At his exhibition opening at Perrotin, Murakami wore a look as hyped as his art, rocking a Fear of God plaid shirt and YEEZY 750 BOOSTS. “I met the sneakerhead people lining up at the Doraemon event, and most of these people are buying my artworks. Of course, I'm very appreciative of that,” he says.
Whether through a hyped streetwear look, gilded Doraemon costume, or limitless recreation of popular artworks, Murakami’s relentless dedication to his fans has translated to a mass following. His success is evident in the spectrum of fans who follow his work -- ranging from major artists KAWS, JR and Daniel Arsham to teenagers adorned in Kaikai Kiki-branded tees.
Murakami’s widespread influence only continues to grow, but it comes at a cost, as the artist faces increasing demand for his lionized artworks such as his Flowers paintings. “Constantly making Flower paintings makes me feel suffocated, but I have to make them and I want to make them,” he says.
Should artists meet the demands of their fans even if it means sacrificing his or her own creativity? For Murakami, his will to keep on creating is motivated by the profound level of disappointment -- whether for his loved ones, devotees or loyal army -- that would rise if he failed to complete a project. In his method, the artist has ventured beyond his role as a traditional painter into a visionary leader, equally agonized and excited as he spearheads new creative campaigns to sustain the never-ending world of Murakami.
©Takashi Murakami/Kaikai Kiki Co., Ltd., All Rights Reserved.
Murakami would get through the hardships by reading science fiction books and manga. “I really started to get into sci-fi and became an otaku, a geek. Now, when I think about it, [reading manga] was kind of an escapism to get away from reality.” As for a career in art, it wasn’t something Murakami wanted to pursue early on. Instead, he was keen on learning about plants and animals throughout middle school. Despite his profound interest, his dreams of being a zoologist or biologist came to an abrupt end when his 9th grade teacher told him his academic abilities were limited and he would never achieve success in either career. His affair with the arts began to develop in the 12th grade, while his interest in the natural world would find its way to live on in the reoccurring Flowers and bunny-eared Kaikai Kiki characters portrayed in his signature Superflat artworks.
From 12th grade on, Murakami’s mom and dad provided financial support for his art education until he was 28 years old. Murakami made his parents proud by garnering international success as a contemporary artist at the young age of 32, but the artist still has mixed feelings when it comes to his success. “After becoming successful, my dad's gone senile and my mom is getting a little more afraid,” he says. “I feel like I was really trying to pay back to them and take care of them while they were at full capacity, but I wasn't making money and I wasn't doing anything with them so I feel a bit ambivalent about the whole situation.”
Now, new experiences continue to inspire the creation of his works. Most recently, Murakami has become a fixture among the streetwear and sneakerhead community, dating back to his game-changing album cover for Kanye West’s Graduation in 2007. At first, I thought that if I had dinner with these people, I wouldn't fit in and it would be very uncomfortable,” he says. “However, the sneakerheads, I imagine them now as just people eating burgers or junk food. I feel that I can fit it in with this crowd more because it's more familiar to me.”
Murakami, whose works continue to fetch hammer prices of over $1 million USD at major auctions, has never been driven by fame. “I'm not striving for fame nor do I ever think about being famous. It's important to not get bored myself in order to make the audience not get bored with me,” the artist tells us as we sit down before his opening reception. While Murakami is now one of the most highly-lauded contemporary artists in the world, his arrival to fame came from humble beginnings.
In post-war Japan, Murakami grew up in a town called Saka, which literally translates to “slope,” and lived at the very bottom. “If there was a typhoon or a storm coming, then there will be water all over the place. Back then, the bathrooms were just holes outside so if there was a flood, well you know, poop and pee would just be floating around,” he recalls. They lived in that area located on the southern island of Kyushu until he was in the fourth grade and then moved to Tokyo.
After settling in the Japanese capital, his dad supported the entire family as a taxi driver working night shifts.”[My dad] would come home at 7 or 8 a.m. while my little brother and I were getting ready for school. He would complain about these drunk customers he had to drop off and then we would go to school. I feel like that's how things used to be in Tokyo in that area for people.” The tales of his father’s debaucherous passengers and the strange Tokyo folk he would encounter at night as a child recall the demonic characters in his iconic Arhat paintings.
“However, the sneakerheads, I imagine them now as just people eating burgers or junk food. I feel that I can fit it in with this crowd more because it's more familiar to me.”
The following day, Murakami is holed up in a backroom of UNIQLO’s Fifth Avenue flagship store. After mazing through crowds of die-hard fans dressed in neon-colored clothing and the artist’s popular Flowers plush caps, we finally arrive at the room reserved for the artist. In contrast to his high-spirited mood when sneaker shopping, he’s now sitting pensively at a table wearing nothing but a white tank top, blue sweatpants and Air Jordan 1 customs crafted by artist-friend, Joshua Vides. News reporters proceed to walk into the room and sit at the table across from the artist to discuss the event.
After three rounds of interviews, he starts to get into one of his iconic costumes. The ensemble, that appears to require an armada to fit, is instead hastily thrown on. He swings on his Doraemon-branded track jacket and tops off the getup with a matching plush hat. Murakami's assistants escort him out of the room, followed by an army of bodyguards. A howitzer of bright flashes from digital cameras and smartphones drown Murakami in light; he waves to the sidewalk audience and gives the crowds his signature leg-kick and two-handed wave pose before rushing back inside for another meet-and-greet.
The autograph session, dedicated to a curated list of social media influencers, is located inside a glass-walled room on the second floor of the retail shop. Fans cling onto the walls, looking inward as they capture every pivotal moment, Murakami fully composed. The scene recalls admirers observing a lion in a zoo, as they inch toward him for a closer look.
“I'm not striving for fame nor do I ever think about being famous."
In perfect unison, two rows of assistants bow to Murakami as he makes his way inside the gallery space. With hands folded behind his back, the artist tours the first floor with a herd of workers trailing behind. Shinichi steps beside the artist to glance at a large-scale Flowers painting comprised of eight tall panels as the two point out minor imperfections about the huge artwork to their team.
Ten assistants form a line and take turns capturing photos on their respective smartphones of what needs to be redone on the painting. Then, they show their images to Murakami and Shinichi for approval. Some of the assistants snap images of other parts of the painting to ensure that no detail goes overlooked. After several laps around the exhibition rooms and endless photo-capturing, all Kaikai Kiki personnel load up their belongings and head over to Murakami’s Long Island City studio. “The well-trained assistants, who even worked with me for a long time, don't catch or notice things in the artworks,” says Murakami. “That's why I'm really hands-on and look at all of the details.”
Tucked in a barren commercial region of Long Island City, Murakami’s studio is comparable to Andy Warhol’s iconic Factory. From assembling silkscreens to applying gold leaf, a majority of the assistants take on a single task and master it with the utmost care and precision. They are loyal to the duties mandated on a dry-erase board that sits next to the entrance of the studio, where each of their names is paired with a cutout portrait. Tucked away in a storage spot in the studio is a huge slab of cardboard and two pieces of styrofoam: Murakami’s makeshift bedroom where he occasionally sleeps. “If I relax for more than six hours, I feel like I'm being extremely lazy and I have to get back to work,” he says.
The rigorous laser-pointing regiment concludes after two hours and the gallery becomes unnervingly quiet. The assistants stow their tools in suitcases and clear out any remaining debris before making their way to the break room; a handful of workers huddle around a kitchen counter while others congregate at a round table downing generous amounts of cup ramen. Clad in black trench coats with matching leather boots, a stone-faced pair of close aides step inside the room and announce that Murakami will arrive in 15 minutes.
Exactly 15 minutes pass when a black minivan pulls up to the entrance; a four-person squad is the first to exit the vehicle, and then finally, Murakami. The artist, internationally recognized for annual museum shows, artwork commissions for Kanye West and collaborations for Uniqlo UT, plops out of the car and waves to his greeting party. Instead of entering the gallery, he swiftly crosses the street to the Extra Butter boutique. One assistant calls a colleague to let her know about the rogue stunt: everything needs to be documented.
Wide-eyed with excitement, Murakami begins checking out the apparel and footwear offerings inside the shop. As he makes his way to the counter, he stretches out his hand and brushes his fingertips against a row of shoes with childlike directness, surveilling the accessories and homeware goods encased in the glass counter. He purchases two candles of varying scents and a pair of EB-branded tees; selfies with the artist ensue and then he finally leaves to go to Perrotin where the assistants are still hiding in the break room.
It’s the penultimate day to prepare for Takashi Murakami’s “HEADS⟷HEADS” exhibition and a synchronized team of 70 assistants – one leg of the 300-person army that looks after Murakami’ Kaikai Kiki Gallery — is tirelessly installing works on all three floors of New York City’s Galerie Perrotin. With over a month of preparation in tow, the energy brewing inside the gallery is a mixture of anticipation and forced enthusiasm.
Kaikai Kiki’s director of exhibition production, Shinichi Kitahara, brandishes a high-powered laser pointer and directs it at an empty wall. Hands covered in white cotton gloves, three assistants carry one third of a triptych and rest it under Shinichi’s laser target. The trio begins to simultaneously lift a gold leaf painting that will serve as the middle pane of the triptych when a furrow-browed Shinichi pierces the ceremonious art preparation: “turn off the lights.”
