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Toshio Iezumi |
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Glass
and Movement In Japan there were not words corresponding to the European word "sculpture" until the Meiji era (1867- 1912) because, I believe, there had not been concepts like "volume" or "mass". In Europe these are concepts that belong to the culture of stone. In Japan, outside of this culture, artists could make statues of Buddha and other ornaments without being conscious of mass and volume. For in Japan the most important considerations were the materials and the techniques to use them. These considerations have become indigenous and have primarily influenced the art and industrial production in Japan until now. I like, and spend a good deal of time viewing, ancient ceramic works made in China, Korea and Japan. The charm of these works consists of materials, textures and form related with one another, textures made over time by nature being complexly intertwined with them as well. Of course decoration and function are also important. Ceramic work is a microcosm in which various elements are integrated. Ceramics in Japan and China may be akin to books in Western culture. When I look at sculpture, I am fascinated by thematerials, textures and techniques. In archaic stone sculpture, I am attracted to its very soft and almost translucent surface, different from that of Roman sculptures because different tools were used to make them. Archaic sculptures were carved with bronze chisels, not as hard as the iron chisels used by the Romans, which had to be put at right angles to the surface of the stone, thereby leaving microscopic cracks all over the surface. These cracks remained inside even after the surface was smoothed with abrasives, bringing forth a beautiful texture which becomes related with the form. In sculpture by Brancusi, said to be some of the first abstract sculpture, the form is seen through the luster on its surface, its "texture", thereby bringing the concept of surface again into question. Brancusi polished his work himself, and never painted them with anti-corrosive. This type of luster is important for his sculpture, and the pieces of bronze cast and polished after his death are completely different from those of his own making. (As is well know to those of us who have experience in polishing, materials vary with the conditions of polishing.) If we consider classic sculpture as consisting of movement, mass and volume integrated in its form, contemporary sculpture that started with Brancusi set itself apart. The significance of materials, textures and techniques, which were not treated with importance before, get revaluated, and the disintegration into the elements makes us notice the relation between them. Consider the movement of opaque objects, where form associates with the surface. In the bark of a tree, people read its growth (movement), and imagine its potential to grow. The movement read in the form and the potential of further movements in the material combine to bring movement in depth. So transparency implies that the viewer and the material are deprived of creativity. Brancusi took away movement from sculpture in his "Beginning of the World" (1920). In consequence its form visualizes the potential of movement in the material. "Direct cutting in the chosen material is the true road to sculpture" said Brancusi, referring to "The Muse" (1912), which does not create such visible movement as in "classical" sculpture. It consists of four separate masses, each of which has movement and the potential of movement. The disposition of masses is so exquisite that the relation between them varies constantly with the visual angles. Considering its whole form as a piece of canvas, on this canvas the relationship between movements, masses and volumes can be visualized. Movement may be more important for glass than we think. For me, movements are of two types: actual vertical or horizontal movements, horizontal movements, and visual depth. Movements can be divided roughly into two modes, each of which is based on gravity. They are very corporeal things and are related closely to textures, including tactility. Though it is transparent, can glass turn into a material for sculpture by means of movement and texture? What forms result from that? -Toshio Iezumi, 2006 Glass Works as Phenomena No other material splits into existence and appearance as much as glass. You see the most extreme examples of this split in the cases of window panes and mirrors. You look out of the window, and you look at yourself in the mirror. In either case, you don’t see the glass itself; the glass itself dis appears to do its duty. The glass exists, but it does not appear as itself. Here the existence and the appearance are definitively separated from each other. Transmitting and reflecting light —— it is one of the most important properties of glass as material. And perhaps between the perfect transmission and the perfect regulated reflection, glass can be seen and recognized as it is, to present itself. In keeping a certain balance of transmitting and reflecting light, glass gets its appearance as glass and shows us its existence. But what does "appearing as glass" mean? How does glass appear when we notice the "existence of glass"? In ordinary materials and objects other than glass, their appearances correspond with their existences. Occidental epistemology has defined cognition as the coincidence of subject with object - to accomplish true cognition, we should take or see things as they are. But what does "seeing glass as it is" mean? Perhaps no one can ever imagine a piece of glass that has one stable "appearance" that corresponds to its existence. I suppose "appearing as it is" in glass means that it appears variously changing its appearances every time, according to its surroundings, including light and the positions of the viewers. In other words, as opposed to the ordinary materials and objects whose appearances converge to their own existences "as they are", appearances of glass fail to converge, playing with one another and continuously slipping off. Such plays and movements of appearances so as not to attain its existence, we might say, give notice of the existence of glass at a metaphysical level. Toshio Iezumi creates his pieces out of these properties of glass, by using the techniques of carving, grinding and polishing the laminated glass. In his works, transmission, reflection and refraction of light play an important part. He brings forth their appearances out of glass and makes them play with one another —— I’m not speaking exactly, for he does not produce either "appearances" or "plays of appearances" themselves. What he actually does is to laminate glass plates into a mass, and then to carve, grind and polish it. Through these processes, a ground and polished mass of laminated glass is made. There must be some "arrangement" made by him in this mass (it is very important for him, and he writes about it in this catalog.) But until we see it, no "appearances", no "plays of appearances" are brought about. Our "seeing it", to be exact, our "looking around it" with our eyes and heads and bodies moving, which should be a kind of action at a certain place in certain surrounding conditions - makes glass show its existence as glass. This act completes his works. His works cannot be in themselves. Participation of viewers and that of surroundings are necessary for his works to be accomplished. His works do not complete in themselves as an independent "object", but get completed dynamically between properly treated masses of glass and viewers. Viewers are made to take part in his works. For example, people often talk of the "depth" or “profundity” of Toshio Iezumi’s works. The depth /profundity, which phenome- nology has willingly considered, do not make sense in relation to a certain viewer situated in a certain place: the "length" can be objective, but the depth /profundity cannot. So that a piece may have depth /profundity, there must be a viewer involved. In this sense, the depth /profundity in glass works is a kind of phenome non. It is different from that of painting in perspective founded on a fixed viewpoint of its author. Strictly speaking, we can see same things in every "work of art". But considering that glass has a property of being "’split into appearance and existence" (or a vague correspondence to them), and that Toshio Iezumi founds his works on such properties of this material, it is natural that his works assume the character of phenomena. Aki
Morita, professor Kurashiki University  I am a glass grinder.
First, I would like to tell you how I make my pieces. I begin by gluing some plates of glass into a mass. This is ordinary plate glass with the green hues that come from the iron content. Then I cut this mass with a diamond blade. After that I grind and polish it, a process that involves 7 steps grinding grits of increasing levels of fineness: #60, #150,#300,#500,#800,#1000, ending with a felt buff. In these steps, I use a small hand grinder. This technique is almost same as that of stone carving, except that I don’t use a chisel. I do not seek to represent or express ideas through my works; I want to present my works. This material - plate glass, and this technique grinding, are both significant for me. The pieces are not mere embodiments of ideas. The process is for me the defining moment. I like grinding glass, because in doing so, I see a form arise from it. I like to look at ancient Chinese ceramics, bronzes, lacquer and pottery figures, Japanese temples, Buddhist statues, old ceramics and other craft works - ancient Egyptian and Mediterranean arts. I also like Constantin Brancusi, Babara Hepworth, Alberto Giacometti, Max Bill, Isamu Noguchi, Donald Judd, Tony Cragg, Georges Braque, Joseph Albers, Ben Nicholson, Giorgio Morandi, Mark Rothko, Ellsworth Kelly, Agnes Martin, Cy Twombly, Frank Stella and David Hockney. When I look at a piece of Chinese bronze, I don’t know who made the piece or what idea he had. But these works stir my imagination. In almost the same way, the works of the modern artists I mentioned above affect me; in their works there is something that cannot be reduced to their ideas. For example I feel the yellowish white color of white porcelain in the Tang dynasty, cold and hot, solid and soft at the same time. I would like to make such pieces myself. In order that my works have something beyond my intention, I concentrate on grinding glass. In grinding glass, I have a conversation with the glass through my body: I ask the glass and the glass answers me. I ask the glass with my hands and receive its answer with my eyes. The answer from the glass is how it looks. The look of the glass varies with my grinding and I have to understand it. If I feel the glass very soft, it means our conversation goes well. My works are born from such conversation. Once the work is finished, I see what I wanted. When things go well, I discover myself in my works. But this does not always happen, and I reject those works. The finished work also varies in the way it appears, depending on the environment in which it is viewed: the situation around it influences how it looks. The unexpected may appear and anticipated appearances may not happen. To me, this is the problem of illusion. What do we see? How do the things look? This question is always in my mind when making my pieces and seeing the works of other artists. I take photographs of my work. When I do so, I create an environment for the photograph, to achieve a certain look. A photograph cuts off and fixes on one aspect of how the piece can look. At first I took photos as a record. But I cannot take photos of its varying looks. As my work consists of infinitely varying appearances, it is impossible to view my photographs as a record. My photos are completely different from my glass work. Now I take photos to be conscious of how I see it. I present it to others, to offer a vision I cannot otherwise describe. Toshio
Iezumi, 2002 he work evokes the surface of gently flowing water, scooped up into a blue-green disc. The soft, morphing glass surface bears a dynamic component suggesting the surface tension of water, yet remains static at the same time. The work does not repel the viewer’s gaze but draws it in, guiding it into the deepest inner reaches but never allowing it to focus onto a set image. The external space that surrounds the work is reflected within, and yet the way it appears changes in accordance with the glass’ complexities of thickness and distortion, as well as the point at which the viewer’s gaze is directed. Iezumi’s oeuvre is produced by bonding cumulative layers of sheet glass together into a mass, then carving the surface. Despite its existence as an actual substance, sheet glass is a material that mysteriously alternates between form and nothingness from a visual standpoint, due to the physical phenomenon in which its surface reflects and filters light. Rather than consciously selecting this material as suitable for his modes of expression, it would seem that Iezumi continues to marvel at the beauty and mystery of sheet glass almost 20 years after his initial encounter and infatuation with it. For example, in his V Series, Iezumi begins by layering about a dozen sheets of heat-reflecting glass in order to control the way in which light passes through the work. The sheets are each 6mm thick and measure 60cm square, and reflect light at a rate of approximately 15%. He then proceeds to layer the pieces with two or three sheets of window glass. These sheets are each about 15mm thick, and have a low rate of light reflection because there is no coating on the surface. These cumulative layers are then bonded together by the artist to create a mass. As he works on the next process of carving the surface, employing hand grinders generally used for stone sculpture, Iezumi tries to envision the work as it will appear when completed. In spite of this, he says that when the pieces are polished with felt as a final finishing touch, they take on a completely different aspect from the way they appeared before. Iezumi started out by keeping a certain distance from the material, trying to observe the unique properties of sheet glass and layer it cumulatively into intellectual compositions. With time, however, he has come to draw the material closer into himself, transforming his style by incorporating a strong tactile element. It is his belief that the materials and techniques employed profoundly affect the form and substance of the finished work. As a light-transmitting substance, glass differs from materials such as stone and metal which are not permeable to light. Though the basic material is the same, cumulatively layered glass also differs from a non-layered mass of colored glass, because the former has light-reflective surfaces embedded within the mass itself while the latter does not. Iezumi continues to pursue the visual potential of cumulatively layered glass, enhancing it by direct carving of the surface. With the consciousness that sheet glass can even take on the soft consistency of pudding if the proper tools and techniques are used, Iezumi attempts to explore that mysterious artistic element that transcends his own intentions as an artist, arising instead from the material itself. The flawless perfection of his works, with their highly concise and basic forms, can be said to be rooted in meticulous control as well as in a sense of balance achieved through effective use of the artist’s sensory faculties on an unconscious rather than conscious level. Yoriko
Mizuta
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