YURUKAWAFUU

Light Carving
— The World of Yurukawa Fuu

Prof. Hideto Fuse

Art Critic / Professor, Faculty of Fine Arts

Tokyo University of the Arts

The Edo-period master of imaginative painting, Ito Jakuchu, created a remarkable work known as the “Elephant and Whale Screen.” Traditionally, folding screens in Japanese painting were adorned with motifs such as cranes, flowers, or seasonal landscapes. Jakuchu, however, chose instead to depict two immense creatures—the whale and the elephant—thereby overturning established pictorial conventions. This unexpected pairing epitomizes the bold originality that characterizes Jakuchu’s art. When I first encountered the whale and elephant depicted in the works of Yurukawa Fuu, Jakuchu’s screen immediately came to mind.

Yet the whales and elephants of Jakuchu differ profoundly from those of Yurukawa. Yurukawa renders his subjects with a striking realism, almost photographic in clarity. At the same time, the images are not formed through pigment but through light itself. This distinctive method constitutes what may properly be called the technique of light carving. It is through this singular approach that the unique artistic world of Yurukawa unfolds.

The origins of this practice lie in a tea room. Yurukawa Fuu completed graduate studies in my laboratory at Tokyo University of the Arts and subsequently served for a time as a research assistant. Before entering graduate school, however, he had studied architecture. In 2008, at a group exhibition held within the university, Yurukawa constructed a tea-room installation titled “Namako-an.” Within this space the walls and ceilings were carved in relief-like patterns, and images emerged through the interplay of light and shadow passing through the surfaces. This experiment marked the birth of what would later become the technique of light carving.

Some time later, Yurukawa established an atelier in a former kindergarten building in Yugawara, Kanagawa Prefecture. There, in the auditorium of the building, he presented a monumental work depicting a whale created through the light-carving method. Yurukawa himself is a tall figure, standing over 180 centimeters, yet the kindergarten building had been designed for children. I vividly recall the scene of him standing before the work, resembling Gulliver wandering through the land of the Lilliputians.

From that moment onward Yurukawa began producing works in rapid succession. Given his background in architecture, I had initially imagined that he might pursue a path devoted to the creation of spatial environments such as tea rooms. Yet although his works were realized through the innovative technique of light carving, they emerged not as architectural structures but as paintings. Yurukawa’s parents were painters of traditional Japanese painting, and perhaps that artistic lineage quietly revealed itself here. After the whale came the elephant, followed by polar bears, birds, and even motifs such as the moon and drifting clouds—imagery that gradually approached the visual vocabulary of Japanese painting.

It was television that first brought Yurukawa’s work to a broader public. Both the artist and his creations began appearing frequently on programs such as Hirunandesu! on Nippon TV, Miyaneya on Yomiuri TV, and Mezamashi TV on Fuji TV. What initially appeared to be simple blue architectural material suddenly revealed vivid images when illuminated, eliciting astonishment from the guests in the studio. Yurukawa was even invited to create a portrait of the model Nicole Fujita. In this way the world of Yurukawa possesses a remarkable capacity to captivate even those who might otherwise feel distant from the realm of art. The wonder experienced when an image suddenly appears through light owes much to the invention of the light-carving technique itself.

How, then, should the world of Yurukawa—particularly the technique of light carving—be evaluated within the broader discourse of art? Its originality begins above all with the choice of materials. Ordinarily a painter requires paper, pigments, and brushes, all of which are obtained from specialized art supply stores. In the case of Japanese painting, some shops even specialize exclusively in mineral pigments. Professional painters typically procure their materials from such establishments.

By contrast, the materials required for Yurukawa’s light carving are obtained from ordinary home-improvement stores. The Styrofoam that functions as the pictorial ground, the soldering tools used to carve it, and the fluorescent lamps employed for illumination are all materials readily available there. The scene of procuring such materials and creating artworks differs markedly from the conventional image of the painter’s studio. In this respect Yurukawa’s practice conveys something distinctly new and evokes the sensibility of the contemporary era.

Indeed, much of contemporary art since the twentieth century has sought to depart from established artistic frameworks. Marcel Duchamp’s celebrated readymade Fountain demonstrated that an everyday industrial object could become a work of art. Jackson Pollock, who opened new possibilities in painting through his technique of dripping paint, likewise employed house paint and industrial enamel rather than traditional artists’ pigments. Viewed in this context, Yurukawa’s practice of acquiring his materials from a home-improvement store may be regarded as entirely legitimate within the lineage of contemporary art—perhaps even as an extension of the readymade tradition.

At the same time, Yurukawa’s method of sourcing his materials from such stores unmistakably reflects his background in architecture. After all, what these stores supply are fundamentally building materials. In this sense Yurukawa embodies, within the very technique of his work, the path he himself has traveled as an artist.

More recently Yurukawa has taken the technique of light carving further, embarking upon new explorations in painting with light. By covering the carved surfaces with acrylic panels he allows the tones of light to soften and diffuse, producing scenes that shimmer faintly as though enveloped in mist. Japan’s climate often gives rise to fog due to its humidity, and in ink painting landscapes are frequently depicted through such atmospheric effects. Yurukawa has begun to evoke this sensibility not with ink but with light itself—an emergence of a new aesthetic.

In this new series only subtle gradations of light and color remain, and clear contour lines disappear. The incisions visible on the Styrofoam surface—resembling the marks of a chisel in wood carving—were among the distinctive attractions of earlier light-carving works. Yet the luminous scenes formed purely through shifting light and color possess their own quiet fascination. Leonardo da Vinci, the painter of the Mona Lisa, believed that clear outlines do not truly exist in nature, and he rendered forms through the soft transitions of sfumato. In a similar sense Yurukawa’s recent works may be regarded as a contemporary form of sfumato achieved through light.

Ultimately, art is above all the development of technique. Leonardo da Vinci moved beyond the conventions of fresco painting to devise new oil-based methods, and through these innovations he created an entirely new style of painting. Yurukawa likewise begins by exploring new techniques; only afterward does the “new painting” follow. This, in essence, is the world of beauty created by Yurukawa Fuu.