Yayoi Kusama and her polkadot pumpkins may be the most popular reason to visit Naoshima, a sleepy fishing island in Seto Inland Sea; face-lifted— soul-lifted—as modern art haven by Benesse Art Site. However, the true master of the island is Tadao Ando. A self taught architect with brutalist signature style: with concrete, metal, and wood as materials. Ando designed three grand art museums on the shoreline of the island: the Benesse House, the Lee Ulfan, and the Chichu Museums. There is also a little museum bearing his name, the Ando Museum—an old traditional Japanese house which inner-space is converted to Ando’s modern style.
Navigation
Naoshima’s main sights are scattered in three areas: Honmura, Miyanoura, and Benesse House Area. The island is compact enough for a day trip. However, we spent a night to better explore the island.
Accommodation and transportation options in the island are limited (or I should say, “curated”).
You can either walk, cycle, or take the cute polkadot public bus (100 yen flat fare) to get around. Cycling will give you the best flexibility: fast enough to catch up with your schedule yet slow enough to feel the surroundings. You can stop anywhere; not being dependant on bus stops’ timetable (although, like everywhere in Japan, the buses are punctual to the minute). Some of the bicycles for rent are electric powered if you want to pedal less. Since my partner can’t ride a bicycle, we walked and took the bus.
For accommodation, we took the word of our bible Lonely Planet. The Top Choice recommendations are Benesse House (it’s also a luxury hotel) and Tsutsujiso Lodge (a campsite). We chose Tsutsujiso for being budget friendly and the novelty of staying in a caravan (for larger group, yurts are available). The bathroom of the caravan is converted into a luggage store. There is a dedicated building for shower and toilet facility. You have to pay extra for hot shower, but we took bath in I Heart You sento (public bath) anyway. We took Tsutsujiso’s breakfast and dinner packages for practicality. The meals are of high standards. We had sukiyaki for dinner. In the morning, I opted Japanese breakfast of rice, natto, and miso soup (rice boy forever!). My partner had continental breakfast.
Coffee, concrete, and sunlight. Buses, bicycles, and sento.
We entered the island through Honmura Port in the afternoon (took a speedboat from Uno Port near Okayama city of Honshu, the Japanese main island). Deposited our luggages at the town office (if you have not acquired the printed version of Naoshima Area Map, you can get one here) then explored the Honmura area. Our itinerary: the Art House Project, modern art installations in traditional Japanese houses.
But first, we needed to have lunch. We went to Cafe Salon Nakaoku, a relatively hidden cafe in the outskirts of Honmura, for the omurice (rice omelette) and coffee. It has that Showa atmosphere, complete with old box-shaped Japanese made Alexander Graham Bell cup receiver model telephone unit. We were seated on the bar, made the time to read after meal. And plan.
The first Art House Project we visited was Minamidera which houses James Turrel’s “Backside of the Moon”. We took a queue ticket for our time slot. When it our group’s turn to enter, we were ushered inside the house. It was dark inside. Light and noise discipline was enforced, we were instructed to wait in silence. Slowly, we could see a big white screen in front of us. My mind initial association was we were in a cinema and there were rows of seats in front of us. We were then instructed to walk and explore, I found out that the room was actually empty and the white screen is a window to a Zen sand garden with no ornament.
We were told that the light in the room never changed, but our eyes adapted to the low light—thus we could see the “white screen”. I understood the biology and the physics, but what fascinated me most was the psychology. My association of darkened room, where I was seated with strangers, is of a cinema (I love films). It was a positive association and I am glad for it. Maybe someone with traumatic experience would associate the room with something darker.
The other houses we visited were Kadoya/Tatsuo Miyajima’s “Sea of Time”, “Naoshima’s Counter Window”, and “Changing Landscape”; Gokaisho by Yoshihiro Suda; and Haisha/Shinro Otake’s “Dreaming Tongue”.
One thing I note of these modern artworks in Naoshima is that they are art for art’s sake. Indulging the senses, allowing the consumer (me) to contemplate their existence. They are objects of bourgeois humanism. The artworks are not art that was “created dangerously”—art for political purposes, as Camus asked artists to do—like Yoko Ono’s “Refugees Boat” and Ai Wei Wei’s “Odyssey” in Catastrophe and the Power of Art Exhibition at Mori Art Museum Tokyo.
Modern art, for me, is fun since they are free of interpretations. I can be shallow and superficial in perceiving and enjoying them, such as taking pictures with them (but never selfie—I still have a certain degree of self respect). I can create my own personal narrative and express my associations when reflecting on the artworks.
However, it is still important to understand the artists’ and other people’s interpretation. Ideas are memetic and it can only expand if copied, exchanged. Naoshima’s artworks main narrative, I read, is about coexistence between humans and nature as well as critics against the vapidity of consumerist society. I think it’s paradoxical to see bourgeois artworks, delivered by a corporation, protesting the diseases of capitalism. Of course, “paradox” only exist if I see things as binary, black and white. In Netflix’s Une Fille Facile (An Easy Girl), a billionaire who also invests in art claims he is an anarchist. Anarchist don’t care about money; it is easier to not care about money if you’re rich.
Lonely Planet rated Project Art House as Top Choice. While they are great, I think Chichu Art Museum deserves more of such rating. I did not know who Tadao Ando is or even the term “brutalist” when I first came to Naoshima. My first impression of Chichu reminded me of the Daniel Libeskind’s Jewish Museum in Berlin. It looks like James Bond’s supervillain’s secret headquarter; felt like entering Cloud Atlas’ Sonmi scenes or The Matrix. The architecture is designed to adopt natural lights, therefore different weather will give visitors different experience. Ours was cloudy and rainy. The atmosphere was somber but I was ecstatic. The coldness and the barrenness—the brutal simplicity—seem to stir my consciousness; that feeling when you feel “at home”.
The subsequent exploration of the island was hazy. I consumed—no, I was consumed by—art. It is difficult to compartmentalise my experience in a linear timeline, but I remember the clarity of a life fully lived for that brief moment. Claude Monet’s Water Lilies paintings and the brutalist impression of a Spanish neighbourhood “Time/Timeless/No Time” are in Chichu. But in which museum I saw the “Banzai Corner” installation—Ultramen and Ultrawomen rising hands to the sky, the traditional Japanese salutation to the Emperor, lined up as a constellation of red-silver (the colours of Ultraman) dots creating a perfect circle? “The World Flag Ant Farm”? “100 Live and Die”? Where did we stopped for a coffee and lunch and bought a miniature “Shipyard Works: Cut Bow and Stern with Hole” from the gachapon vending machine?
Some of the installations, such as Turrel’s “Open Field”, require visitors to take off their shoes before entering. All require respectful silence as when one enters an Oriental shrine, a temple, or a mosque.
Photography is not allowed inside the museums and most indoor areas. Flying drones in the island is also prohibited. This is to promote enjoyment of the art. Social media has made many of us experience life with Instagram eye. The artworks in Naoshima are mostly three dimensional, one need to be there in person to savour them. (There are, of course, commercial reasons to prohibit photography: intellectual property protection and exclusivity. Fewer images present on the internet gives the island the aura of a Secret Garden; nudging people’s curiosity to come spending their yens in the island.)
My legs were sore from walking and bus hopping. The tiredness helped induce a transcendent state of mind. After dinner at Tsutsujiso, we had time to catch a bus to Miyanoura and took a bath at I Heart You sento. A few days before I experienced traditional onsen bath at Iwaso Ryokan in Miyajima, where wood is the main element in subdued colours exterior and interior design. I Heart Yu is the contemporary opposite: neon coloured plastic dominates. The exterior looks like a brothel. The men’s changing room is decorated with Middle Eastern illuminations of Turkish bath and clippings of retro 60s-70s advertisements. A life size elephant statue stands on the wall dividing the men’s and women’s baths.
I was the only gaijin that night. I read that many foreign tourists are reluctant to experience Japanese communal bath. The idea to be bare naked with other men is so alien to many cultures, especially Asian. I grew up in a home and a culture with strict views on sexual taboos. I also have a body image issue; I always worry if I look good enough. I am self-conscious being topless, even at the beach or by the pool; I take off or put on my underwear under the cover of towel in gym changing room. I am still shy being naked in front of my intimate partner (unless I am with erection). However, I Heart Yu was not my first nudist bathing: I went to a sento bath with my brother in Kyoto (awkward—we had not seen each other naked as adults) and shared onsen with my coworkers in a hotel under Mount Fuji for an office outing (super awkward—there was my boss). So I was more relaxed. I soaked in the hot water, feeling the release of tense muscles, and enjoyed the atmosphere. I observed other patrons of the bath (not staring): a guy has bushy hairs on his legs and pubic areas, but smooth like a dolphin on his upper body; an old man’s wrinkled flat ass seems to foretell how I will look in my senior years (if I live long enough).
My Norwegian friend told me that communal shower was common in his school year. It taught that bodies come in different shapes and sizes, not just the advertising driven standards of beauty. Only few people can have that Hollywood chiseled six pack abs. Also, nudity is not always about sex. I guess onsen and sento are a good way to to rewire my mind on body image issues.
I was the only one with tattoos. Many sento and onsen still refuse entry to people with tattoos. The body art is associated with the yakuza. However, I Heart Yu welcomes tattoos. Rather than imposing corporeal restrictions, the place only refuse entry to “members of an organised crime”.
Watching the steams and the water droplets condensing on the ceiling , knowing well I was protected from the cold of a winter night, ended the day with the satisfaction of an exploration. I Heart You is also designed by Otake. It is run by locals with a day job; they make sure the bath is always clean and the water temperature constant. I was grateful to them all for such a fine intimately indulging establishment.
We waited for the last bus to Tsutsujiso at Shioya Diner, a vintage rock ’n roll themed eathouse. We had a great night sleep in our caravan from the calmness brought by a hot bath and hot sake.
The sun was shining bright on our second day in Naoshima. Making the island and the modern artworks, both exterior of buildings and outdoor installations ripe for photography. The walk around the Benesse House was pleasant and made me glad I was alive. I know it is a privilege to contemplate on my existence. Sentiency is a burden, but it is also a gift. I think art helps me to appreciate the fact that I am a thinking animal.
We left the island by ferry from Miyanomura Port, where Yayoi Kusama’s Red Pumpkin greet and bid farewell to the visitors of the island. I wanted to take a photograph of it, but decided against it because there were too many tourists taking pictures of the installation. People began to flock the island for the Christmas Eve, we got our timing right to come before. So I just waited at the waiting area.
I heard Christmas carols, but sung in Japanese. It was the local choir, some of them are senior local citizens. Christianity remains a cult in this archipelago despite its popularity elsewhere. During the Toyotomi and Tokugawa period, the Kiristan were persecuted. I remember a short story set in feudal Japan by Ryunosuke Akutagawa “Dr. Ogata Ryosai: Memorandum”:
A Christian mother begged a Buddhist doctor to treat her sick and dying daughter. The doctor refused to treat her because she vilified non-Christians, including the doctor, as heretics and devil worshippers. Medicine is a merciful art, but the doctor was afraid of the punishment of his gods and Buddhas. Therefore, unless the mother renounces her Christian faith, he could not examine her daughter. The mother gave in; she renounced Jesus and stepped on her kurusu (cross necklace). However, the daughter died even after receiving medical treatment. She was furious and frustrated because she believes that she will not be able to go to heaven to meet her daughter when she dies.
How burdensome can faith be.
The Japanese rendition of Silent Night and other Christmas songs are a testament to the beauty of modern democratic society: the freedom of belief (and unbelief). Too bad the roar of oncoming boat’s engine obscured the choir.
We boarded the ferry. I stayed on the observation deck, watched the Naoshima’s landscape until it was out of sight. The winter wind chill sent me back to the passengers’ cabin.
Post trip notes
Now I know why I am fascinated by East Asia, specifically Japan. Hermann Hesse in Singapore Dreams posit that Asia represents paradise lost: the primeval forests; the primitive civilisations; and the superstitions represent something childlike and innocent (as opposed to European enlightenment’s rationalism, materialism, and industrialism).
The discontent arising from excess consumerism, the existential crisis caused by the newfound prosperity—the spiritual deprivation from the unveiling dogma by scientific knowledge; the status anxiety brought by the so-called meritocratic capitalist society—make modern persons fall to the golden age syndrome. Idealising simpler way of lives, ergo the exoticism of the Orient and the European obsession to the classics.
Japan is industrialised and modern. They have understood the need to preserve their ancient heritage, but they do not overly romanticised it. The East Asians are not apologetic to progress. They refused to satisfy the Western stereotypes of “traditional” cis “primitive” Asian people. Adopting capitalism and consumerism with glee. Therefore, suffering similar maladies: inequality, alienation, isolation, and the general meaninglessness of existence.
Many Asians, therefore, also seek refuge in Oriental Spiritualism. However, the line between spiritual and supernatural are thin and obscure. People who are anti-Old Age religions and suspicious to New Ageism (like me) tend to be skeptical to metaphysical claims. Yet I cannot deny that there is an existential—no, a survival—urgency to give meaning; to make life worth living and to make sense of our experience. Modern art gives that spiritual fulfilment without the need to make or submit to any metaphysical claims; enjoyable even without exerting my reasoning faculty (cf. philosophy).
Something changed inside me after my visit to Naoshima. It was a secular pilgrimage to a non-religious holy site. The prophets and saints and gods of atheism are philosophers, artists, and scientists. Ando is the pontifex maximus of the Naoshima “sacred” island. To borrow from Koil’s Mendekati Surga lyrics, he is “the architect who baptises consciousness”.
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