My “Fragments”

Art expresses what cannot be conveyed through words alone using visual language. Among its forms, contemporary art in particular is often challenged to justify the reasons behind its chosen themes, motifs, and methods of expression, as they are expected to engage in a critical dialogue with reality. No matter how skilled an artist is, simply pouring one’s passion onto the canvas will not be enough to earn recognition. Therefore, artists working within the genre of contemporary art not only create their works but also provide a statement explaining, “This is made with this specific intention.” In a sense, it is a game fought utilizing the work’s form as well as “the artist’s intention, will, and critical perspective.”
In contrast, the expression of persons with disabilities (which is referred to by various terms such as “outsider art,” “able art,” or “art brut”) often lacks clear understanding of the artist’s intention. To begin with, it is not always the case that the work is created with the intention of being “art.” It may be part of everyday life or something the artist feels compelled to do obsessively. There are those who find joy in having others view their work and those who have no interest in it. However, when those close to the artist (such as caregivers like family members or facility staff) recognize that the act or expression reflects the person’s individuality, it becomes something to be cherished as “art.” It is a game of respecting and observing the act or expression in order to understand the person.
In recent years, there has been an increasing trend of exhibiting contemporary art alongside the expressions of persons with disabilities. As described above, they are fundamentally different games—comparable to trying to play baseball and soccer at the same time. Therefore, one should not judge the superiority of the rules, nor should the rules of one game take priority over the other. However, in reality, contemporary art tends to adopt a more patronizing attitude. The situation in which only those expressions by persons with disabilities that offer a fresh sense of surprise from the perspective of contemporary art being evaluated as contemporary art as well as who holds the authority to make those decisions is highly exploitative and violent. For years, I have visited studios and facilities where persons with disabilities create, documenting and writing commentaries about their art. (I have personally met several of the artists featured in this exhibition.) Coming to the painful realization that even well-intentioned efforts at inclusion can amount to exploitation was a difficult experience for me. I believe that everyone who tries to bridge the expression of persons with disabilities and contemporary art carries this pain.

Miyamoto Noriko, who is in charge of curating this exhibition, Exploring II - Fragments of Art in Everyday Life, is likely someone who has experienced this pain and continues to reflect on it. In this exhibition, 14 artists are presented in relation to four key themes. Apart from the greeting panels at the entrance, there are no explanations addressing “disability.” Regardless of the background of each artist, all are treated equally. Both contemporary art and the expressions of persons with disabilities are defined by who creates them, but the decision to deliberately exclude this distinction may be an intention to shift the focus from the creator to the receiver (the viewer).
I may feel this way because Miyamoto refers to these works as “fragments of art.” I presume she coined this term with the image of “the essence of expression, the precious things that shine brightly.” She was likely able to create this expression because she’s someone who can cherish what’s in front of her without needing to judge whether it’s art or not. Instead of using labels like “art brut” or forcibly imposing contemporary art rules onto it, this is an attitude of carefully observing what is before you, simply aligning it with what one feels in everyday life, without relying on the rules of either game. At that moment, the artwork returns not to the creator, but to us, the receivers.

In the narrow, runway-like space beside the café, whose murmuring conversations fill Spiral Garden, each artist’s “Beloved Things” are displayed. As you circle around the open atrium at the back, you encounter small sections titled “Handiwork,” “Routine,” and “Beyond Words.” And before you know it, you find yourself making another round, caught up in the flow. These works, likely created out of the artist’s deep affections, impulses, or curiosity, invite viewers to observe them through the lens of their own experiences. I feel that these are my own “beloved things,” my own “handiwork,” my own “routine,” and my own “words.” If I could turn my small daily rituals, fixations, and habits (both physical and mental) into “fragments” to observe from a slight distance, what form would they take? Encountering “fragments of art” in this exhibition may not be so much about viewing someone else’s work as something separate from oneself, but rather about finding companions on a journey to discover the “fragments” of one’s own daily life.