The Beauty, Horror, and Hallucinations of Keiichi Tanaami
The 82-year old artist discusses the influence
of the ‘60s and meeting Andy Warhol.
Earlier this year, about 15 Keiichi Tanaami paintings sat unsuspectingly in the corner of the Nanzuka booth for Hong Kong’s sixth annual Art Basel. They were away from big name pieces by Damien Hirst or Takashi Murakami which were attracting crowds of shutter-happy fans who were more eager to be seen with the artworks than they were to see the works themselves. Tanaami’s art on the other hand, was hard to look away from once it was in sight. It was Pop, erotic, violent, and psychedelic. Like the most beautiful bad dream.
And to the same effect that a dream could have, I couldn’t get Tanaami’s visuals out of my head for weeks. The paintings I had seen, were from a series called “Laughing Spider.” A series which I was shocked to learn was realized throughout 2017 and not some time during the ‘60s as I had imagined — simply because it reminded me of Richard Drew’s album artwork for Led Zeppelin III.
The paintings were unusual and fun to look at; in that there were so many familiar things, but presented in such an unfamiliar way. Where there was sun, there was not always sky. Flowers looked questioningly like genitals. There was a monstrous spider with curvaceous human legs and heels on. And cartoonish explosions were in almost every painting, paired with Lichtenstein-esque onomatopoeias like “VAROOM!”
There are a few critical life events which continue to influence the now 82-year old artist, who is still busy working and painting. First, he witnessed Japan during World War II as a child, which meant experiencing over a hundred fire bomb attacks on Tokyo, the dead bodies that came with it, and the unrecognizable scorched streets that would be left behind in the aftermath. When the war was over, and city life began to resume, Tanaami found himself out and enthralled by Kamishibai — a sort of street theatre where a storytellers would narrate plays alongside large, elaborate illustrations. He would often go out early to make sure he was sat in the front row. As he grew older, his love of Kamishibai became a love for film, and the artist would find himself going out to watch over 500 movies a year at the theatre.
Later in life, Tanaami studied design. He says he chose this over art because his parents strongly disapproved of him pursuing a career in that direction with the assumption that artists were "dirty, womanizing, drunken derelicts living in poverty." In school, he was such a unique talent that before he could graduate he was already in demand by magazines. Soon after he would become the first art director for Playboy Japan. And during the ‘70s, he was introduced to the artwork of Andy Warhol, who inspired him with his ability to transition from a commercial illustrator to an artist.
Fast forward to 1981, and Tanaami was suddenly near-death, hospitalized for four months — likely the result of a decade of exhaustion after countless nights drinking until morning, just to work in a delirious state the next day, and repeat. The artist was diagnosed with Pleurisy, a condition where fluid accumulates in the lungs and can lead to respiratory failure. His treatment had serious side effects, which meant experiencing bouts of fever and hallucinations every night for months. This too, would influence his artwork in the years to come, with motifs of death and figures he remembers from this altered state.
With the “Laughing Spider” Series still in mind, we interviewed the Tokyo-based
artist to discuss his original life aspirations of becoming a Manga artist, meeting
Andy Warhol, and his advice to other artists for surviving our ever accelerating consumer culture.
Mr. Tanaami, What brought you to the art world?
I was really interested in MANGA when I was in high school, especially Osamu Tezuka’s stuff (creator of Astro Boy), and I wanted to become a cartoonist (Manga-ka). One of my father’s friends from university was a Manga-ka. His name was Kazushi Hara, he was as popular as Osamu Tezuka then. My father brought me to his studio, and from there I began to learn Manga from him. But unfortunately he got sick and died of tuberculosis. Although my dream was to become a Manga-ka, my master, Hara’s death meant I was forced to enroll at the Musashino Art University, in the design department of MUSABI (Musashino Art University is commonly known “MUSABI”).
That sort of mentorship, where someone so young could study directly under such a big name Manga-Ka for Weekly Shonen Jump* seems like it would be impossible today. How did your parents feel about this, were they impressed or did they still disapprove?
* Weekly Shonen Jump is the best-selling, and longest running Manga anthology published in Japan.
Oh no. My parents hated what I was doing. It was because of the time though. I think nowadays, not as many parents are so opposed to their children going to art school. In my time, it was a completely out-of-question no matter what. My parents wanted me to take regular and proper courses in school, so they condemned me bitterly. But my desire for art was strong and was not yielded in spite of my parents.
Those who get into the creative industry, be it artists or photographers, they often have a difficult time getting a start in their career. Is this something you experienced as well, and how did you overcome it?
No, I’ve never felt that. Because I was deeply attached to art and manga, and I wasn’t good at anything other than drawing. But I can say that, my intense desire to become an artist was unconquerable and in reality it never got beaten down. Actually, since I was young, I had a lot of confidence in what I was doing. I just believed in my ability that I could make anything. I never stopped doing art.
You’re right. That said, you seem to have been working full-speed on art since your childhood, then into your career during the ‘60s, and even today. You manage to stay just as busy, and produce just as much work as ever. Where does your motivation come from?
I like the process of making things, itself. I can say that that’s my motivation. However
I think you can tell from my work, my ideas come faster than the actual production of
it, yes?
Definitely.
It’s a bit of a problem for me actually. Ideally, both my brain and my hands would work at the same pace, but it’s technically and physically impossible to draw that fast. But an American artist like Damien Hirst has numerous assistants, about a 100 or so to help him with his process. In fact, he’s usually not even involved in the production of his work.
In that sense, the speed that his work is created is close to the speed that he’s generating ideas.
Everything is consumed rapidly, including information. It requires us to be faster,
and create faster. Are you able to keep up? Are you ideas ever compromised
because of this?
Yes, I am, I long to make art. And if it’s not the way I intended, then there is no work.
How important are art shows to you?
What comes first is very simple. I like creating something rather than showing or selling to others. It’s a subsidiary aspect. I would continue to create my work, even if I didn’t have a space to show it in public.
I see.
Other artists though, they usually start their work when an exhibition is booked. They’ll rush to draw or paint something about a month before, and when it is over, they stop working for a while. Can we still call these people artists? I don’t think so. This is my work, which I make because I want to, whether it’ll go public or not.
In the ‘60s, a time where Hippie culture and Pop Art had emerged, you were just graduating university. Did the music or psychedelics of that era influence you at all then?
Yes, I think so, I was young. And I was really interested in those movements happening in America, and England and everywhere else.
You’ve mentioned Andy Warhol a couple times, have you met him personally? Was he an influence on your work at all?
Back in the day, there weren’t a lot of art books or magazines in Japan. There’d be the occasional one, but there really wasn’t much. There was an international book store in Ginza called IENA, which was famous for being one of the only shops to import books from overseas. People like myself, and film critic Jinichi Uekusa would go there often.
I once saw him there, and he had lost his step carrying a pile of books down some stairs in the middle of the shop. So me, and a boxer named Ushio Shinohara helped Mr. Uekusa up and gathered his books. It was then, that he asked if I was a painter, and he went on to show me an American magazine called, Art News. He opened it to show me a spread, and said “This is what’s happening in America right now.” The spread talked about how Pop Art was the new global art movement, and pictures of Warhol’s and Lichtenstein’s work, had both caught my eye. This was the very first time, I saw art like this. And immediately, I realized art didn’t have to be just still lifes or figures. It was possible to bring parts of commercial culture into art. It was exciting! I’m sure even the boxer with me was impressed, this was just the beginning of Pop Art.
What a great story. Did you ever meet Andy Warhol in person after that?
Let me see. There was an exhibition of Warhol’s in Tokyo. It was at DAIMARU department store near Tokyo station. It was so many years ago though, and Warhol had made an appearance just for the opening reception. The NHK was planning on creating a special 60 minute presentation about him, and I was sent with a photographer to take some portraits. We planned on taking several different photos of him, and stitching them together, to represent something similar to the repetition we’d see in his work. But he was so grumpy that day, he wouldn’t lift his head, not even for a second to give us a chance to take his photo. Eventually we gave up. He must’ve been jet lagged, and tired of making these trips around the world. In the end, we still needed something though, so we used an animation I had been working on, as well as some other photos of him.
Very interesting. Now onto something a bit different - as your work’s become increasingly popular throughout your career, have you found that your style of work has changed to meet people’s demand?
No not at all. My work is an extension of what I normally do. Of course things change over time, but fundamentally I’d say it has stayed the same.
A lot of people today feel as though everything has been done before, especially in design and fashion. There is a lot of overlap, and people borrowing ideas from the past, and each other. Do you think this affects cultural progress? Should we keep striving for originality? And how do you push for creativity in your own work?
I think creativity cannot be forced, or fostered simply through exercise. It has to come naturally, and it depends on how much energy we can drive into our creative work. But creativity is definitely not something reserved for artists, it’s required by politicians,
and entrepreneurs too. People who say creativity is just for artists, I think that idea is not correct.
For many artists, the reason to create is driven by the need to express. You’ve said you have a strong will to create, but where does that come from?
For me, a lot of my work is driven by old memories of the past, especially the fear that I felt as a child during the several wars that took place. The fear I felt seeing a person dying. But then there’s also the good feelings I have from playing as a child. I integrate all aspects of my mind and memories into my work. I’m often inspired by my own imagination, and memories of things I would imagine as a kid.
In the way that say Andy Warhol may have influenced you, do you think you’ve influenced any younger, modern day artists?
Honestly, I don’t see a lot of younger artists work. I’m not really interested, and don’t really look at modern art exhibitions. I more so go to the theatre to see films, or look at artists like Itō Jakuchū, an ancient Edo era painter.
I feel like with a lot of modern art today, you need to already know things about it to understand it.
That’s right. Personally, I like conceptual products but I prefer to create things that can touch the heart of people directly and instantly. A child, an adult, a grandparent - I hope that all of them can somehow be impressed by my work. I don’t like things which need some sort of preceding understanding to appreciate it.
These days, it seems we are living in the era of consumerism, even art has become a product. It is consumed so fast. Do you have any thoughts about this, either on a personal level or artistic level? What can artists do to survive this?
Well, we have to resist being consumed.
Of course. We have to prevent it.
We shouldn’t allow ourselves to be consumed. Artists like Jeff Koons send out enormous pieces into the world, and that in a way, is protection from that. It’s so huge, and there is so much, that it cannot be consumed like a product. There are a lot of Japanese artists, with exception of some of course, that will only produce 10 pieces at a time for a show, which is not many. Whereas Picasso has probably created more than 10,000 pieces throughout his career. We must be productive, to push our work into the world, in a volume that would surpass demand. We are professional artists, not hobbyists.
Final question, at 82 years of age now, what are your plans for the future?
I am not planning on retiring, I will only stop working when the time comes. But I think that I will continue to work as long as I alive. I may break one of my arms. I may lose my sight. It may happen. Apart from those physical accidents, I won’t stop.
"I long to make art.
And if it’s not the way I intended,
then there is no work."
"'This is what’s happening in America right now.'
The spread talked about how Pop Art was the new global art movement...This was the very first time I saw art like this. And immediately, I realized art didn’t have to be just still lifes or figures."
Were you inspired by them?
Yes, definitely. When I went to America, I was surprised to see that so many more experimental films were being made over paintings. Especially from people like Andy Warhol, Kenneth Anger, and Jonas Mekas. At that time, the experimental image was the mainstream, so those films would play in theatres all the time. I’d go a lot when I was in New York. They were more exciting to look at than paintings.
Because they are moving, rather than static right?
Right. Motion is really fascinating to me, which is why I’ve been working on some animations as well.
Even with your stationary images, they look like they would be animated.
Yes, a lot of the time I create these images with the intention that they’ll be
animated later.
For those less familiar, how do experimental films differ from more commercial ones?
The difference is that experimental films will explore ideas or things which are unusual, and that would never be allowed to be shot for a commercial film. They are complete opposites.
I think with what was happening during the ‘60s, experimental film was necessary, which is why it was so popular. Andy Warhol made many, like The Empire (1964), a silent film which featured only the top of the iconic Empire State Building. It was the same shot for 8 hours straight, and we watched all 8 hours of it in theatres!
The camera didn’t move?
It does not move. He let the camera roll, and the Empire State Building doesn’t go anywhere.
Sometimes some birds enter the frame, though.
Right. Well they recorded it for eight hours straight.
"I think creativity cannot be forced, or fostered simply through exercise. It has to come naturally, and it depends on how much energy we can drive into our creative work. "
While some artists are attracted to working monochromatic, why are you so interested in such a variety of colors?
Growing up, my family had a wholesale store, behind the Takashimaya Department store in Ginza. There were lots of wholesale shops on that street, which is where I’d often play as a child. So I was surrounded by lots of colorful rolls of fabric and clothes. And I was interested in the design of a lot of the tags attached to them, or emblems I would see stitched into the lining of suits. I am not totally sure, but I feel like some of these experiences from my childhood have influenced my sense for color now.
So your childhood played a big role in developing your style?
Definitely. It’s based on environment; the environment a person’s in decides their nature. If I grew up in the mountains, I may have a different sense for colors. But I grew up in the center of a busy commercial area, so I think that had an impact on me.
Considering you were surrounded by clothes as a child, it’s no surprise you’ve done some fashion collaborations. Which was your first?
My very first, was with British Fashion designer, Mary Quant, who I’ve worked with on several occasions.
That was a very promising brand. Are there differences in how you approach client work, versus personal work?
They don’t differ to me. When I’m collaborating with a fashion brand, they already understand my style, and simply ask me to create something similar for them. So it’s never really complicated.
How do you choose who you work with?
It depends. I just choose as I go, and if someone comes to me with an offer I don’t like, I just say no. I’ve declined some really famous brands before, simply because I don’t like their brand.
"I may break one of my arms. I may lose my sight. It may happen. Apart from those physical accidents, I won’t stop."
All images courtesy of Nanzuka Gallery and Keiichi Tanaami.
By Nirvana Garreffa