Purple Magazine
— S/S 2011 issue 15
Fuyuko Matsui
Portrait by Chikashi Suzuki
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — You had your first exhibition in Paris. How were you received?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I was happy that people noticed the content and subject, and not just the materials. The reaction I received was almost the same as I get in Japan. I think people felt the strength and aggressiveness of my work. The only difference is that in Japan some people said the internal organs were grotesque and somewhat shocking. But I think that reflects the Japanese tendency to avoid the grotesque. In France people learn about human anatomy when they’re children, so there’s no excessive shock about internal organs or dead bodies. I felt like that was something to focus on.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Were you influenced by your experience in Paris?
FUYUKO MATSUI — It was great having an exhibition in Paris. It impressed me — even though I didn’t explain what I do or the content of the work, people got it. I was actually shocked by how well Parisians understood my work. They must be very familiar with art. I think Orientalism is a Western fantasy, and it differs from our actual feelings.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI— What was the first thing you thought was beautiful?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I’m embarrassed to say it, but to tell you the truth, I remember being six or seven and looking at my mother’s face, thinking that she was so beautiful. She has a very prominent nose, with long nostrils. This is a feature I didn’t possess, so I thought it was very beautiful.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Were you already painting at that age?
FUYUKO MATSUI — Yes. Ever since I can remember I drew and painted.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — When did you decide to become an artist?
FUYUKO MATSUI — When I was 10 years old. When I saw the Mona Lisa I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I felt that it possessed beauty — not like a beautiful flower, but as a sort of fear that transforms itself into beauty. The Mona Lisa touched my heartstrings like fear.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Were you painting in oil at the time?
FUYUKO MATSUI — Yes. In Shizuoka, where I grew up, Japanese painting wasn’t so common. After World War II the trend was to introduce Western art into Japan. Japanese paintings were hardly present. It wasn’t until my prep school days that I learned about Japanese painting.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — How did that happen?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I was studying for the entrance exam for Tokyo University of the Arts. At first I wanted to study oil painting, but something was boiling up inside me. For a change of pace, I took a look at a Japanese painting, Shorin-zu Byobu, by Hasegawa Tohaku. I thought it was amazing. Although oil paintings are completely different from Japanese paintings, the power of Japanese paintings matches Western art. I started to reconsider why I’d been painting in oil all those years. I was brainwashed into thinking that oil painting was painting. I grew up in a house with papered sliding doors and hanging scrolls, surrounded by Japanese paintings. I forgot about them during my training as a painter. I decided then that the Japanese style of painting was the way for me.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Japanese painting requires a lot of technique. It must have been hard for you to start over again.
FUYUKO MATSUI — Yes, very much so. The way you view things is completely different. For example, for a sketch of a plaster figure, oil painters focus on details and structural composition, with an emphasis on light and shade. In Japanese painting, the figure is drawn carefully, with many layers of crosshatching, in repetitions, like crawling ants. The point of view is completely different. Since I was doing oil.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — You had your first exhibition in Paris. How were you received?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I was happy that people noticed the content and subject, and not just the materials. The reaction I received was almost the same as I get in Japan. I think people felt the strength and aggressiveness of my work. The only difference is that in Japan some people said the internal organs were grotesque and somewhat shocking. But I think that reflects the Japanese tendency to avoid the grotesque. In France people learn about human anatomy when they’re children, so there’s no excessive shock about internal organs or dead bodies. I felt like that was something to focus on.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Were you influenced by your experience in Paris?
FUYUKO MATSUI — It was great having an exhibition in Paris. It impressed me — even though I didn’t explain what I do or the content of the work, people got it. I was actually shocked by how well Parisians understood my work. They must be very familiar with art. I think Orientalism is a Western fantasy, and it differs from our actual feelings.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — What was the first thing you thought was beautiful?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I’m embarrassed to say it, but to tell you the truth, I remember being six or seven and looking at my mother’s face, thinking that she was so beautiful. She has a very prominent nose, with long nostrils. This is a feature I didn’t possess, so I thought it was very beautiful.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Were you already painting at that age?
FUYUKO MATSUI — Yes. Ever since I can remember I drew and painted.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — When did you decide to become an artist?
FUYUKO MATSUI — When I was 10 years old. When I saw the Mona Lisa I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I felt that it possessed beauty — not like a beautiful flower, but as a sort of fear that transforms itself into beauty. The Mona Lisa touched my heartstrings like fear.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Were you painting in oil at the time?
FUYUKO MATSUI — Yes. In Shizuoka, where I grew up, Japanese painting wasn’t so common. After World War II the trend was to introduce Western art into Japan. Japanese paintings were hardly present. It wasn’t until my prep school days that I learned about Japanese painting.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — How did that happen?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I was studying for the entrance exam for Tokyo University of the Arts. At first I wanted to study oil painting, but something was boiling up inside me. For a change of pace, I took a look at a Japanese painting, Shorin-zu Byobu, by Hasegawa Tohaku. I thought it was amazing. Although oil paintings are completely different from Japanese paintings, the power of Japanese paintings matches Western art. I started to reconsider why I’d been painting in oil all those years. I was brainwashed into thinking that oil painting was painting. I grew up in a house with papered sliding doors and hanging scrolls, surrounded by Japanese paintings. I forgot about them during my training as a painter. I decided then that the Japanese style of painting was the way for me.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — Japanese painting requires a lot of technique. It must have been hard for you to start over again.
FUYUKO MATSUI — Yes, very much so. The way you view things is completely different. For example, for a sketch of a plaster figure, oil painters focus on details and structural composition, with an emphasis on light and shade. In Japanese painting, the figure is drawn carefully, with many layers of crosshatching, in repetitions, like crawling ants. The point of view is completely different. Since I was doing oil painting, I had the habit of view- ing light and shade. To change was very hard. In Japanese paint- ing you start with the outline and paint inwards with lines, some- what like you would in a coloring book. However, I tend to see the unevenness of a face and want to draw the shadows, and I’m often conflicted about drawing shad- ows in depth with just lines.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHIi — Because the viewer gets a different impression?
FUYUKO MATSUI — I did a piece entitled Nyctalopia. In the Japanese style it would be flat, almost like a coloring book, with faces that have no light or shadows. The ghost in Nyctalopia has light and shade drawn in, and I think people get quite a different impression from it than they do from traditional Japanese paintings.
FUMIHIRO HAYASHI — But your work is fresh and vivid, and has a dis- tinctly modern feel, which is different from Japanese paintings of 100 to 400 years ago. Can you explain how you make a Japanese-style painting?
FUYUKO MATSUI — Japanese paintings are made with natural mineral pigments and chunks of rock ground up with a mortar. There are different grinds, num- bered from five to thirteen — the higher the number the smooth- er the grain. The pigments are mixed using your fingers, with a glue called Nikawa, which is made by boiling down the skin and bones of animals. This mix- ture is painted on with a brush. Many of the rocks used to create the paint are expensive, so it’s like painting with powdered jewels. What might be called the canvas is made of Washi-paper or silk. Since 1925 most Japanese artists have been painting on Kumo- hadamashi paper. I personally like the classical technique, so I paint on silk, in the way it was done before the Meiji era, in the late 19th century. To paint on a silk canvas you have to wait a day for the glue to dry. Since the paint on both Japanese paper and silk is vulnerable to bleeding, Dousa is applied beforehand to prevent that from happening. The silk is then stretched and ready to paint. The pigment mixture is like watercolor. It can’t be painted on vertically, so one must lay the canvas flat. This is a classic technique — it’s said that the paintings last longer, up to a 1000 years.
