Aki Kumono - Japan
Posted: Jan. 13, 2006
I was born in Japan and raised in Kawasaki City, a town much like Brooklyn, NY. There were many neighborhoods flavored by its people and their diverse lives. As a youth I grew up in postwar Japan in the middle of a rising economy in a country that would become number one in general product production and a leader in the electronics industry. This country would eventually be called The Economic Animal by the rest of the world.
In high school I was totally self-absorbed with my personal thoughts and daily experiences, this was my life and my world. I had no interest in the "follow the leader" movement or its narrow confined path to success. I did have a deep caring for art. I had been drawing since the time I could hold a crayon. It was only natural for me to apply to art school after graduation.
My first big disappointment was not getting into the school of my choice. I did enter another school but things did not go well. I could not relate to the school system or its students. I found myself skipping classes, feeling empty and finally quitting. Refusing to give up my dream, I got a part time job to survive and devoted myself to my art. I submitted my work to several competitions with the hope of being accepted, but this did not happen.
Sometime later while reading the newspaper, I came across a photo that was taken at Kent University during a youth uprising. It showed one of the many soldiers with his rifle cocked and pointed as a student placed a pink flower in the barrel of the gun. I was shocked to see this because in Japan student power was exhibited in the form of students throwing rocks at the police. I soon found myself painting large stones pink and giving them to the student power movement. This was purely done from the standpoint of fun and imagining those pink stones flying through the air. Somehow I found this very exciting. My very next project was to show the division of the river that separated Kawasaki from Tokyo. I spent three days doing this by painting pink gravel and dirt along the river's bank. The next idea I put into action immediately. I special ordered a rubber dingy to be made in pink. I took the dingy and rowed out to sea to find a small island to plant a pink rose bush. My trouble began when a hurricane started blowing onto shore. I almost drowned, never found my island and never planted my rose bush. My pink era ended two years later. My finale was a female friend and myself sitting in the middle of a landfill wrapped in a pink blanket.
The media suddenly began to take interest in me. Before I knew it, I was being interviewed; why pink and what was my concept? The great pink farce landed me a TV spot. Feeling on top of the world, I told them, "No more pink!" Instead my request was a steak dinner from one of the most expensive restaurants in Ginza and I asked to have it delivered to Ginza square. When the time approached, there I sat with thousands of people and TV cameras watching me eating my first steak dinner. My fifteen minutes of fame did not last long. The media was not satisfied with this performance art and became critical and negative. They ate me for their dinner. It was a very dark moment.
Sometime later, I met a very well known contemporary artist who was going to New York on a grant from the Rockefeller foundation. I knew the only way for me to fulfill my dream was to go to New York because that was where the new art movement was happening.
In 1973, I applied and was accepted to the Brooklyn Museum Art School. Visa in hand I was on my way. Naturally, the first person I looked up was my artist friend. I found him living in Soho renting his space a dollar a night for a bed. I thought this was great! I could go to school during the day, still have enough money for food and a place to sleep. New York life was so fresh and new, so different from Japan. Each day, tears of joy filled my life.
My life took a turn when I received a letter stating my visa was now void and I must return to Japan. I hired a lawyer and was told that I must get a job to extend my visa. Having no skills, I did not know how I would make this happen. Luckily, Stanley Grover, an upcoming prop maker, hired me. Only four months into my job, my employer died in my arms of a heart attack. To this day, I'm not sure whether my tears were because of his death or my pending visa. I was living in a basement apartment next to a boiler blowing flames, no job and exhausted physically and mentally. I felt I had no choice but to return to Japan.
Once back in Japan, my job was to help my father in his coffee shop. My evenings were spent with my best friend who had now become a Buddhist. Following his lead, I joined. Soon I began to feel a shift in my thinking. I knew now I had to return to New York, but I could not afford any mistakes. This was my last and final chance to become a stable member of society with the strength to make my dreams become a reality. I began working for a carpenter who sponsored me for a visa to New York. My first stop out of Japan was in Hawaii. It was there I realized my fortune when I was given a permanent visa.
In New York once more, feeling happy and confident, I moved in with friends. Until they found out I was a Buddhist and then I was asked to leave. Three times this happened until I realized I had to stand alone. For this was my life and I had to live it the way I knew would make me happy.
It seemed like just moments from the time of this realization that a friend told me about a storefront for rent. I saw this as an opportunity to show proof and appreciation for my life. I rented the space slowly buying the machines and tolls I would need to make it a carpentry and cabinet shop.
By 1978, I had met an American woman, married, had two beautiful children and established my business. For the next 10 years I comfortably supported my family and continued my artwork. Again there would be a change. With my lease up, we had to move again. I had to start over, this time in Brooklyn. My first experience there was being robbed of my tools and having my tires slashed. It was at this time that I started to have doubts about my life and faith. But with the encouragement of my family and friends, I pushed forward. Soon thereafter, I was able to purchase an abandoned building. Now living in Brooklyn took on a new meaning: to be able to take actions to protect and live joyfully with my neighbors. My business had now turned to making Buddhist altars, which ultimately became my most important priority. Today I continue to make and ship altars both nationally and internationally.
I think the most significant change in my life took hold after seeing from my rooftop the Twin Towers being destroyed. After the war began, I realized how vulnerable and precious life was. I knew I had to make a statement of how I felt through my art. I made small coffins out of wood and covered each one with the American flag. As of today, I have over two thousand of these coffins in my studio as a monument to those who have died. I have also made these coffins with the Iraq flag to represent those innocent lives taken by war. My art has become in a visual sense, a representation of life seen with its strength, power, and its weaknesses. Our fears, joys and expectations felt by us on the social, political issues we face today.
I am actively doing what I call my Human Revolution. This enables me to actualize what I see as my mission as an artist in this century. I truly believe that art should enable the delusions of our mind to fade and instead bring forth an understanding of life. For it is you and I, the common person, who create today and tomorrow.