In her practice, Shiori Watanabe examines the intricate interplay between invasive and protected species of plants and animals, employing them as poignant symbols to reflect on social and political dynamics in Japan. In this dialogue for Living Content, Shiori offers unique insights into ecology, environmental conservation, and the imperative of redefining humanity's relationship with nature.
A standout among her artworks is the enduring installation piece, Sunroom (2017–ongoing), which serves as a testament to nature's resilience beyond human existence. Drawing inspiration from her childhood, and particularly from her trips to the Tokyo Imperial Palace, Shiori collected a diverse array of organisms native to the palace gardens, including plants, fish, and bacteria, and transported them to her studio. There, she arranged them into separate tanks, creating mini ecosystems that she then linked with water circulation tubes. Sunroom functions as a large, self-sustaining world. Since its inception in 2017, the work has undergone continuous evolution, with the artist regularly introducing new species to this thriving system.
This conversation was part of a three-month research trip in Japan, during which Living Content conducted a series of studio visits and interviews with artists living and working in Tokyo and beyond. The research was supported by CCA, the Center for Contemporary Art, and Peace Winds Japan (PWJ).
Shiori Watanabe (b.1984, Tokyo) graduated from the Department of Sculpture in the Faculty of Fine Arts at Tokyo University of the Arts in 2015, and in 2017, she graduated from the Graduate School of Fine Arts. Recent exhibitions by Watanabe include: "Dyadic Stem" at the 5th Floor (a two-artist show with Shinjiro Watanabe), "Non-Human Control" at TAV GALLERY in 2020, and "Bebe" at Whitehouse in 2021, the first solo exhibition curated by Ryta Ushiro, a member of the ChimPom artists collective.
Living Content: Your research delves into the notion of invasive species versus protected species in Japan, like the bluegill, a hybrid freshwater fish from North America, and the Japanese crested ibis. You use these metaphors to explore national socio-political dynamics. Could you elaborate on how this aligns with your broader artistic approach, your interest in ecology and environmental conservation, and why it holds personal significance for you?
Shiori Watanabe: When explaining this, I always try to be careful to avoid any misunderstandings. To begin with, when we talk about ecosystems and the environment, we tend to either put human existence on hold or overestimate our eco-activities. Of course, environmental protection activities are noble, but, at the same time, I cast a skeptical eye toward them. If we ever think of ourselves as just another living creature, we would question whether humans are really entitled to control nature. In fact, I believe that nature is a much larger entity that swallows up all of our preservation efforts. Seeing myself as an "I" among all these kinds of living things, I realize that there is no way I can exist as a distinct subject. What I am doing is exploring the possibility of reconsidering human problems and finding contradictions from this ecological perspective. The classification of exotic species and protected species is also determined by mankind and can be seen as an ecology based on national and political agendas. However, such species are always uncontrollable and go beyond our intentions. The bluegills that I am researching are also targeted for extermination, but they still manage to escape the system and thrive. This situation feels threatening but also hopeful. Not only in Japan but especially in urban spaces, many things are excluded to maintain the contemporary social code of cleanliness, beauty, and rationality. I feel this when I am immersed in various invisible systems; I am always moved by the sight of wildflowers that break through the asphalt. I am looking for that raw feeling in my art as well.
LC: Can you share a bit about your creative process?
SW: Working on semi-permanent projects such as "Sans Room" (2017-) always gives me a sense of discovery. It requires constant maintenance and care that also requires me to make a community around them. I noticed how artist friends gather organically around them, and then I started coming up with the idea of exhibitions in the form of collaborations with them.
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In terms of the actual work: in a sense, I just find joy in working hard to create the commonground and to ensure that the creatures live happily there instead of creating art pieces. When it comes to research, I read a lot of essays and books, and when I find something that inspires me, I usually wait for some revelations. However, it's not something that comes to me easily, so I try to force myself to step outside my own thoughts and I do that best somehow by helping others in the process. By doing so, unexpected encounters and events may occur, and I may connect with things I have been thinking about in the past. This distance is important to strengthen the work. That being said, in a similar way to the creatures that are part in Sans Room, I am fully dependent on others.
LC: Japan has a rich history of spirituality and a deep connection to nature. How has your Japanese cultural background influenced your artistic exploration of ecological and spiritual themes? In what ways did it contribute to your practice?
SW: From an early age, I grew up in an urban environment so, naturally, a life-changing moment for me as an adult, was when I experienced hunting and mushroom picking for the first time. Yet, I couldn't imagine myself living in the wilderness of the mountains for the rest of my life. I, therefore, chose a life in the city and decided to take on this responsibility.
Another pivotal moment was during my University years, after taking a class by Prof. Shinichi Nakazawa, a renowned anthropologist in Japan. I became very interested in folklore and cultural anthropology in Japan. This led me to look at established scholars such as Kumagusu Minakata, Orikuchi Nobuo, Yoshihiko Amino, and so forth. Because I majored in French Philosophy, people like Antonin Artaud and Deleuze, who introduced an oriental perspective to Western philosophy, have also been deeply influential to me. I feel that these three life experiences overlapped as I pursued a career as an artist. In the exhibition I curated in 2022, I explored ecology and the imperial system from a cultural and anthropological perspective, as well as the deep relationship between art and ancient performing arts in Japan.
LC: Your work, "L'Origine du monnaie," skillfully merges a wide array of Western and Eastern influences, particularly in its powerful portrayal of femininity. How does being a woman artist in the art world, particularly in Tokyo, impact the reception and interpretation of your work - if at all?
SW: I have never voluntarily identified myself as a "woman-artist" before. I believe that the moments when I perceive myself as a woman are always outside of myself. For example, when I am told about my appearance, or when I am carrying something heavy, I encounter biases. Particularly in Japan, where the birth rate is declining, the question of 'for whom do we bear children?' often arises. Within this context, many individuals express frustration towards the Meiji government's historical categorization of women as impure, particularly in matters of death, disease, childbirth, menstruation, and the condemnation of sin. However, simultaneously, many find this reversal of values intriguing.
LC: How do you see your work evolving and what are you excited about next?
SW: Interestingly, it seems like I'm creating my own works less and less every year. I find myself proposing my personal ideas through collaborating with others or curating (I don't know what else to call it). After all, the ideal is to just create the soil, and once an ecosystem is born there, the rest will grow on its own, so I'm a little worried about whether the title of "artist" is the right one for what I do.
LC: What is a special landscape or natural place for you in or out of Tokyo ?
SW: This is what the French philosopher Roland Barthes described as the "empty void at its center," and it is interesting that there is rich nature there. Outside of Tokyo, there are many places, but Ishigaki Island stands out. Ishigaki Island is still a place where spirituality takes precedence over law. The unique atmosphere of the entire island can only be thought to be inhabited by spirits. I feel that there is a lot more to learn about this Island, which has recently become politically complicated with the construction of a missile base. By a curious coincidence, we are planning to hold a festival here, so I should continue to be involved with Ishigaki Island in the long term.
