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Bontaro Dokuyama:
Public archive

Aoyama Meguro

June 30 – July 14, 2018

Public archive: Text

Still from Public Archive, Courtesy of the artist ©︎ 2020 Bontaro DOKUYAMA

Public archive: Portfolio

"It will be impossible to unlock the future without confronting the past,
how things really were, and the way the past has been recorded, if at all.


There is no questioning fact or hiding from reality.


This is the world that we live in.


We sincerely look forward to each and everyone taking part in Dokuyama’s new project,
irrespective of age, ethnicity, or belief."

- Exhibition Statement from Aoyama Meguro Gallery

Public archive: Text

[click through for gallery view]

Public archive: Portfolio

Erected in 2001, the bronze “Statue of Peace” was used to commemorate the thousands of protests that have taken place in front of the Japanese Embassy in Seoul, Korea, over Japan’s reluctance to acknowledge its dark imperial past. The former Japanese Empire sanctioned a system of sexual slavery during its colonial expansion, and women from across the Pacific region (Taiwan, Korea, China (Manchuria), Philippines, Guam, Saipan, and the Dutch East Indies) were coerced into this operation. The systematic enslavement of thousands of women was authorized by the state, established as a means to eliminate the pillage of local populations and the spread of venereal diseases throughout the Imperial military.


Inspired by the artist’s own experience with the well-documented “Statue of Peace,” Dokuyama Bontaro’s 2018 exhibition “Public archive” highlights the persistent historic erasure surrounding “comfort women” and their stories of survival. Having traveled to Seoul himself, the artist recounts a memorable experience outside of the Japanese Embassy. Dokuyama states the following in his exhibition’s press release regarding the encounter—


In the winter of 2017, I discovered a tent covered by a transparent vinyl sheet which seemed to have been placed illegally in front of the Japanese Embassy in the city of Seoul.

In the tent, there was a college aged female and a teenage boy. The woman sat eating her lunch and I noticed that the boy had a speech impediment. The tent seemed vaguely familiar. After speaking to them for a few minutes, they invited me in. They explained to me that they were guarding “The Statue of Peace” (Ianfu-zō), twenty-four hours a day.


Dokuyama was deeply impacted by the perseverance of those who have stood by the statue and its significance, as well as Japan’s refusal to formally release an apology and its adamant stance on the removal of all public “comfort women” memorials—these experiences served as the core motivation behind his body of work for "Public archive." He relocated the concept of public art into a commercial gallery space, a deliberate move that demonstrated an intent to modify a typically apolitical space into a site for activism.


Given the highly apolitical nature of Japanese institutions, and sometimes even more so in commercial galleries, Dokuyama's disruption of this societal practice permitted a novel way for people to consider ways in which they could be able to engage in politics during their daily lives. Particularly with Japan’s societal discomfort towards the so-called “comfort women issue," the public nature of holding an exhibition covering such a contentious subject was a direct instance of activism in both an artistic and curatorial sense.


Aoyama Meguro is a commercial gallery in central Tokyo, and its founder Hideki Aoyama’s decision to hold such a show in this commercial space was a significant decision. The substance of this exhibition went openly went against the grain of Japan’s conservative society—holding a show of this nature at his gallery was certainly an atypical choice.


One of Dokuyama's artworks that was particularly disruptive was his video work "Once Upon a Time," which consists of a chilling interview with a former “comfort woman” played for visitors to the gallery. The visceral account made by an elderly Korean woman stood in sharp contrast to the narrative of denial perpetuated by the Japanese government. Including the voice of a direct survivor (tōjisha) of Japan’s wartime brutality in his exhibition, Dokuyama’s pointed critique of bureaucratic silence over the nation's Imperial war crimes rings even louder. The artist also  prepared a digital scan of the “Statue of Peace” that was made available for free to the public on the show’s website. Through this move towards accessibility, the artist's  activist intent transcended the exhibition space, battling historic erasure in the public realm by grounding the past into the lives and hands of those who are alive today.

Japan Times Review

Kyodo News Exhibition Review (JP)

Public archive: Text
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