Kenji Ide

Some other times

Museum of Władysław Broniewski x Wschód Warsaw
26 September - 9 November, 2024

As the title suggests, several different times, and the views seen during these times, are spread across the exhibition in the form of sculptures. What each time has in common is that they were all seen in one’s own time, that is, in a kind of solitude and freedom. There is no objectivity in them, even delusions and dreams become solidified as a single experience of one’s own time. I chose this kind of composition because when I let Broniewski become transparent to me, I imagined, as a kind of premonition, a naked individuality between him and myself. Naked individuality, in other words, is pure existence, a kind of human will to exist that remains as a result of the polishing of times and relationships. In this respect, I imagined that even this great poet and I could have a conversation together.

 

Much of the work in this issue is concerned with the path of the night, which suggests a time for thinking. I have heard that philosophers walk when they think about things. It seems to me that how much you physically walk is also linked to how much you think, and in which direction and at what angle. I think the shape of the path, the shape of the journey walked, is, in other words, the shape of a person’s thoughts. Also, in the main work, two times are juxtaposed in parallel to suggest the passage of time. I think that the juxtaposition of the changing and the unchanging allows us to think about the issue of emotional transitions.

Kenji Ide

 

The works of Kenji Ide are based on the artist’s personal memory. It can be said that these sculptures crystallize the invisible matters of the mind, such as experience, time, seasons, atmosphere, and human relationships, by connecting them into concrete forms. In a sense, these behaviors are tentative and collage-like ideas. And because of this, they are means to capture the beauty of fleeting moments. Kenji Ide’s sculptures become intricate organisms of their own. Created using materials such as wood, wax or found objects, the sculptures astound with their delicacy. Each referencing a specific memory or place for the artist, they become sketches of his personal world. Despite their deeply personal nature, Ide’s sculptures invite a universal impression of beauty and introspective travel. In that sense, his works are carriers and receivers; they arouse an emotion but also give space for us to project our thoughts onto them. There is an ongoing exchange taking place here in some distant but available subliminal sphere.

The exhibition is accompanied by a short film shot by Polish photographer Stanisław Boniecki, which encapsulates his impressions of Kenji Ide during one day in 2024 which they spent together in Tokyo.

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An extract from a diary – a diary as an extract.

 

[probably 23 September 2024]

[…] I will write it down once again to get accustomed to this thought: I create sculptures but actually I write a diary. I remember exactly when it started. I was 5 years old. I went to my brother’s preschool. Children from his group presented their artworks. One piece in particular caught my attention – it was a labyrinth made of cardboard boxes. I entered the labyrinth and after just a few steps I found myself in a pleasant space. With almost no light coming through and all the voices and noises muffled, I felt as if it were a different world. The feeling was so strong that even years after I had no problems recalling it. I decided that I would capture moments like that one.

They seem to be living creatures crying for attention. They come unexpectedly and I instantly know that they need to be captured. Only the first one did not want to come to me. For a long time, I would go to the coast, where my parents live, and I would sit on the stairs to watch the sea. I was watching the sea and waiting for the inspiration to come but nothing ever happened. Finally, disheartened, I went back to Tokyo. It was after a long time when, to my surprise, those stairs, the anticipation, my watching the sea, my returns to the stairs, finally worked. The feeling was so strong that I easily found the right form to capture it. This is how I created my first sculpture – my first record, my first mark on the timeline.

[Tuesday, 24 September]

After I entered Broniewski’s house, I stood there for a moment, trying to tame the space around me. When I saw the photographs of particular rooms in Tokyo, they seemed raw to me. But the moment I crossed the actual threshold, the place felt warm to me. Perhaps it was the scent of human presence. There had been people in this house. So I walk around, craning my neck. I look around and I scan the place. I walk through the empty rooms of the villa trying to decide where to place my sculptures. From the moment I was told that the display would take place at the author’s house, the feeling that my sculptures truly are a diary has been even stronger. My sculptures are a diary put at a house of a Polish writer. It does not matter that I find it hard to pronounce his name.

Soft light is coming through the blue curtains.

My sculptures never hide any monumental stories in them. I put in them my small observations and ephemeral experiences. Sometimes it is a thought which suddenly appears and then disappears, instantly. I tend to say to myself that I work in the memory and I sculpt in the memory. I try to capture what seems important. I tend to say to myself: I preserve things against decay. I sculpt in the time.

What I remember from the last few days is the takeoff on my way to Warsaw. We departed from Tokyo after dark, when the streets of the city were sparkling with orange and green lights, which eventually merged into a single patch of glow. When we were landing in Warsaw, the impression was similar. A single patch of orange glow slowly transformed into streets sparkling with green and orange lights.

[Wednesday, 25 September 2024]

So, once again: I create sculptures, but actually, I create a diary. A disorganized system of notes I can walk on to go back in time and return to the present. It is a fantastic ability. I can have a sun-warmed studio in Sagamihara, Kanagawa Prefecture, which takes an hour to drive to from Tokyo. I can have a child with whom I want to spend every free moment, but at the same time, I am still somewhere in between. As if I am walking on two tracks. So, I will write it down once again to get better accustomed to this thought: I create sculptures but, actually, I write a diary. I draw a line in time, a trajectory of important moments. That is still quite a lot.

 

Intercepted by Mateusz Marczewski