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The Art of Akira Zakamoto

Nicola Davide Angerame · 2008

His experience as a rebirther leads him to retrace the stages of a forgotten childhood, which translates into an essentialist painting where the close-up gazes of infants act as ferrymen of our inner gaze toward a cosmic dimension, ancient and future like the journey Stanley Kubrick has the astronaut Bowman undertake in 2001: A Space Odyssey. To such an odyssey, at once internalised and cosmic, Zakamoto's painting refers; it presents some points of contact with the Japanese aesthetic of manga, comics played exclusively on the emotional and narrative values of the image, which finds in colour an important place for the assimilation of the concept, the exasperation of reality, and the transfiguration of linear space-time into a fanciful image.
In one of his paintings titled The World Watches Us, fairly exemplary of the series, Zakamoto heightens the blue of a child's eyes and his gaze turned toward the immeasurable altitudes of a sidereal space, where at times entire planets shatter. 'For me they signify a change,' says Zakamoto. The child has an inquiring gaze but also one of metaphysical wonder, dictated by the miracle of being here and now, and of being placed before the annihilating magnificence of creation. On his face, a patch of skin shaped like the American continent transforms his real features into a map where macrocosm and microcosm, the universe and man, mirror one another.
The colours fix themselves in these portraits as flat zones of static action, like continents on a 'political' map of the Atlas. Border zones, patchwork, a puzzle of colour-zones that become faces, gazes, questions. The lights and depths are the effect of juxtaposed hues, separated and sewn together, each intent on producing its own result, on developing a fragment of pop language where the disappearance of gradations and the flattening of the chromatic field — made glossy by the use of lacquers — represent an aesthetic declaration.
Zakamoto chooses a filmic, zonal painting, openly inclined toward an artificial simplification of painting so that it may convey primary, essential sensations. A painting that does not seek to distract through the exaltation of detail but to communicate immediately, instinctively, the force of a feeling — that of a childhood lost and rediscovered by Zakamoto through a practice, rebirthing, perhaps comparable to a controlled dream, an inner journey into the recesses of ancestral memories: those of the first years of life of which we have no awareness but which act within us as unconscious mechanisms, as traumas that carve out the personality and perhaps also as dreams, imaginings, desires that determine choices for which, as adults, we can no longer give an exhaustive explanation. As if a karst river flowed within our soul, carving uninterrupted paths to which Zakamoto attempts to give a face.