At the TU in Delft his 'limp tower' stands, swaying in the wind, sometimes cute, sometimes dangerous. In Japan, he searches for similarities with his work, but is caught by the virus that has infected all Japanese artists.
The house where I am staying is beautifully situated on the lake between the hills. Behind it you see the snowy mountain tops. It is rainy season so everything is overwhelmingly green. I sleep on a futon, in a room with tatami mats. I eat with chopsticks from handmade pottery. I live in the clichéd image of Japan and strangely enough that gives me great satisfaction. Japan has been on my wish list for years, because I see similarities with my way of working. I strive for aesthetics, for technical perfection, my work is labour-intensive and I study how nature and culture can both clash and merge at the same time. Now that I have the opportunity to work there, I want to explore those similarities; are they really there and where do they come from?
The intention is that I will make a large work for the festival. I will use the first days of my stay to explore the area, looking for starting points and possible locations. The theme of the festival this year is the birth of water ritual. The Japanese word for ritual or festival is Matsuri, in combination with water and sea this word also stands for lake and womb. I am enormously attracted to the lake. Life on earth started in the water. Where the water was warmed by the sun, the first forms of life could arise. This is reflected in the shallow edges of the lake, which are teeming with newborn fish.
On one of my exploratory trips, I come across a strange animal, sitting in the tall grass, staring at me motionlessly. I stare back and wonder if it is a big dog, or maybe a wolf. Actually, the beast most resembles 'Alf', from that American comedy series in the 1980s. I take a picture of the beast so I can ask someone what it is. It turns out to be a Kamoshika, a forest chamois that only exists in Japan and is protected. I am happily praised, as most Japanese have never seen one.
Looking at the lake, I am enchanted by the wave patterns in the water surface. I would like to make something that makes these complex movements more visible. I am thinking of a field of large floats with elongated stems, that magnify the wave patterns as if they were meters. I make several models to test the effect. They do not produce the desired effect. It is a chaotic image of wobbling sticks. I discover that they are moved more by the wind than by the wavy water surface and have to abandon the idea.
I start every day meditating between the trees near the house. I notice that nature has a very strong presence here, much stronger than in Europe. It seems to have consciousness. It is strange, but in Japan nature seeks contact with you, instead of the other way around. I start to understand why nature plays such a big role in Japanese art. I now also understand why Shinto has its origin here and I recognize myself in it. As a child I also had the idea that everything around me was animated. And when I look at my work now, I try to give it life through movement as well. The animism that I learned to label as primitive is still very much alive here, and moreover the most normal thing in the world. Here they are not surprised if you have been singing with a tree. Here they bring their discarded mobile phone to the temple, to release the spirit. That's a completely different way of dealing with the material world and I like it.
I discover that the floats I used for the sticks show the wave movements of the water very well and are not hindered by the wind. That offers new perspectives. I investigate what shape and size the floats should have and in what pattern they should be connected, to have enough freedom of movement. Then it is time to investigate the overall form and thus give meaning to the work.
Japan has strong traditions and the many festivals are an expression of this. In mid-September is the Tsuki Mi harvest festival, which literally means 'moon watching'. In the evening, people look at the moon, preferably reflected in the water, and eat rice cakes. The Japanese see the moon as the image of a hare pounding rice into flour. It is a fertility festival and it is said that just looking at the moon can lead to pregnancy. The moon as a fertility symbol, the moon that influences all the water on earth and determines the tides. Even in prehistoric times people looked at the moon and marveled and they still do. Now I know what I want. I want to create a permanent reflection of the moon in the water, which offers beauty and solace.
I start with the execution. To prevent the crescent moon from being dwarfed by the lake, it will have a diameter of no less than 20 metres and consist of 1111 flexibly connected silver triangles. In such a case I'm glad of my background as an industrial designer and that I can still achieve some efficiency with the limited means of production available to me here. Even so, it's not all plain sailing. I work outside under a party tent. That's good against the sun, but if there's a heavy rainfall all my freshly painted triangles end up in the water. During the day it is so hot, that I can only glue in the cool of the early morning, because otherwise the glue is already dry before it is applied. I work from 6 in the morning until 10 in the evening. Because of the repetitive movements (all times 1111), after a few days my joints start to inflame. When I am working, I am doing this with all my heart and soul and apparently with too much tension in my body. I have to find a solution if I want to continue working. To get my energy flowing better, I try to practice meditations I know from the healing tao while working. I have to learn a new kind of multitasking. That is not
It's not easy, but it works and fortunately I know how to avoid failure. I also feel that through the repetitive actions and meditating, I am slowly beginning to experience what the state of Zen can be. It makes me feel even closer to Japan. I do notice that I am seriously losing weight because of all the hard work, and I have to use a rope to prevent my trousers from dropping.
In Japan, everything goes by the rules. Many of them are unwritten and give Japan an unfathomable character. A number of them are clear and that means that permission has to be obtained for everything. Artists who have their eye on a spot in the woods have to wait to find out who the owner is and whether he gives permission. Sometimes that can take a long time. This is also the case with my location on the lake, where not only the government but also the professional fishermen have an important voice. Three days before my work was due to be installed, I received word that the location had been approved.
It's quite an adventure to get my work into the water and into place, but it works. I am overjoyed. And then Japan shows her most beautiful side. The moon has only just started to reflect and I hear singing coming from across the water. A traditionally built reed boat with a priestess on it is approaching. She consecrates my moon while singing. I have goose bumps and tears in my eyes. Nature, too, has its way with me. Half an hour later a short storm comes out of nowhere. It tests my work and proves that it is strong enough. But better still, it shows how beautifully the 1111 triangles move with the violent waves on the lake. It's an insanely exciting image, what a gift.
Looking back, I made an intense connection with nature, entirely in style with the Japanese tradition. It was unexpected, but as I now know, also inevitable. This text by Rabindranath Tagore puts it perfectly: "The artist is the lover of nature, therefor he is her master and her slave".
Towards the end of my stay, Japanese people sometimes ask me what I miss the most from home. They expect me to say a cheese sandwich. But what I miss the most, is high doors. Most doors here are 10 cm lower than I am. As the day progresses I walk more and more crookedly and I still regularly bump my head. Even in supermarkets the billboards are hanging in a way that you can tell from the trail of swinging signs where I've been. Japan suits me, but I don't fit in Japan yet.
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