Makoto Fujimura (the way he uses gold)
He talks about the way he uses gold pigment on paper. The gold to point to divinity and the paper to point to humanity.
He agrees with the Japanese when they associate beauty with death; the minerals he uses for pigment must be “pulverized to bring out their beauty.” And it seems he believes that art has a role far beyond wall decor, coffee tables or even fuel for politically correct coffee house conversations.
At least this is what I’ve gathered by studying Makoto Fujimura’s essays, his art and his life in general.
Through his art, Fujimura has fused Japanese techniques with Western abstract expressionism. He was not only honored as the youngest artist to ever have a piece acquired by the Museum of Contemporary Art in Tokyo, but has also founded the International Arts Movement, the goal of which is to help artists work for the renewal of their culture.
Most interesting to me is what seems to drive his creativity. In his essay “Beauty without Regret,” he states:
Art cannot be divorced from faith, for to do so is to literally close our eyes to that beauty of the dying sun setting all around us. Death spreads all over our lives and therefore faith must be given to see through the darkness, to see through the beauty of “the valley of the shadow of death”.
Our culture, as it grows in cynicism is increasingly unwilling to listen to words. Differing viewpoints, divisive politics and liars for leaders have all played a part in our candid and open apathy. Art, according to Fujimura, is a way to recapture communication in our melting pot:
As we engage culture we need to be authentic, not slick and savvy. People are used to slick advertising campaigns, but they hunger for authenticity and grace. Before the 20th century, artists asked, “How do we depict a flower?” Then in the 20th century it changed to, “What is a flower?” And now the question is, “Can we even ask a question?” Because we’re in a time when everything has to be deconstructed and fragmented, even language itself is not trusted. So artists are asking questions about the nature of reality and the origin of language. They’re going back to the roots of why we do the things we do and asking who is responsible, who is the author.
The author is God.
Many times, I have grown frustrated at the start of paintings because I want my work to be exact replicas of my visions. I saw a gray sky and wanted to capture it on canvas, but was unable to mix my colors to the perfect natural monochrome. I saw a photograph in a marketing magazine of a girl in a red dress slumped against a green wall. I wanted to paint her thoughts, but could never seem to get into her head. The picture in the magazine wasn’t offering the thousand words it was supposed to. I ended up painting what looked like a floating red cat instead of the beautiful expression of loneliness I was aiming for.
I think my frustration comes from my desire for my work to be meaningful, to evoke emotions in its viewer and (on some selfish level) to provoke change.
When I throw paint on a canvas without a cause, I’m cheating.
Art should be so much more than an artist’s attempt to pass sloppy color combinations off as ingenuity and modernity. Music should be more than a lucky Garage Band experience, a musician’s attempt to pass screaming off as angst-ridden brilliance. Poetry, good poetry, should be more than rhythm and meter and rhyme. And, in my humble opinion, a person who expresses themselves through any art form should do so for the cause of beauty and nothing else.
Here’s Fujimura’s Costly Grace. What do you think?
