Exhibition Review: Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto
The pop artist finds new inspiration in Japan’s old capital.
Cover photo: Installation view of Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto at the Kyoto City Kyocera Museum of Art, Kyoto, Japan (2024). Photo by Danny With Love.
★★★★☆
4/5 Stars
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Intro
Well-known for collaboration with beloved musicians and major fashion brands, Takashi Murakami (村上隆) is one of the most popular artists working today. His trademark rainbow flower is a runaway success, endearing him to fans around the globe — even outside the world of fine art.
Though he’s studied in Nihonga (traditional Japanese painting), it’s possible to overlook Murakami’s heritage due to his graphic, computer-generated style. Furthermore, he unabashedly prioritizes Western audiences. “I’m not very appreciated in Japan,” he says, even admitting, “I’m not interested in going back to Japanese art.”
At the invitation of his trusted friend, curator Shinya Takahashi (高橋信也), Murakami has come to Japan’s old capital for the 90th anniversary of the Kyoto City Kyocera Museum of Art (京都市京セラ美術館).
Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto (村上隆 もののけ 京都) marks the artist’s first-ever show in the historic city, with many works directly inspired by Kyoto’s culture and craft. It is an ambitious and unusual show, one which represents a milestone in the conceptual artist’s thirty-year-long career.
Unfinished
Most bizarre is the collection’s incomplete status; many works are missing or hung unfinished. Murakami had agreed to create over 160 new pieces to accommodate the public museum’s limited budget, but clearly overpromised.
Murakami explains, “Starting on the opening day of the exhibition, we will be producing a separate set of works and will be replacing the works in the show with them on a rolling basis as they get completed.” Accordingly, the exhibition catalogue is also unavailable, expected to be ready by late April.
I cannot overstate my surprise as I’ve never seen a situation like this. Considering Murakami’s production company employs over 200 people, it seems especially surreal. Four Seasons Fujiyama is currently on display with an additional layer of numbers, drawing attention to its abandonment. How odd!
At least — it appears — this unusual arrangement has awoken something in Murakami. In exhibition materials, he writes, “working with almost no sleep or break, I have started wandering through time and space in a daze, and my soul and space-time are starting to melt together; I have become one with the worldview of the ancient city, just as Mr. Takahashi intended.”
Near the exhibition’s exit, Murakami posits, “Perhaps many of you may be indignant to find so many unfinished works here, but I believe that, after I die in 10 or so years, you will look back on this exhibition and reminisce about it as quite a miraculous one.” Though 10 years is quite dramatic for the 62-year-old, I’m tempted to agree. The works directly tied to Kyoto are marvelous, and may one day be regarded as some of his very best.
Homage
Despite the show’s setbacks, there is an undeniable magic to enjoying this collection in the historic city to which it’s devoted. Murakami references maiko (apprentice geisha), Kabuki (theatre), and the August festival Gozan Okuribi (“Five Mountain Bonfires”).
One room is dedicated to four cardinal symbols: Black Tortoise of the north, Vermillion Bird of the south, Blue Dragon of the east, and White Tiger of the west. These heavenly guardians predate Kyoto, harkening to the city’s founding as a Chinese-style capital. A central tower is inspired by Rokkaku-do, a Buddhist temple whose bells once warned locals of impending dangers such as floods, earthquakes, and pandemics. Shrouded in darkness, it’s like walking into a holy sanctuary.
The collection’s greatest work greets visitors immediately upon entrance: a recreation of the Edo Period masterpiece Views in and around Kyoto (Rakuchu Rakugai-zu Byobu) by Matabei Iwasa (岩佐又兵衛). Murakami’s team has magnified the scene over three times its original size, to a length of some 13 meters (43 feet).
While Kyoto was no longer the capital by the Edo Period, it remained the empire’s cultural center. Elaborate screens served as tourist guides, introducing visitors to local customs and famous places such as Nijo Castle, Gion Shrine, and Kiyomizu-dera (“Pure Water Temple”).
Murakami explains, “[Takahashi] beseeched me to express the wild contrast between the touristy Kyoto of today and the Kyoto of old, where people lived among terrifying monsters, and I was convinced.”
This is Murakami’s first attempt at such a ‘scenic views’ painting. The resulting piece is jaw-dropping! The scale, detail, and level of craftsmanship is unlike anything I have seen from Murakami’s team. The 17th century screens were first traced by AI and then recreated by hand. According to the artist, there are over 2,800 humans depicted, along with an additional 4,000 unique objects.
Personally, I would have preferred Murakami taken more liberties than the simple addition of his characters, but it is nonetheless stunning. A nearby plaque reads, “I am hoping that this opportunity will lead me to create a few more rakuchu-rakugaizu-style paintings, and that I will be able to create a masterpiece before I die.”
Superflat
The exhibition also revisits Murakami’s concept “superflat” (スーパーフラット), coined in 2000. Both an aesthetic and cultural philosophy, it refers to a rejection of perspective, boundaries, and hierarchy in favor of superficiality.
“[Murakami] is reacting to a hyperstimulated and decontextualized Japan,” observed American journalist Arthur Lubow. Murakami posits that the nation’s kawaii (cute) obsession is a reaction to violence, that the trauma of World War II caused societal retreat into the comforts of fiction and consumption.
Superflat allows Murakami an ironic, accessible, and commercially-viable criticism of shallow culture through otaku (geek) style. He explains, “Japanese [people] don’t like serious art. But if I can transform cute characters into serious art, they will love my piece.” Sanitized by cuteness, he can broach topics of spirituality, consumerism, sexuality, and death.
Murakami’s new pair of artworks Wind God and Thunder God present direct comparison to Kyoto’s artistic traditions. Here, Murakami reinterprets Shinto elemental deities, most famously depicted by Rimpa school painter Tawaraya Sotatsu (俵屋 宗達).
Sosatsu’s 17th century version is designated a national treasure, and considered one of Japan’s greatest masterpieces. The contrast between his work and Murakami’s is striking and revealing.
Murakami flattens the screens and renders whisps of clouds in two-dimensions. He removes all subtlety and grace, reducing the ferocious gods to silly mascots. Their musculature is gone and their strength is instead made obvious in graphic elements of wind gusts and thunderbolts.
Exhibition materials note, “Unlike the manly, powerfully built Fujin Raijin (wind and thunder gods) depicted in the past by Rimpa artists, Takashi Murakami’s Wind God and Thunder God are characterized by being cute and mild, as if reflecting the contemporary ways of twenty-first century Japan.”
Murakami seems to suggest a degeneration of humanity, or at the very least a serious regression. He says, “social media has made society itself superflat. In the end, I think this is driving anger and egoism. Things are getting out of control, and we’re moving toward a pretty dark place.”
Conclusion
In the exhibition’s title — Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto (村上隆 もののけ 京都) — Mononoke (もののけ) refers to “vengeful spirits.” Murakami’s own characters can be imagined as kawaii omens of contemporary catastrophe. While it is not a perfect show, I hope it will inspire energy and strength.
Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto runs through Sunday, September 1st at the Kyoto City KYOCERA Museum of Art in Kyoto, Japan. Adult admission costs 2,200 yen (approx. 15.00 USD). Learn more here.
