’t even be enough for a movie.  Plus the repair costs were more than the worth of the whole thing.

The iBook was my third Mac. When it died in February, I wanted to replace the hard disc drive and get a few more years out of it. I had a grand time performing brain surgery on T’s old iBook before passing it on to a friend, and was gratified to keep one laptop out of the landfill. Even if it took me 4 hours dismantling it.

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But the compatible hard disc drive was not available in Japan. I scoured all the big box electronics stores and wandered around Japanese web sites trying to find one.

So I waited all summer for the newest Apple operating system to be released to buy a new Mac. And it was worth the wait.

Like every Apple product, even the box it came in was beautiful. I noticed that all the Styrofoam of previous packages was eliminated in line with Apple’s attempts at reducing its environmental footprint. This is great to be sure, but it’s dwarfed by the impact of producing a computer, and later disposing of it.

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I’m more than a little troubled by this. And I don’t know what to say about it. I’m too enmeshed in feeling like I need a laptop to function. So I’ve tried to use them until their last gasps. On the other hand, after my iBook broke down earlier this year, I found that after a short period of panicked withdrawal, I was enjoying being offline. Until concerned friends and family were worried that they hadn’t heard from me and other obligations forced me to use T’s MacBook.

It’s good to know that when civilization collapses, I’ll be okay. In the meantime, I’ll keep this Mac for as long as I can.

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The Moment of Silence

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The clearest memory I have of 9/11 actually occurred one year after the attacks. In 2002, I had arrived at Heathrow Airport in London and was waiting for my connecting flight to Leeds. I had just retired from dance and was about to embark on a totally different direction in my life, entering academia in a country I imagined was a cross between a Dicken’s novel and a Hugh Grant movie.

Of course, I was aware that I was traveling on the first anniversary of 9/11. There was much fuss on the news about air travel leading up to that day. But I was more excited about being in Europe for the first time and starting an adventure.

By accident, my brief layover at Heathrow coincided with the exact time of the attacks from the year before. I was groggy from the 14 hour plane ride, the time change, and agitated by the cigarette smoke that seemed to be everywhere. A woman announced over the loudspeakers that in a few seconds it would be the anniversary of the attacks. She asked us to observe 2 minutes of silence to honor the victims.

Heathrow is the busiest airport in Europe by far, and the 3rd busiest in the world. Yet, for those next two minutes everyone stopped working. Passengers from all over the world stopped walking, or looked up from their newspapers. No one said a word. Even the children seemed to understand the gravity of the moment. I didn’t even hear a phone ring until well into the 2nd minute. I was stunned.

And moved. And humbled.

During those minutes, I felt a global energy of good will and empathy directed at Americans. It was like Britain had my back. And many other countries came to offer support and condolences in that brief memorial service. I sensed that the US could enter an era of openness and compassion with the world community. But that good energy would be squandered over the next 6 years through pointless wars, domestic paranoia, and building walls to keep the world outside.

It was an unfortunate path. But I don’t think it’s too late to get back to that other path. I think that the world would have our back again if we let them.

Stitch by Stitch

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My image of fabric art has been clouded by vague impressions of shaggy rug hangings, unsatisfying yarny concoctions, and heaps of twine or rope symbolizing something or other. But that all changed when I went to Stitch by Stitch, an exhibition of Japanese fabric artists at the Teien Art Museum (one of my favorites in Tokyo).

For starters, I saw that the use of fabric could be as incomprehensible as any of the finest in abstract impressionism. That pieces of clothing could be so laden with decoration that it would firmly cross over from fashion into art, like the ominous bejeweled cape that was in a dimly lit room. Or that it could literally envelop the viewer in sheer bright red curtains of knotted lace. Continue reading