Noi Sawaragi: Notes on Art and Current Events 26

A Restatement: The Art of ‘Ground Zero’ (Part 7)
Yusuke Nakahara and Nuclear Criticism II

The feeling I get from the artwork at the Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale is one of spaciousness. The festival is overturning the conventional wisdom that artworks are exhibition space + work, and in doing so is heading in the direction of “post-art (datsu-geijutsu).”
-Yusuke Nakahara (art critic)

In March 2011, Japan experienced a disaster and accident of unheard-of dimensions, with an earthquake and tsunami leading to the breakdown of several nuclear reactors and the meltdown of large quantities of nuclear fuel, spreading radiation over a wide area. By a strange twist of fate, it was in the midst of this turmoil that I was informed of the death of the art critic Yusuke Nakahara.

When I say “by a strange twist of fate,” I am referring to the fact that the nuclear reactor system at the heart of the accident that had such catastrophic consequences may well have been the field in which Nakahara would actually have been conducting research as a young student in Hideki Yukawa’s laboratory at Kyoto University had he not entered the world of art criticism.

So why was it that Nakahara gave up theoretical physics while engaged in research at the cutting edge of that field and turned to art criticism? As mentioned in my previous column, Nakahara’s debut work as a critic, “Sozo no tame no hihyo” (Criticism for creation), could be interpreted as an expression of his concerns and animosity regarding “machines” in the form of nuclear reactors, perhaps the ultimate product of cybernetics, from the point of view of “criticism” directed at whatever poetry or literature he happened to have at hand. Even so, this move to criticism was no small decision. In addition to Nakahara’s own personal disposition, might there have been a separate, external catalyst?

In thinking about this question, the presence in Hideki Yukawa’s laboratory of Mitsuo Taketani, who would have been Nakahara’s senior, was something I could not overlook. Taketani was a young genius in the world of physics who contributed greatly to the research into elementary particles that led to Yukawa being awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics (in 1949, making him Japan’s first Nobel laureate). At the same time, however, he had a strong interest in such things as historical philosophy and scientific criticism, having already founded in 1946 along with Shunsuke Tsurumi and others the journal Shiso no kagaku (Science of Thought), and in 1954, immediately prior to the publication of Nakahara’s debut work of criticism, “Sozo no tame no hihyo,” he had already made a splash with his own debut in the world of philosophy, “Benshoho no shomondai” (Problems with the dialectical process).

I should mention before I go any further that Taketani was one of the figures who advocated the peaceful use of atomic energy. However, there was a peculiar set of circumstances behind his position. At the beginning of the 1950s, when in response to the groundswell of support around the world for the development of nuclear reactors many young physicists in Japan, after reflecting on Japan’s role as the victim of nuclear bombing, opposed this development, Taketani advocated that Japan take the lead in this development and curb the competition between Europe and North America precisely because it was a victim of nuclear bombing. As a result of the political maneuvering of Yasuhiro Nakasone and Matsutaro Shoriki, who saw the nuclear reactor issue as an opportunity to encourage the importation of technology from and trade with the victorious countries of Britain and the United States, however, the option of Japan conducting its own research into nuclear power and developing its own nuclear reactors was all too quickly cut off.

Concerned at the negative impact this import/trade regime would have on the development of nuclear reactor-related theory and engineering technology in Japan, Taketani changed his position completely. Working on the assumption that a nuclear disaster some time in the future was a possibility, he sounded the alarm bells. He contended that with regard to low-dose exposure to radiation, which was hardly discussed at the time, there was nothing one could describe as a “threshold” distinguishing between levels that were safe and those that were dangerous, only a “patience level” foisted on atomic bomb victims through a social imperative (it goes without saying that this is the historical basis for the series of disputes over low-level exposure to radiation in the wake of the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant). In the years that followed, Taketani, who had already transferred from Kyoto University to Rikkyo University in 1953, became a scientist with no formal institutional affiliation, fiercely criticizing nuclear science from the margins of nuclear power research. Let us look more closely at the sequence of events over this period.

On New Year’s Day 1956, the year after Yusuke Nakahara made the transition from theoretical physics to art criticism with the publication of “Sozo no tame no hihyo,” Hideki Yukawa became a member of Japan’s first Atomic Energy Commission. In March the following year, however, Yukawa resigned on the grounds of ill health. But the real reason behind this resignation drama, it seems, was Yukawa’s dissatisfaction with the high-handed approach of the Commission’s Chairman, Matsutaro Shoriki.

When in January 1956, the year before Yukawa’s resignation from the Atomic Energy Commission, plans were announced for the installation of a research reactor in Uji, Mitsuo Taketani and others strongly objected due to the proximity of water sources. The site was moved from Uji to Abuyama near Ibaraki, but as this location was also near a water source for downstream residents it sparked a protest movement that grew to involve the entire city. This movement was epoch-making in pioneering local government- and local resident-organized movements against nuclear reactors.

Incidentally, somewhat surprisingly the word “minshu” (the masses) crops up here and there in Nakahara’s “Sozo no tame no hihyo.” For a long time even Ichiro Hariu, who was deeply interested in politics and involved in protest action himself, was uncertain as to the sense in which Nakahara was using this word, but in the light of this historical background, it may be possible to reread Nakahara’s essay from a different angle. Mind you, there is no concrete evidence indicating the extent to which Nakahara was influenced by Taketani, who acted together with “the masses” in his role as a philosopher. For this reason, notwithstanding the fact that they were both involved with Hideki Yukawa’s laboratory at Kyoto University, the extent to which there was an exchange of views between Taketani and Nakahara is unclear. At the recent Ay-O exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo, however, I noticed that Taketani’s name appeared alongside that of Nakahara as one of the initiators of the send-off party for Ay-O when he left for the US, proving beyond doubt that there were opportunities for the two to meet face-to-face even after Nakahara’s metamorphosis to art critic.


Ay-O Visit to America Supporters’ Association document (1957) Collection of the artist. Nakahara’s name can be seen near the middle of the list, and Taketani’s left of center.

In any event, what we need to understand from this is that by inserting the name “Yusuke Nakahara” between atomic energy research and art criticism, which on the face of it would seem unrelated, there arises the possibility of building a new bridge between these two in the wake of March 11, 2011.

For example, in the wake of March 11, 2011, I sense a close similarity on a level I would never have previously imagined between nuclear power plants and art museums, notwithstanding the fact that unlike nuclear reactors the latter are unlikely to trigger a situation so severe that human life is directly endangered.

As for whether the large-scale meltdown at the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant was triggered by the earthquake, by the tsunami, or by issues to do with the facilities themselves such as not attaching sufficient importance to seismic criteria, the details are still unknown. About the only thing that is clear is that it was the complete loss of power at the nuclear power plant that was the direct cause of the melting of the nuclear fuel.

But what would happen if a similar complete loss of power were to occur at an art museum? For argument’s sake, let us think of the storage rooms as the equivalent of the pressure vessels that hold the nuclear fuel, and the gallery spaces as the equivalent of the containment vessels that surround the pressure vessels. To continue with this analogy, the equivalent of the “nuclear fuel” would probably be the artworks that provide the “heat source” giving energy to the system we know as “art history” (and to continue with it even further, the equivalent of the zirconium fuel cladding would probably be the storage crates, picture frames, and so on). Both are subject to public protection to ensure they do not come into direct contact with the air outside as well as being shielded by scores of barriers.

If we leave aside for the moment the obvious differences between nuclear fuel, something extremely dangerous to humans, and artworks, things that should be the subject of abundant intellectual appreciation, the fact that both are subject to public protection by the state and so on becomes even clearer.

How would an art museum fare, however, if it were to completely lose power temporarily? It would probably depend on the season among other things, but if it were at the time of year during the damp rainy season, the storage rooms would quickly grow hot and humid without air conditioning and the artworks would probably begin to “melt” due to mildew and other forms of bacteria. For this reason the storage rooms would have to be “vented,” but this work would have to be done while groping around in the dark. Is such a scenario really nothing but wild supposition?


The Rias Ark Museum of Art website. The museum plans to partially open at the end of July after undergoing repairs in the wake of the earthquake and tsunami.

Nothing could be further from the truth. The scenario outlined above actually befell the Rias Ark Museum of Art in Kesennuma immediately following the earthquake and tsunami of March 11. I visited this facility in June 2011, and looking at the interior, warped here and there and covered in broken glass as a result of the earthquake, I could not help recalling the scene at the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant. That the disaster occurred in March at one of the coldest times of the year was a small mercy. If it had occurred during the rainy season or at the height of summer, the artworks and other material would probably have irreversibly “melted” in an instant. In a sense, the cold winter air served the same purpose as the natural seawater used to cool the nuclear reactors at Fukushima.

The government, however, failed to appreciate the importance of securing the power supply to art museums, for which it serves as a virtual life-support system, and it was not until May, by which time it was on the brink of a “meltdown,” that strenuous negotiations on the part of the curators saw the air conditioning at the Rias Ark Museum of Art restored.

How did such a situation come about? As mentioned above, there are certain parallels between nuclear power plants and art museums in Japan in the sense that since modern times the national policy towards both has been to import advanced technologies and systems from overseas and to try to promote these as “the best available” (the peaceful use of artworks, anyone?). Notwithstanding the difference that the former falls under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry, and the latter under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, in terms of the importation of advanced systems from the West and the unidirectional schema by which these are introduced and spread among the masses, both fall under the same enlightening (ie to educate and guide the ignorant) value system. Is not this the very reason why when the “post-art museum” movement that started with land art and earthworks arose it was exactly in sync with political developments in the US? And before we realized it, countless art museums were being constructed in Japan, many of which now face an uncertain future as they grapple with all manner of financial difficulty. There is no guarantee that in the future we will not see art museums being “decommissioned.”

Mitsuo Taketani was once of the opinion that if nuclear power generation was completely unavoidable, then it was important that the Japanese themselves be able to conduct basic research into nuclear reactors and develop them independently. But is Japanese “art” really independent/autonomous of the US in the sense referred to by Taketani? Regardless of how closely one examines it, is in not ultimately just a rearrangement or reinterpretation of ready-made ideas, techniques, and so on? It is self-evident that we need art museums, but nevertheless, perhaps we ought to consider starting our very own “post-art museum” movement.

As time passes since the death of Yusuke Nakahara, a critic who spanned the fields of nuclear energy and art, it seems as if such fundamentals regarding art in Japan are rapidly becoming clearer. Come to think of it, was it not the critic Yusuke Nakahara himself who right up until his death championed “post-art”?

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

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