Noi Sawaragi: Notes on Art and Current Events 49

Remembering Seiko Mikami, media artist – or was she? III


Installation view of the exhibition “World Membrane: Disposal Containers” (1993), Gallery NW House, Tokyo. Photo: Mikio Kurokawa. All photos courtesy Roentgenwerke; cooperation Shigeki Kimura.

(Continued) The conspicuous gap between Seiko Mikami the standard-bearer of “junk art” using scrap material and Seiko Mikami the pioneer of “media art” must, of course, be filled. Because on the one hand we have the Mikami staring menacingly at us from amid a storm of twisted metal, red rust and coiled wires, while on the other we have the coolheaded Mikami computing programs in an immaculately controlled information environment, and as things stand both the foundations for evaluating the two and the stratum on which she has come to be accepted are so removed that we could almost be talking about two different people. And yet regardless of the extent to which the images do not correspond, the fact of the matter is that these “two people” undoubtedly represent a single locus of the same activities pursued by a “single” artist. If we are seeking to grasp the totality of this work based on one all-embracing image covering her entire life, then for those left behind, trying to figure out what its consistent “meaning” was becomes an essential task from a critical perspective.

There are two exhibitions that are incredibly meaningful in terms of providing this missing link. The first is the solo show “Curator’s Eye ’93 vol.3” (April 21-May 3, 1993; curated by Isako Kumagai, then curator at the preparatory office for the new Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo), held in the spring of 1993 at Gallery NW House, then in Waseda, and the second is the two-person show “ICONOCLASM” (Seiko Mikami/Miran Fukuda; December 22-March 3; curated by Min Nishihara), which was held from late 1993 to March 1994 at the Rontgen Kunst Institut, then in Omori-higashi. A search on the Internet for these two exhibitions, both of which were curated by women – come to think of it, Yukiko Shikata, the curator who came to support Mikami through Canon ARTLAB, is also a woman – produces virtually no hits whatsoever, underscoring the fact that little of their substance has been passed down to the present.

However, considering that it was after “Molecular Clinic 1.1” (the 5th ARTLAB exhibition), presented via the Internet the following year, in 1995, that Mikami’s projects at the above-mentioned Canon ARTLAB, which provided her with a foothold in so-called “media art,” got underway; that it was the year after that, 1996, when “Molecular Informatics ver. 2.0 – Morphogenic Substance Via Eye Tracking” was held at the Hillside Plaza in Daikanyama as the 6th ARTLAB exhibition; and that this exposure led to the installation of “World, Membrane and Dismembered Body” as a permanent exhibit at the NTT InterCommunication Center, which opened in Hatsudai in 1997 as the home of Japanese media art, it is clear that the two-year gap from 1993 to ’94 has considerable significance as a “turning point” in Mikami’s career.


Installation views of the exhibition “World Membrane: Disposal Containers” (1993), Gallery NW House, Tokyo.

Let us now look at the contents of these two exhibitions. As alluded to in the exhibition’s subtitle, “Disposal Containers,” the solo show at Gallery NW House comprised complete sets of the equipment used when dealing with (ie, disposing of) various kinds of waste, all contained in suitcases. Closed with zips, these cases are all transparent, making it possible to view the contents, but each has a different use, or as Mikami puts its, “They are actually used for syringes, radioactive material, biohazard material, laboratory animals, toxic liquids and air pollutants.” This method of packing and displaying equipment for preventing the leakage of contaminated material was similar to that used previously in Mikami’s solo show at the P3 Alternative Museum Tokyo, but there were important differences.

The biggest difference was probably that the cases were placed on a roller-type conveyor belt. Another major difference was that the containers in the second show were portable. The reason these differences are important is that they are both suggestive not simply of an indoor space, but of an airport as a hub for migration. From this it is possible to conclude that for Mikami, who around this time moved back to Japan after living in New York, these items were not mere exhibits but rather “traveling disposal containers” passing through customs at borders and airports, and that these changes were closely associated with (the migration of) her own physical body. This suggests that compared to the exhibition at P3, here the works can be considered as much more closely associated with her own body.

In other words, as a result of these changes, the containers designed to strictly separate contaminated material and the external environment were superimposed on the body of Mikami as the person carrying them. The thing that comes to mind here is that even without going to the trouble of arranging special equipment to manage waste material, our bodies themselves are containers that fulfill a similar function, being endowed with this function biologically.

In fact, our bodies are truly well-made, airtight containers. They are shielded by a single, extremely thin layer of skin alone, but their contents, including everything from gastric juices and other strongly acidic digestive fluids to feces, urine and other foul smelling excreta, are in fact totally sealed up. In the event that this matter is released outside the body, it spreads uncontrollably, causing discomfort to others. As long as it is contained inside the body, however, it does not usually smell terribly right away. I think perhaps Mikami realized that even without going as far as providing special containers, her own body itself was extremely close to the very work she was seeking to make.

This line of investigation was considerably expanded in the two-person exhibition with Miran Fukuda that began at the end of the same year. On this occasion, the four works of various sizes that were displayed on one floor at the Rontgen Kunst Institut together form a single integrated space, amounting to what could be said to be the most peculiar exhibit Mikami put together throughout her entire life. Unless they had been told as much, it is unlikely that anyone, even if they had been following her before and after the transition from junk art to media art, would have realized it was Mikami’s work. Conversely, this exhibit undoubtedly communicates a hidden “something” that cannot be fathomed from her “representative work.”

However, very little material regarding this exhibition survives. In fact, as things now stand, the grainy, copied photographs shown here are unfortunately all we have. But not to give up hope, let us look at this exhibition in as much detail as possible.


Installation view of Mikami’s work in the exhibition “ICONOCLASM” (1993, Rontgen Kunst Institut). Right to left: Mirror (1993) mirror, soap dish, files, measuring devise, tweezers, saw blade, examination mirror, wire brush; Scale (1993) 15 massage shower heads, tiles, bathroom scale; Security Mirror (1993) security mirror, motorcycle mirror, 3 artificial busts; Sink (1993) digital cibachrome, tile, sink.


Installation view of Sink at the “ICONOCLASM” exhibition.

What we can take in from these works as a whole is a texture like that of smooth, white porcelain; repeated photographs of a uniform format; and self-referential reflections using mirrors. More specifically, most of the works consist of implements and/or images associated with people’s physiology that are mainly used in washrooms, which are “sealed rooms” inside buildings. These include tweezers and nail files, massage shower heads, scales, soap holders, sinks, tiles, brushes and razor blades, for example, which are all implements used to manage the outer surfaces (cortices) of the human body, maintain health, or enhance people’s appearance. Likewise, mirrors are probably most often used as a medium for self-affirmation, which is indispensible in washrooms. In any event, nowhere can we find any of the easy-to-understand symbols that make us think of either the old or new “Seiko Mikami.”

Fortunately I actually saw this exhibit, so at least I can dig up and turn over in my mind my buried memories of it. The element that had the strongest impression on me (though I think it is difficult to comprehend from the photographs) was the group of tiny photographs arranged methodically in front of the white sink. In these photos, someone whose face is invisible (it is not clear whether it is Mikami herself) is earnestly washing their hands with soap.

It goes without saying that hand-washing is a preventive action designed to remove various “contaminants” that have adhered to the hands outside and protect oneself from them being introduced into the body or indoors. Judging from these photos, however, this action has no clear ending. No matter how many times we wash our hands, as long as our bodies are exposed to the outside air we can never completely remove these contaminants. To begin with, water itself is not pure water.

For my part, I think these photos represent the “missing link” connecting Mikami’s activities before and after this exhibition, despite their obvious differences on the surface. To come right to the point, the common element is an obstinate, almost obsessive-compulsive fixation with “cleanliness = fastidiousness.” Already at this point in her career, Mikami was referring to this phenomenon as a “world membrane.” (To be continued)

Noi Sawaragi: Notes on Art and Current Events 1-6

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