The Second Chapter : Interview with TAKUMI (English ver.)

 

The tenth conversation in our series, The Artist’s Muse, introduces TAKUMI, an artist who gives form to the invisible "intervals" through a diverse range of materials, including iron, wood, and polystyrene. A self-taught visionary who has carved out his own artistic path over the past decade, TAKUMI traverses the realms of sculpture and two-dimensional work, exploring the delicate equilibrium between presence and absence.

TAKUMI’s practice originates from a deeply personal experience of kuhaku (emptiness). After emerging from a period in his life that left no distinct memories—a literal "blank page"—he returned to the act of creation and discovered the persistent presence of ma (intervals) within his work. This was not merely a calculated compositional choice, but a profound realization of the "empty spaces" we so often overlook in a modern world overflowing with information and meaning.

His gaze rests upon the most subtle sensations of daily life. The dappled sunlight filtering through leaves, a faint sound in the stillness, the sudden clarity of the air as seasons shift—these fleeting fragments are his primary muses. TAKUMI refines the emotional resonance of these moments into two ongoing series: Manuku, which seeks to "extract the interval," and oinut, an exploration of "seeing the inner through the outer”.

For the artist, the act of drawing a "line" serves as a conduit between forgotten memories and his inner world. The experience of a recurring childhood dream suddenly resurfacing through a single, spontaneous line reveals that his work transcends mere intention, reaching into the depths of the subconscious.

In this dialogue, TAKUMI reflects on the importance of affirming ambiguity rather than striving to fill the void. His modest yet sincere confession—"I simply wish to delight in the moment when 'nothing' turns into 'something'"—reminds us that art can serve as a truthful "measure" for perceiving the world.

We invite you to step into the quiet yet steadfast artistic journey of TAKUMI, where the boundaries between the inner and outer worlds dissolve into a space of free and poetic expansion.

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Q. Thank you for joining us today—it's wonderful to meet you. I'd love to begin by hearing about you and your practice. How would you introduce yourself as an artist, and what work are you currently engaged with?

A. Hello, and thank you very much for the opportunity.

I create objects using materials such as iron, wood, and polystyrene, as well as two-dimensional works that incorporate drawn lines. At present, I am mainly working independently on two series titled “Manuku” and “oinut”.

outin oinut

oinut

Q. What is the main source of inspiration for your current work? When did this particular muse first become meaningful to you, and can you describe that initial encounter?

A. The source of my inspiration lies, so to speak, in the “ma(intervals)” that exist within “kuhaku(emptiness)”. In today’s world—overflowing with information and meaning—such spaces tend to be blind spots that are easily overlooked. I came to realize this when I looked back at my own works.

Although I have been creating for more than ten years, before I began this journey there was a “ kuhaku(emptiness)” period in my life—a time that left no particular memories. After that experience, and recalling my long-standing love of making things, I began creating iron sculptures and two-dimensional works on my own.

Perhaps because I was self-taught, there was a period when I could not clearly explain the meaning or intention behind my early works, and I often found myself questioning them.

Then, one day, instead of looking inward, I simply observed the work before me and noticed that elements such as “drawings” and “in-between spaces” were shaping its overall color and form.

I came to understand that this was not merely a structural composition driven by pure impulse, but rather an expression of “ma(intervals)” —the interval—as an essential presence beyond its individual components.

oinut

Q. When you first discovered this source of inspiration, what emotions did you experience? How did it change your artistic direction or working methods afterward?

A. It felt as though a long-standing fog had finally lifted, leaving me with a sense of liberation and expansiveness. I had heard the word “ma(intervals)”—the interval—in contexts like film advertising before, but when it resonated with my own work, I remember feeling a quiet sense of excitement.

Until then, I realize now that I had been unconsciously bound by conventional notions of “value” and “perfection” shaped by society.

After becoming aware of the presence of “ma(intervals)” within my work, I began to focus more on drawing and lines, incorporating forms of expression that are indirect, spontaneous, and difficult to control—such as paint drips or traces left by plucked strings. This shift was grounded in a paradox: that “to reveal drawing itself is to reveal ma,” and that “the absence of meaning holds meaning.” These ideas eventually evolved into gestures like Manuku—to “extract the interval”—and oinut—to “see the inner through the outer”.

マヌーク

Q. How does your muse typically appear to you—as visual images, sounds, spatial feelings, or particular emotions? Could you describe its specific characteristics or qualities in detail?

A. It is a difficult question, but if I were to describe what I am drawn to or what I tend to notice in my daily life, 

I would say things like “light streaming in” or “sunlight filtering through leaves” created by the interplay of light and shadow, and the “sensation of air or touch on the skin”. 

Sounds such as “a sudden noise in the stillness,” “a distant sound,” or “the natural resonance of water” also move me deeply. There is also the quiet “soundless sound” that comes when snow falls, the “scents of soil, flowers, and trees” that accompany the “changing of seasons,” the “clarity of the air” and the faint sense of “mist or haze”. 

I am inspired by the “sunrise and sunset” that mark the beginning and end of a day, by “intermediate or greyish tones,” by “cracks and the texture of ceramics,” and by “rhythm itself”.

These are just a few examples, but I believe my inspiration lies in the subtle “spaces” between the emotions and sensations that arise when I become aware of these moments.

I also feel a deep sense of “purity” and “genuine impulse” in the bodily response that appears when my heart is moved—a shiver or goosebumps that remind me of how alive that sensation is.

Q. Could you please introduce a work in which that inspiration—or the source of that inspiration—is most distinctly manifested? I would also appreciate it if you could describe the process from the initial sketch to the final completion, and explain how the key choices regarding materials, colors, forms, and scale were determined.

A. I believe this quality appears in all of my works, but I would like to introduce one in which it is expressed most simply. It is the “mark” used in my pieces. In my early works, I created patterns that later became connected with the puzzle-like shapes featured in the oinut series. By combining these forms, the past and present of my creative process are brought together as one. Furthermore, by eliminating the boundary lines, I aim to express the existence of invisible lines.

As for the materials and other elements in my work, they have not been selected through deliberate or calculated decision-making. More often, I combine objects that somehow attract me, things I feel drawn to without clear reason, or materials that happen to be close at hand in the process of making. Consequently, many interpretations come only afterward. Yet I have come to think that these choices, too, may be guided by the presence of “ma(intervals)” — the interval itself.

Q. Has your relationship with your muse evolved over time? Are there aspects that have deepened or new dimensions you've discovered that you'd like to share?

A. Before I began creating, “kuhaku(emptiness)” was something that always existed right beside me, yet at the time, it was also something I wanted to keep at a distance if I could.

In trying to escape from that uncertain tension, I was drawn to iron—a material with physical solidity and certainty. Perhaps by giving form to my work, I was unconsciously seeking to affirm my own existence.

Back then, I may have been trying to fill the “kuhaku(emptiness),” but in recent years, it has transformed into the presence of “ma(intervals)”, a state that embraces ambiguity. I have come to view “kuhaku(emptiness),” including the periods when I am unable to create, in a more affirmative way—as something to accompany and stay close to. I also feel that the changes in my materials and style embody a kind of fluid energy, reflecting the dynamic aspect of creation itself.

Q. Do you have any intentional activities or routines for connecting with inspiration? Conversely, when inspiration doesn't come easily, how do you handle those periods?

A. I don’t have any particular routines that I practice consciously, but I try not to make fixed assumptions about things and instead accept what I feel with honesty. I also place importance on maintaining a balance between creation and everyday life. For me, drawing deepens my connection with my own senses, and by intentionally creating distance, I am able to expand that awareness.

To achieve this, I spend time in different ways—enjoying music, films, and fashion, or going out into nature to fish. These moments of “extracting ma”—stepping away—often become sources of insight and new perspectives when I return to my work.

Words like paradox and scotoma are also terms I encountered during such times, often through films that resonated with my creative process.

マヌーク 器

Q. Can you tell us about a moment when your muse led you somewhere unexpected or challenging? What did you discover about yourself or your practice through that experience?

A. Much of what I have spoken about so far has been unexpected even for me, but there was one particularly interesting experience.

One day, while drawing as usual, a single line I had drawn suddenly brought back a mysterious dream I used to have repeatedly as a child. Though the memory isn’t vivid, I remember a scene in which “a large white cloth—like an enormous sheet or curtain—was being pulled toward me”. At that moment, the line I had drawn seemed to resemble the folds or gathering lines formed in that cloth.

I realized that drawing—or expressing through lines—is not only an intentional act born of will, but also a process that awakens forgotten memories and images. It is, in a way, an act that connects the inner and the outer worlds.

Q. How does your audience's response to your work affect your relationship with your muse? Have viewers ever helped you see new aspects of your inspiration that you hadn't noticed before?

A. Up until now, I have not had many opportunities to exhibit my work, so there have been few clear turning points that significantly changed the direction of my practice. On one occasion, when I held a small solo exhibition, some viewers told me that my works made them “feel at ease,” or that they “liked them, though they couldn’t quite say why.” Because this kind of inexplicable sense of attraction is also an important part of my own creative process, those comments were especially meaningful to me.

That experience gave me confidence that the way I have been working—largely self-taught—has nonetheless been able to resonate with viewers, and that the sources of inspiration I have relied on so far were not misguided. It also made me quietly wonder whether my works might serve, for those viewers in a state of fresh, unprejudiced perception, as a kind of “ruler” or “measure” for sensing the distance between the outer world and their inner selves.

マヌーク

Q. How do you balance staying true to your core inspiration while also allowing room for growth and change? Have there been times when you've had to choose between following your muse and meeting external expectations?

A. For me, these things are not separate. I believe that because I value the core of my work, my expression naturally expands into new areas.

There was a time when I worried that changes in the style of my work might be seen negatively—as a lack of consistency. However, I have come to understand that allowing my creative scope to expand is, in fact, a way to maintain balance and stay true to the core that lies within me.

マヌーク　一シュンのブルー

Q. Thank you so much for sharing such thoughtful insights with us today. As we conclude our conversation, Looking ahead, in what direction do you think your muse will develop or expand? Are there new territories of inspiration you're eager to explore, and what draws you to them?

A. Thank you very much as well. At this moment, my creative practice itself is in what could be called a state of “ma(intervals)”—an interval. Within this period, having the opportunity to share my thoughts through an interview has been deeply meaningful for me. Although I am self-taught, it has allowed me to weave together the feelings and reflections I have experienced through making.

The sources of inspiration I have spoken about thus far are perspectives that always bring me back to a “zero base.” I have come to feel that my works exist as a kind of “measure” for perceiving the space between the inner and the outer worlds. I believe that this measure will continue to expand—freely and from multiple perspectives.

I now wish to move toward a place where I can simply take delight in the moment when “nothing” turns into “something”.

Thank you very much.

Contact

Artist : TAKUMI 

Instagram : @t.tunagary