For nearly ninety years, Takesada Matsutani has lived through some of the most profound transformations of the modern era: war and reconstruction, the birth of the avant-garde, and the relentless acceleration of the world around him. Yet his work remains anchored to a handful of enduring questions: What is beauty? What is originality? How can art give form to time?
Born in 1937 in Osaka, Matsutani is among the last surviving members of the Gutai movement, the radical post-war Japanese collective that redefined the possibilities of painting, performance, and material experimentation. From his early vinyl-glue reliefs to the monumental graphite works that have become his signature, his practice has been guided by an unwavering commitment to invention.
In this conversation with Oyuna Tserendorj, Matsutani reflects on childhood memories of wartime Japan, the spirit of Gutai, the influence of shadow and silence, the search for originality, and the passage of time. What emerges is not only the portrait of an artist, but of a man who continues, after more than six decades of work, to approach life with curiosity, humility, and wonder.
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What was Japan like after the Second World War? Do you remember that period?
It was terrible after the war. In the big cities, there was no food. My father worked for a life insurance company and many of his clients lived in the countryside. We travelled there to obtain rice, potatoes, and other food. We would bring beautiful kimonos and household items to exchange.
We call it butsu-butsu kōkan — exchanging goods for goods. Money no longer had value. It was just paper. We lost almost everything. I remember carrying rice with my father. My mother's silk kimonos were exchanged for food. I was only eight years old, but I remember it clearly. We lived between Osaka and Kyoto. Even though Osaka was about seventy kilometers away, ash would drift through the air after the bombing raids. The sky would turn red. Then rain would come. I still remember the ash falling.
How old were you when you left Japan and came to Paris in 1966?
I was almost thirty.
And what brought you to Paris?
I received a scholarship. I did not come just to travel. I had no money. At that time Air France had recently begun jet flights via Anchorage, Alaska. Before that many people travelled by ship, which could take a month from Japan to Marseille.
How did you receive the scholarship?
A major newspaper in Kyoto organised a competition for young artists. Participants submitted their work and explained their artistic ideas. I entered and won.
The scholarship covered six months and my airplane ticket. They were very strict, but also very supportive.
Matsutanis’ studio in Paris.
Is that when you met Kate, your wife?
Yes. I met her in Paris. I thought she was Italian. She spoke several languages. She had studied three years in Milan but before returning to New York she thought to see Paris. She liked it right off. We both stayed.
Many people today are not familiar with Gutai. How would you explain it?
Gutai was not based in Tokyo, but in the Kansai region. The culture of Osaka and the Kansai is very different from the Tokyo area. This has been true for centuries. The artists and the movement were young people from the Osaka area. We had a slogan: "Do not imitate. Create something new."
In the early 1950s, Gutai artists experimented with installation, performance, painting and many other forms. There were no limits. Artists used whatever materials they wished to experiment with. Kazuo Shiraga painted with his feet. Saburo Murakami broke through paper screens. We were trying to discover entirely new possibilities. Performance was completely new at the time. Not only in Japan, but in the world.
What does the word Gutai mean in Japanese?
It means "concrete"- something real, something tangible. Not just talking. Not theory. You must make it real. You act. That is Gutai.
Matsutani in his studio, in the AXA sweater Ocean.
What do you think motivated those young artists in Osaka to create the Gutai movement? Why was it so important to make something new?
We wanted to create. Of course we respected tradition, but we wanted something new. Like Dada in Europe, Gutai was about beginning again, finding a new idea. Remember WWII ended. The atomic era made a horrific entrance. Impossible to pick up where things left off. Yoshihara understood this. He conceived of the Gutai Group.
But why do human beings constantly search for something new?
That is natural. Human beings are always searching. Not only artists. Human beings create beauty. Whether it is painting, cinema, design, clothing - everywhere there is beauty.
Beauty is a very large subject. What is beauty?
Very large. Very complicated.
Human beings have five senses. The question is how we use them. We have personality, consciousness, and feelings. Beauty is connected to all of this.
In sport, it is easy to judge. Someone runs faster and wins. In art, it is different. You cannot measure poetry or painting in the same way. Art is difficult because it is connected to feeling and consciousness. Then there is the market, which is another thing entirely. Selling art is business. Artists must try to keep something pure, but business has different motivations.
That's a very important distinction.
I think we need several levels of consciousness. One for daily life, another for creative life, another for observing ourselves. I try to look at myself objectively.
Matsutani in his studio, in the AXA sweater Ocean.
You once mentioned having three minds. Can you explain that?
I am here.
That is the first self.
Then I look at myself.
That is the second self.
Then there is another self-observing both of them.
That is the third.
One self-acts. Another observes. Another judges.
This is not only art. It is life. First, I make something. Then another part of me asks: "Is this right?" Then another part asks again. Sometimes it says yes. Sometimes it says no. Sometimes it says something is missing. Before the hand moves, the mind moves. Everything begins in the head. I may start with one idea, but while working another idea appears, like electricity. Then I change direction.
When we met in London we spoke about one of my favourite books - Junichirō Tanizaki's “ In Praise of Shadows”. Why was that book important to you?
Tanizaki writes about darkness and shadows.
Traditional Japanese houses were made of wood. In Kyoto especially, there are old materials, old history. The beauty is not in direct sunlight. Not brightness, but shadow. Nuance. A feeling that is difficult to describe.
Tanizaki’s books were hugely influential to me, also for other friends of mine, for example Tadao Ando in his architecture.
Time seems very important in your work.
In Japan we all know sumi ink. Black ink has a long tradition. But I wanted to create something myself, with my own hand. I became interested in notions of time and in my time.
We never stop counting Time. That is why drawing line after line interests me. Every line records time passing. I think of it like a burial. Not because time has ended, but because that particular time has passed. The work contains it. Every line marks a moment. Time passes, and the line remains. In that sense, the work becomes a trace of lived time. I wanted to make something that could hold time, even though itself never stops.
Matsutani at his desk, wearing the SERA shawl in Sky.
Is that how your graphite art developed?
Nobody knew me when I began. I had plenty of time. Every day I worked. One day, then another day, then another. I drew lines endlessly. Graphite became a way of continuing toward infinity.
So when a work is completed, what is buried?
My action. The action is finished. Not the time itself. Time continues. Even when I am no longer here, time continues moving. One work finishes, then another begins.
That is why I continue. Infinity.
So in a way your art expresses both time and infinity at the same time.
Yes. Time and Infinity. That is why I continue. One work finishes, then another begins, then another.
It also seems connected to your thoughts about mortality.
Of course. As you become older, you think about these things. When I was young, I never thought about death. Now I do. That’s why I work hard, to experience my time.
Your work makes me think of Buddhist notions of existing, the way Buddhist monks meditate on their own death every morning - in order to live better, love life and appreciate it.
I learned these ideas very early. In Japan almost every family carries both in Buddhist and Shinto traditions. Shinto is very old. Il n’a pas de God. It’s very ambiguous. Sometimes a stone, a tree, a quiet place, a shadow - these can all contain a presence.
It’s very similar to Mongolian Shamanism.
The legend is that Japan was created from a drop of water. The drop of water is from nature. The creation legend is not based on a human existence like in Judeo-Christian religion.
So how does that enter your work?
No, that’s too exaggerated. I have a lot of time. I want to create something with originality. I am very free. Nobody knows me. So I draw it. When you do it, then you can see it. Create something with originality. Ça, c'est Gutai.
Matsutani’s studio in Paris.
Why are human beings constantly searching for something new?
Because human beings create. When I was a child, I loved drawing. I copied faces, landscapes, everything. Eventually I began asking myself: Why copy a mountain? The mountain already exists. It is already beautiful. For centuries artists copied nature. Before photography.
Later I wondered: What can art do that nature cannot? Imagination. Beauty already exists. We feel it. Mountains, trees, light, shadow. Human beings create because they have imagination. That imagination allows us to make something that did not exist before.
There are so many circles in your work. What does the circle mean to you?
It feels comfortable. A triangle has a point. A corner. I do not like corners. I prefer something smooth. Organic. The forms created by the vinyl glue are naturally circular. They always return to that shape.
Why is black so important in your work?
In Japan we grow up with sumi ink. We use it for writing, calligraphy, and drawing. Black is familiar. Also, it is mixed with water. Fluidity. There is a lot of fluidity in my work. For me black is neither sad nor cold. It carries something ancient, something deep.
When I look at your work, it feels meditative. Is making it a form of meditation?
Not exactly meditation. It is concentration. Meditation seeks emptiness. When I work, I am searching. I am looking for my own mind.
How did you discover vinyl glue?
Through Gutai. In the 1950s vinyl glue became available as a new industrial material. One day I began experimenting. The glue dried on the surface but remained soft inside. I blew air into it through a straw. Suddenly it became three-dimensional. I was not a sculptor. I worked on paper and canvas. But I wanted a three-dimensional form to emerge from a flat surface. The glue allowed that. Later, a friend who worked in a scientific laboratory showed me microscopic images. I was fascinated. The forms looked alive. Organic life. That connection has remained with me ever since.
Is silence important while you work?
Patience is important. If you repeat a gesture for hours, silence naturally appears. But I do not work in complete silence. I listen to music. Mostly classical music. Sometimes popular music. Music is one of my best companions while working.
Matsutani in his studio, in the SINAI jacket in Ocean.
What keeps you curious?
Life is very large. Infinite. I know I will not live forever. When I was young I never thought about death. Now I think about it often. Creating is freedom. Creating means making something new. That remains motivating.
What is more important: creativity or originality?
Originality. Much more difficult. Many people begin making art. Many give up. You cannot give up. You continue searching.
Which artists do you admire?
Lucio Fontana. Jackson Pollock. Fontana transformed space.
What does art give you that nothing else can?
Beauty. Beauty is necessary for human beings. Not only painting. Beauty exists in clothing, music, design, architecture. Without beauty something important is missing.
You have spent more than sixty years transforming materials. What transforms you?
Art itself. Making art transforms me.
You have witnessed enormous changes in politics, technology and society. What has affected you most?
War. I experienced the Second World War. I still do not understand why people kill one another. That remains the greatest mystery to me.
Blue?
Quietness. Elegance.
Softness
Futon.
Timeless?
Life.
Beauty?
Necessity.
