March 2025
Yoshitomo Nara
Detail, Both Side Now, 2024, urethane on bronze, 59 x 35 3/8 x 53 1/8 inches; brick pedestal, 36 x 59 x 53 1/4 inches
Yeewan Koon on the evolution of Yoshitomo Nara’s artistic practice and curating My Imperfect Self, his milestone exhibition at BLUM Los Angeles.
With reflections from gallerist Tim Blum on Nara’s singular vision and their decades-long partnership.
Interview by Dan Golden
Dan Golden: This exhibition marks 30 years since Nara’s first show with BLUM. How do you see My Imperfect Self as a continuation and (possibly) a shift in his artistic practice?
Yeewan Koon: The most significant shift I see in Nara’s practice is a greater sense of rootedness in his work. In the 1990s, he was a Japanese artist based in Germany, trying to get shows in various parts of the world and engaging with curators and audiences who held different social, cultural, and geopolitical lenses. He was perceived as the young rebel, the idealist, the introvert, the cipher to all things Japanese. This wasn’t an easy landscape to navigate. It isn’t surprising then to see how he was a walking paradox: effortlessly accessible yet ultimately elusive, charismatic yet a solitary wanderer at heart. A part of him was always kept in reserve, a protective shield over his innermost self. His work had that, too — that tension of social belonging and a resistance to it. That has changed.
Today, he is more connected to his surroundings, often in his home region of North and Northeastern Japan. His strong need for privacy is still there but is held less tightly. Perhaps that greater sense of belonging has been the reason for this change. His work has always been playful, but the touch is lighter and freer in its expressions, allowing mistakes to happen.
The sculptural heads, with all their peculiarities, in My Imperfect Self could never have happened 30 years ago. Here, he disassembles his own iconic image of the Nara child. It’s such seemingly anti-artistic labor that it takes a moment to register just how radical these heads are within his oeuvre. This level of confidence requires an artist who knows where he is in his own career.
Installation View, Yoshitomo Nara, My Imperfect Self, BLUM Los Angeles, January 18—March 22, 2025
DG: While Nara is best known for his paintings and drawings, this exhibition spotlights his sculptural practice. How has sculpture run parallel to his other work over the years, and how does it factor into his creative process?
YK: Nara also studied in the sculpture department at art school, and sculpture has always been integral to his practice. While it has consistently complemented his two-dimensional works, it wasn’t until around 2011 that his sculptures emerged as stand-alone projects.
Previously, his usual practice involved making three-dimensional works resonating with the materials or techniques used in paintings and often exploiting the space in ways that paintings cannot. The easiest way to explain this is to describe a work. One of my favorite early installations is The Little Pilgrims (1999), featuring sleepwalking children—a motif that appears in many of Nara’s early drawings and paintings. This installation was crafted from strips of canvas that echo his painting Abandoned Puppy (1995), which employed a similar structure. When this set of sculptures was showcased in a groundbreaking exhibition called ART/DOMESTIC: Temperature of the Time at the Setagaya Art Museum, Nara created many of these figures and placed them in unexpected narrow hallways, making them appear like a large group of sleepwalking children forever trapped and bumping into each other.
I would have loved to return to see this show, which tackled one of the pressing issues of the time: whether the Japanese art scene was conforming to a Eurocentric idea of Japan. The curator, Takashi Azumaya, presented a group of artists who transcended the clichés of manga and subverted the pristine white-cube space by exploiting non-spaces and using ad hoc displays of works.
DG: I noticed what appeared to be thumb imprints on the surfaces of some of the sculptures, which led me to suspect they began as smaller pieces before being enlarged. Could you walk us through how these new sculptures were made—from the initial palm-sized clay heads to their final form in bronze? Did he collaborate with a fabricator or modeler in the scaling process?
YK: The imprints of Nara’s fingers are at the core of these works and his recent sculptural practice. Let me discuss the process here: Nara has created a number of small heads, all spontaneously executed. They serve as the sculptural equivalent of sketches. He selects a few to be scaled up from these, focusing on those he considers non-classical “Nara style.” He is particularly drawn to the ones that appear more odd or different.
He collaborates with a fabricator to enlarge these into bronze. Urethane is then applied on top, resulting in a super-matte white finish. The result is a bronze sculpture that captures the malleable nature of clay while maintaining a hard structure that resembles marshmallow puffiness. Again, this reflects Nara’s penchant for paradoxes.
Untitled, 2024, urethane on bronze, 37 3/4 x 48 1/4 x 25 5/8 inches; brick pedestal, 33 x 63 x 43 1/4 inches
Both Side Now, 2024, urethane on bronze, 59 x 35 3/8 x 53 1/8 inches; brick pedestal, 36 x 59 x 53 1/4 inches
Sleepy Eyes, 2024, urethane on bronze, 57 1/8 x 60 3/4 x 59 3/8 inches; brick pedestal, 25 1/2 x 74 5/8 x 71 inches
“The imprints of Nara’s fingers are at the core of these works and his recent sculptural practice.”
DG: The paintings and drawings in this exhibition also feature heads, creating a clear connection with the sculptures. What are your thoughts on how these works interact? How does Nara’s exploration of heads in painting and sculpture differ, and what does this reveal about his approach to portraiture?
YK: Nara’s sculptural heads and paintings in the show are deeply connected. So much of what you see in the show is part of a longer journey since 2011, following the disaster that hit the northeastern part of Japan, an area that Nara considers home. The trauma of the experience was profound. Nara began working with local communities, setting up workshops for children in displaced households. At the same time, although he made a few paintings primarily for fundraisers, he found himself incapable of painting.
Preparing for a major show, he returned to his alma mater in Nagoya, where he took sculpture classes. There, he took a giant clump of clay and threw his entire body at it. As he describes it, it was like a sumo wrestler. This is when this more embodied approach started—leaving traces of the body in clay and then casting them in bronze to make them permanent. There are statements about the fragility of life, but also a way of trying to fight against it—so we always remember.
This approach was channeled into his giant paintings of heads. He had started this mode before 2011, but thereafter, his use of colors—which he applied to capture that process of building up in small patches and leaving something of that intensity in clay—transformed into paint. Portraits of heads from 2012, especially those made around that time, show that contrast of stillness of form and movement of colors that throb with life. As “portraiture,” they are not about individuals’ outward appearances, although each one is specific; I think of them as emotional landscapes.
There are, of course, differences between the two mediums. With sculpture, Nara is thinking more of scale. With small-sized heads, there is an intimacy, a nurturing that takes place, while with larger models, there is more of a totemic-like presence, bearing witness to change. This is particularly true for larger sculptures that he thinks should sit outside within nature. There are echoes of Shintoism here—this idea of watchful spirits. Perhaps not surprisingly, Nara comes from a family of Shinto priests.
Blurry Mind, 2024, acrylic on canvas, 94 5/8 x 86 3/4 x 2 3/8 inches
DG: There is an openness and vulnerability in Nara’s work, and in these sculptures in particular, that seems deeply personal. Do you see his embrace of imperfection, awkwardness, and rawness as an extension of his temperament or way of seeing the world?
YK: Absolutely. Being imperfect is also about leaving open the possibilities for future reworking or re-imaginings. And this is ultimately what freedom means to Nara. It is about acceptance for him, to say goodbye to his younger self and embrace who he is now. Someone imperfect but free.
DG: Nara’s paintings have an incredible sensitivity to color, while these sculptures embrace a stark, almost minimalist white. What do you make of this contrast? How do you think he considers color (or its absence) with different mediums?
YK: Nara has always been captivated by the potential of colors to express emotions. However, if you were to ask him his favorite color, he would say white—specifically, the white of the snow from his childhood. For him, it’s never just flat or one-dimensional; it carries depth and nuance, reflecting the layers of experience and memory intertwined with that “pristine” hue.
“Nara has always been captivated by the potential of colors to express emotions. However, if you were to ask him his favorite color, he would say white—specifically, the white of the snow from his childhood.”
DG: There’s something about these sculptures that reminds me of Donald Baechler’s work—both artists use seemingly simple, childlike forms to express complex emotions and ideas. Do you see Nara engaging with this kind of visual language, where simplicity is a vehicle for deeper meaning?
YK: Nara’s child serves as a conduit to larger social issues, reflecting the realities of being on society’s margins and the expectations accompanying that position. His choice to simplify that image to its essential form, necessary for conveying its narrative, has resulted from a long process of experimentation. Visually, it is often compared to the graphic nature of manga. Still, this perspective is quite limited when considering his approach to paring down form to its barest essence.
Like Baechler, Nara, in his early works, uses the child and its associated visual language as a means of pushing back against the limitations of modernism. By painting an image of a child who stares back at us, he challenges the authority of the heroic painter.
Additionally, Nara has created a vast array of images that have become so recognizable they function as their own visual cues, evolving into cultural symbols in their own right. What is interesting is how they generate their own language.
DG: I also found the presentation of the sculptures interesting—most are placed on rough, brick-like bases, while one sits directly on the floor. Do you know how Nara thinks about the bases in relation to the sculptures?
YK: Nara always considers the bases of his sculptures, viewing them as integral parts of the work. The bricks reference the vernacular, being made out of clay, drawing attention to the original beginnings of these works.
Installation View, Yoshitomo Nara, My Imperfect Self, BLUM Los Angeles, January 18—March 22, 2025
DG: You wrote what has been referred to as “the definitive” monograph on Nara for Phaidon. What was that experience like? Did it reveal anything about his work that surprised you or deepened your understanding of his practice?
YK: I wouldn’t dare claim to have written the definitive book—at least, I certainly hope that I haven’t. What I aimed to create is a deep dive into Nara’s world, helping to illuminate various facets of his practice. I genuinely hope others will pick it up, discover gaps, and fill them in with their own insights.
When I embarked on this project, it was a bit of a mad puzzle to piece together themes and a timeline that would weave his artwork into broader conversations within the art world. I was looking out for themes and practices that may have received less attention but are important to show different layers within his works. For example, one aspect that seems to fly under the radar is Nara’s anti-nuclear work—some of it subtly poignant. Then there’s his photographic practice, particularly his Afghanistan photos, which create a compelling dialogue when juxtaposed with his drawings. His photographs exude the joy and resilience of children, while his drawings lean into the darker, more haunting side of the human experience.
I also dedicated significant attention to his post-2011 works, born from the tragic Great Earthquake and Tsunami. This era marks a pivotal shift in his journey, reflecting his return to the North and a heartfelt desire to give back to his community. Since the book’s release, the conversation surrounding Nara, the North, and the community has grown, becoming a more prominent part of our conversations surrounding him.
DG: You balance your role as Associate Dean (Global) and Chair of Art History at the University of Hong Kong with curatorial projects like this. Do these different roles feel like distinct modes of thinking, or do they seamlessly inform one another?
YK: It’s definitely a contrast. Writing about art is what I love to do, whether as a curator or academic. My academic work is where I aim to nurture the next generation and give back in practical, accessible ways. Research-wise, I also delve into Chinese art from the late imperial period and Hong Kong art history. I often joke that I move between dead and living artists to keep myself grounded and avoid getting too lost in my own head. But I find that working in different research areas helps to keep me informed about the larger art history fields, and I do find times when certain ideas or methods used in one area inform another in a refreshing way.
Nonetheless, I’m aware of the pitfalls of being an intellectual magpie, so I do try to give myself time for each area. This project is the first time I have returned to Nara’s work since 2019, when I wrote the book.
DG: Do you know what Nara is working on now?
YK: Nara is having his first major museum show at the Hayward Gallery in London. This is very exciting.
DG: Finally, what are you working on now?
YK: I’m completing an intro essay on Nara for the Hayward show. I’m also co-editing a volume on Asian art in the global 19th century. Once again, mixing the contemporary with the old.
Tim Blum | Reflections on Yoshitomo Nara
DG: You’ve worked with Yoshitomo Nara for over three decades. How did you first encounter his work, and what drew you to it? How did that initial connection evolve into such a longstanding relationship?
Tim Blum: I first met Nara in 1991 in Tokyo and experienced his work shortly thereafter. I vividly remember the painting I saw—it was leaning on a gallery wall prior to installation. It depicted one of his figures in a yellow bathtub with blue water. The figure was playing as though they were in a submarine. Something resulted that just clicked, a profound and non-verbal experience, the sort of communication that is Nara’s strong suit. That was the first encounter, and I immediately knew I wanted to work with this artist.
DG: Nara’s relationship with the gallery spans nearly the entire arc of BLUM’s history. How do you see this long-term collaboration fitting into the gallery’s evolution? (Did your expansion into Tokyo intersect with your relationship with Nara in any way, or did other interests drive that?)
TB: The relationship with Nara was one of several key early influences for the gallery, which relatively quickly gained a lot of momentum. His first solo show in the US was thirty years ago, propelling his reception in North America, and with smaller institutional shows to follow, this led to more prominent recognition. This process and relationship inevitably became a significant part of my identity as a gallerist.
Of course, we work with a diverse group of artists and estates and have spent much time with various art historical movements, establishing the curatorial pillars of the program, such as Mono-ha, Dansaekhwa, and CoBrA.
Still, Nara is unique in many ways—he is from Japan but lived, studied, and practiced in Germany and Europe, which is not common among the artists of his generation. His depth and range of experience truly fostered an acute skillset for communicating specific core, universal human emotions.
DG: What, in your view, distinguishes Nara’s work and presence in the contemporary art world? Are there qualities you’ve seen evolve or deepen over the years that continue to resonate with you?
TB: Nara’s authenticity coupled with fearlessness in the face of misinterpretation. He leans into his authentic self, into all of the selves—and with that truth comes this level of communication, which I find quite unusual, quite stunning.
He is one of the great artists of our time and one of the great communicators of our time. This transcends many notions of art making.
DG: Is there a particular moment or experience with Nara that stands out to you—something that captures the spirit of your relationship or the kind of artist he is?
TB: There is no singular moment for me. The truth is that Nara, this authentic self, has come full circle to embrace the imperfect self, as we’ve seen articulated so masterfully in this exhibition. His authenticity is the through line of his practice and the arc of his career.
My Imperfect Self
Curated by Yeewan Koon
BLUM
Los Angeles
January 18—March 22, 2025
Yoshitomo Nara Retrospective
Hayward Gallery
Southbank Centre
London
June 10—August 31, 2025
ARTZUID 2025
Amsterdam Sculpture Biennale, 9th Edition
Amsterdam
May 21—September 21, 2025
Yoshitomo Nara. Photo by Ryoichi Kawajiri
Yoshitomo Nara (b. 1959, Hirosaki, Japan) graduated with an MFA from the Aichi Prefectural University of Fine Arts and Music, Nagakute, Japan, in 1987. He completed his studies at the Kunstakademie, Dusseldorf, Germany from 1988 to 1993. Nara began his career during the decade he spent in Cologne, and from the mid-1990s, he exhibited widely in Europe, the United States, Japan, and all over Asia. His return to Japan in 2000 coincided with a surge of global interest in Japanese pop culture, particularly in the United States. While he is primarily a painter, his practice encompasses drawing, sculptures made of wood, FRP, ceramic, and bronze; installations that incorporate scrap materials; and photographs that document everyday landscapes and the encounters he has during his travels. Influenced by music, literature, and his own life, Nara's works transcend cultural and linguistic barriers, touching people globally.
Yeewan Koon is Associate Dean (Global) and Chair of the Department of Art History at the University of Hong Kong, where she teaches courses in Asian art history. She has published numerous writings on traditional and contemporary art, including the definitive monograph on Yoshitomo Nara, which was made in close collaboration with the artist and published by Phaidon in 2020. Koon has also curated exhibitions, including Faultlines at the Gwangju Biennale (2018) and It Begins with Metamorphosis: Xu Bing at Asia Society, Hong Kong (2014). She has received several research awards, including a Fulbright Senior Fellowship and American Council of Learned Societies scholarship in Humanities, and completed scholarships as a visiting professor at Cambridge University, UK, and Columbia University, NY.