The Art of Akira Zakamoto
Akira has (definitively?) put the spaceships in the garage and the flying islands in the attic, leaving as his only concessions to the past the little stars and the odd exploding world: he has focused entirely on children's faces, from infants without even their first tooth to the threshold of adolescence. There is so much mystery in a child's face that one no longer feels the urge to seek it elsewhere. As always, what the visitor observes is not everything, for our artist feels the need to accompany the images with words that summarise their meaning: this text is printed on the exhibition leaflet, a small but meticulously crafted paper object whose graphic balance among childish faces, disintegrating worlds and words is of rare beauty.
Akira can not only paint but also write, and the message he wants to convey with words is an amplification — or rather an exegesis (personal but not distorted) — of what Jesus said about children and the need to be like them, for to those who are like them belongs the kingdom of heaven — a kingdom which, the Master himself warns, is not to be sought elsewhere, in the Hamletic 'undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns,' but down here, among us. To discover it one must have eyes and look in the right direction. One possibility is precisely to look a child in the eyes and, rather than read into him, let him read us. This is what the exhibition suggests. Zakamoto's way of representing children's eyes has, in his latest paintings, reached an admirable refinement and effectiveness, even with simple means: to bring Christ in again, the lamp of the body is the eye, and if your eye is in the light your whole body will be in the light. Just as the face represents, for Akira, the part for the whole and is more than enough to summarise an entire human body, so in turn the eye alone suffices to bring the face to life and characterise it.
The child is all of a piece: if sad, he is not merely sad but desperate; if happy, he radiates an overwhelming joy from every pore; he can neither hide nor wishes to hide his feelings, from fear to curiosity, from anticipation to perplexity. Akira, a father of children, knows this well and renders it equally well in his paintings. Even in the two cases where he indulges the conceit of coagulating the alternation of light and shadow on the child's face into patches shaped like America: the observer may not notice at once… It is almost inevitable, at this point, to choose a Zakamoto child's face to capture (and attract) the possible reader of a book on indigo children such as Celia Fenn's The Indigo–Crystal Adventure: the result is an apt and captivating cover, which foreshadows for him a rewarding future as an illustrator too. Perhaps not only of covers, and not only for an adult audience: a children's book full of Zakamotian children on the inside pages too would work beautifully…
Akira can not only paint but also write, and the message he wants to convey with words is an amplification — or rather an exegesis (personal but not distorted) — of what Jesus said about children and the need to be like them, for to those who are like them belongs the kingdom of heaven — a kingdom which, the Master himself warns, is not to be sought elsewhere, in the Hamletic 'undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns,' but down here, among us. To discover it one must have eyes and look in the right direction. One possibility is precisely to look a child in the eyes and, rather than read into him, let him read us. This is what the exhibition suggests. Zakamoto's way of representing children's eyes has, in his latest paintings, reached an admirable refinement and effectiveness, even with simple means: to bring Christ in again, the lamp of the body is the eye, and if your eye is in the light your whole body will be in the light. Just as the face represents, for Akira, the part for the whole and is more than enough to summarise an entire human body, so in turn the eye alone suffices to bring the face to life and characterise it.
The child is all of a piece: if sad, he is not merely sad but desperate; if happy, he radiates an overwhelming joy from every pore; he can neither hide nor wishes to hide his feelings, from fear to curiosity, from anticipation to perplexity. Akira, a father of children, knows this well and renders it equally well in his paintings. Even in the two cases where he indulges the conceit of coagulating the alternation of light and shadow on the child's face into patches shaped like America: the observer may not notice at once… It is almost inevitable, at this point, to choose a Zakamoto child's face to capture (and attract) the possible reader of a book on indigo children such as Celia Fenn's The Indigo–Crystal Adventure: the result is an apt and captivating cover, which foreshadows for him a rewarding future as an illustrator too. Perhaps not only of covers, and not only for an adult audience: a children's book full of Zakamotian children on the inside pages too would work beautifully…
Akira ha messo (definitivamente?) in garage le astronavi e in soffitta le isole volanti, lasciando come uniche concessioni al passato le stelline e qualche mondo che esplode: si è tutto concentrato sul volto dei bambini, dai lattanti senza nemmeno il primo dentino fino alle soglie dell'adolescenza. C'è talmente tanto mistero in un viso di bimbo che non viene più voglia di andarlo a cercare altrove. Come sempre, ciò che il visitatore osserva non è tutto, poiché il nostro artista sente il bisogno di accompagnare le immagini con parole che ne sintetizzino il significato: tale scritto è stampato sul pieghevole della mostra, piccolo ma curatissimo oggetto cartaceo che nell'equilibrio grafico fra visi infantili, mondi in disintegrazione e parole è davvero di rara bellezza.
Akira sa non solo dipingere ma anche scrivere, e il messaggio che vuole trasmetterci con le parole è un'amplificazione, o meglio un'esegesi (personale ma non distorta) di ciò che disse Gesù circa i bambini e la necessità di esser come loro, perché a chi è come loro appartiene il regno dei cieli – il quale regno, ammonisce lo stesso Maestro, non è da cercarsi altrove, nell'amletico "paese non ancora scoperto dai cui confini nessun viaggiatore ritorna", bensì quaggiù, fra noi. Per scoprirlo bisogna avere occhi e guardare nella direzione giusta. Una possibilità è proprio quella di fissar negli occhi un bimbo e, più che non leggergli dentro, lasciare che sia lui a leggere noi. àˆ quanto suggerisce la mostra. Il modo di rappresentare gli occhi infantili da parte di Zakamoto ha raggiunto negli ultimi dipinti una raffinatezza ed efficacia ammirevoli, pur con mezzi semplici: tirando ancora in ballo il Cristo, la lucerna del tuo corpo è l'occhio, e se il tuo occhio è nella luce tutto il tuo corpo sarà nella luce. Come il volto rappresenta per Akira la parte per il tutto ed è più che sufficiente a sintetizzare un intero corpo umano, così a sua volta l'occhio basta da sé a far vivere e caratterizzare il viso.
Il bambino è tutto d'un pezzo: se è triste non è solo triste, è disperato, se è allegro sprizza una gioia travolgente da tutti i pori; non può né vuole dissimulare i sentimenti, dalla paura alla curiosità , dall'attesa alla perplessità . Akira, padre di bimbi, lo sa bene e altrettanto bene lo rende nei suoi quadri. Anche nei due casi in cui si concede il vezzo di coagulare l'alternarsi di luci ed ombre sul viso del piccolo in macchie che hanno il profilo dell'America: non è detto che l'osservatore se ne accorga subito…. Quasi inevitabile, a questo punto, scegliere un volto infantile di Zakamoto per fissare (e attirare) il possibile lettore di un libro sui bambini indaco quale L'avventura indaco – cristallo di Celia Fenn: ne esce una copertina indovinata e accattivante, che fa presagire per il nostro un futuro ricco di soddisfazioni anche come illustratore. Magari non solo di copertine, e non solo per un pubblico adulto: un libro per l'infanzia pieno di bimbi zakamotiani anche nelle pagine interne verrebbe benissimo…
Akira sa non solo dipingere ma anche scrivere, e il messaggio che vuole trasmetterci con le parole è un'amplificazione, o meglio un'esegesi (personale ma non distorta) di ciò che disse Gesù circa i bambini e la necessità di esser come loro, perché a chi è come loro appartiene il regno dei cieli – il quale regno, ammonisce lo stesso Maestro, non è da cercarsi altrove, nell'amletico "paese non ancora scoperto dai cui confini nessun viaggiatore ritorna", bensì quaggiù, fra noi. Per scoprirlo bisogna avere occhi e guardare nella direzione giusta. Una possibilità è proprio quella di fissar negli occhi un bimbo e, più che non leggergli dentro, lasciare che sia lui a leggere noi. àˆ quanto suggerisce la mostra. Il modo di rappresentare gli occhi infantili da parte di Zakamoto ha raggiunto negli ultimi dipinti una raffinatezza ed efficacia ammirevoli, pur con mezzi semplici: tirando ancora in ballo il Cristo, la lucerna del tuo corpo è l'occhio, e se il tuo occhio è nella luce tutto il tuo corpo sarà nella luce. Come il volto rappresenta per Akira la parte per il tutto ed è più che sufficiente a sintetizzare un intero corpo umano, così a sua volta l'occhio basta da sé a far vivere e caratterizzare il viso.
Il bambino è tutto d'un pezzo: se è triste non è solo triste, è disperato, se è allegro sprizza una gioia travolgente da tutti i pori; non può né vuole dissimulare i sentimenti, dalla paura alla curiosità , dall'attesa alla perplessità . Akira, padre di bimbi, lo sa bene e altrettanto bene lo rende nei suoi quadri. Anche nei due casi in cui si concede il vezzo di coagulare l'alternarsi di luci ed ombre sul viso del piccolo in macchie che hanno il profilo dell'America: non è detto che l'osservatore se ne accorga subito…. Quasi inevitabile, a questo punto, scegliere un volto infantile di Zakamoto per fissare (e attirare) il possibile lettore di un libro sui bambini indaco quale L'avventura indaco – cristallo di Celia Fenn: ne esce una copertina indovinata e accattivante, che fa presagire per il nostro un futuro ricco di soddisfazioni anche come illustratore. Magari non solo di copertine, e non solo per un pubblico adulto: un libro per l'infanzia pieno di bimbi zakamotiani anche nelle pagine interne verrebbe benissimo…
Akira has (definitively?) put the spaceships in the garage and the flying islands in the attic, leaving as his only concessions to the past the little stars and the odd exploding world: he has focused entirely on children's faces, from infants without even their first tooth to the threshold of adolescence. There is so much mystery in a child's face that one no longer feels the urge to seek it elsewhere. As always, what the visitor observes is not everything, for our artist feels the need to accompany the images with words that summarise their meaning: this text is printed on the exhibition leaflet, a small but meticulously crafted paper object whose graphic balance among childish faces, disintegrating worlds and words is of rare beauty.
Akira can not only paint but also write, and the message he wants to convey with words is an amplification — or rather an exegesis (personal but not distorted) — of what Jesus said about children and the need to be like them, for to those who are like them belongs the kingdom of heaven — a kingdom which, the Master himself warns, is not to be sought elsewhere, in the Hamletic 'undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns,' but down here, among us. To discover it one must have eyes and look in the right direction. One possibility is precisely to look a child in the eyes and, rather than read into him, let him read us. This is what the exhibition suggests. Zakamoto's way of representing children's eyes has, in his latest paintings, reached an admirable refinement and effectiveness, even with simple means: to bring Christ in again, the lamp of the body is the eye, and if your eye is in the light your whole body will be in the light. Just as the face represents, for Akira, the part for the whole and is more than enough to summarise an entire human body, so in turn the eye alone suffices to bring the face to life and characterise it.
The child is all of a piece: if sad, he is not merely sad but desperate; if happy, he radiates an overwhelming joy from every pore; he can neither hide nor wishes to hide his feelings, from fear to curiosity, from anticipation to perplexity. Akira, a father of children, knows this well and renders it equally well in his paintings. Even in the two cases where he indulges the conceit of coagulating the alternation of light and shadow on the child's face into patches shaped like America: the observer may not notice at once… It is almost inevitable, at this point, to choose a Zakamoto child's face to capture (and attract) the possible reader of a book on indigo children such as Celia Fenn's The Indigo–Crystal Adventure: the result is an apt and captivating cover, which foreshadows for him a rewarding future as an illustrator too. Perhaps not only of covers, and not only for an adult audience: a children's book full of Zakamotian children on the inside pages too would work beautifully…
Akira can not only paint but also write, and the message he wants to convey with words is an amplification — or rather an exegesis (personal but not distorted) — of what Jesus said about children and the need to be like them, for to those who are like them belongs the kingdom of heaven — a kingdom which, the Master himself warns, is not to be sought elsewhere, in the Hamletic 'undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns,' but down here, among us. To discover it one must have eyes and look in the right direction. One possibility is precisely to look a child in the eyes and, rather than read into him, let him read us. This is what the exhibition suggests. Zakamoto's way of representing children's eyes has, in his latest paintings, reached an admirable refinement and effectiveness, even with simple means: to bring Christ in again, the lamp of the body is the eye, and if your eye is in the light your whole body will be in the light. Just as the face represents, for Akira, the part for the whole and is more than enough to summarise an entire human body, so in turn the eye alone suffices to bring the face to life and characterise it.
The child is all of a piece: if sad, he is not merely sad but desperate; if happy, he radiates an overwhelming joy from every pore; he can neither hide nor wishes to hide his feelings, from fear to curiosity, from anticipation to perplexity. Akira, a father of children, knows this well and renders it equally well in his paintings. Even in the two cases where he indulges the conceit of coagulating the alternation of light and shadow on the child's face into patches shaped like America: the observer may not notice at once… It is almost inevitable, at this point, to choose a Zakamoto child's face to capture (and attract) the possible reader of a book on indigo children such as Celia Fenn's The Indigo–Crystal Adventure: the result is an apt and captivating cover, which foreshadows for him a rewarding future as an illustrator too. Perhaps not only of covers, and not only for an adult audience: a children's book full of Zakamotian children on the inside pages too would work beautifully…