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The Art of Akira Zakamoto

Carlo Gavazzi · 2010

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…