One of my favorite works of American art is the photograph Wall Street, taken in 1915 by Paul Strand. The photo, of workers walking by the J.P. Morgan & Co. building in New York City is full of sharp angles, bold contrast, almost anonymous in its depiction of urban commute and symbols of power and wealth. It’s stunningly complex and completely simple. A city full of life that feels so cold.
Much of the Precisionism movement was of this cold industrial and urban landscape, structures that looked impossible, depicted in an almost cold reality. But they also were totems of progress and potential, of machines and shapes. The lines are harsh and straight. The colors are bold and brash.
Japanese painter Motonori Uwasu is the anecdote to the early 20th century American movement. His paintings, on view now at Moosey Norwich in a new show called Landscapes, have obtuse angles, oblong shapes, buildings and automobiles that almost seem to quiver in the wind. In the spirit of Precisionism, the works do feature the likes of everyday structures, gas stations, grocery stores, Japanese urban-suburbia. His works have a warmth, though, something that is like a video game memory of childhood road trips, or those simple trips with your parents to the store on a weekday afternoon, sitting in the back of the car, daydreaming. That is where I see Moto, a daydreamer in the backseat. —Evan Pricco
Q: I want to know where you start an image from? Are you working from memory or from a photo? Or, maybe a mix of all of this, like make believe places, all your imagination?
A: I look at photos I've taken myself, and photos from the Internet. I then combine them with my own imagination. Sometimes the resulting artwork is similar to the photos, and sometimes it's completely different.
Q: You have this very beautiful relationship to the automobile. You paint it as if it's this elongated form of the future, but the actual cars themselves are from a more retro, 1980s cinema aesthetic. Can you talk about the importance of cars in your work?
A: Cars started appearing in my artwork a few years ago. And, I think, cars are almost always present in modern landscapes. A landscape without cars feels a little eerie, like a town without people. Although people don't appear in my artwork, cars appear in their place.
I don't know much about cars, however. I don't own a car myself, and I don't have any particular interest in them.
My creative process is strongly linked to my memories of riding in the car, driven by my parents, when I was a child. I still clearly remember the impressions of the scenery I saw from the car window at that time. The cars I depict might be the cars I saw when I was a child.
Q: I think also, the cars and the movement seem to hold a lot of weight. What does the movement mean in your work?
A: The works I create are not always dramatic. They depict a somewhat idyllic, toy-like world. The toy cars are very cute and rickety, and not at all aggressive. That's the kind of movement they have.
Q: One of the things I have found profound in your paintings in the past is that the places that the cars are taking you are humble, mundane places: gas stations, department stores, roadside coffee houses. You just mentioned how some of your paintings are memories of being in the car with your father and mother, I assume around Osaka, and the snapshots of life that you saw out the car window. Where are, what are these places you paint?
A: The landscapes and motifs I choose to depict are mostly ordinary places in my neighborhood. Sometimes I paint places I've never been to before, but they are places that have a similar feel. Many of them are scenes from my daily life, like the view on the way to the supermarket. When I was a child, my parents often took me to gas stations and coffee shops.
The scenery I see now may not have changed much since then. I can't lie about my own life, memories, and experiences.
Q: It seems as if the color palette changed in your recent works. They are less bright, more earth tone, and more, I want to say “elegant,” but maybe that’s too reductive. Have you been conscious of the change and the direction?
A: The city of Osaka where I live, especially the residential areas, doesn't have much color. I'm not trying to portray those areas faithfully, but I don't try to dramatize them any more than that. I think I'm able to portray them more honestly than before. If I go to a colorful city, my work will be colorful as well.
Q: I have never been to Higashiosaka, but I have read that there are many factories there, one of the highest ratios of factories in Japan. Does the city itself, with both its manufacturing and technology industries being side-by-side, play into the way you paint? Like this almost futuristic but aging infrastructure?
A: I have lived most of my life in Higashi-Osaka. This city is home to many craftsmen, each specializing in making screws and various other parts. These objects are incredibly beautiful, futuristic yet very analog. I have been greatly influenced by the atmosphere and scenery of this city.
My preference for depicting artificial objects, such as cars and buildings, is probably also a result of this influence. I don't consider artists to be special beings; I see myself as just another resident of this town, like everyone else.
Unfortunately, with the changing times and the aging population, many factories have disappeared. My work will likely change as well in the future.
Q: Not to change the subject, but you have seven cats! What are their names?
A: Gon, Saku, Uni, Haru, Puu, Roku and Maroni. These seven cats are a family and were rescued from under a highway near our neighborhood.
Q: I have interviewed a few artists recently that have cats, and they like how cats choose when they want affection, choose when they want attention. I imagine this is something you experience and probably enjoy as an artist?
A: That was exactly the case with the cats I used to own. However, the cats I currently have don't seem to like being the center of attention because they're not yet used to humans. They run away as soon as I get close to them. So, I always pretend not to notice them and just keep painting.
