Vahram Muratyan

I wanted to approach Japan through the eyes of a child by asking myself the following question: “How did I feel about Japan as a child?” When I was young, I was not necessarily attracted to this country, but I was fascinated by everything that came out of its factories. Cameras, walkman, video recorder, consoles, tamagotchi… In my opinion, it was the symbol of Japan : a country where objects are prime. That was until I discovered Japanese cartoons, then Miyazaki anime and then 90s movies like Ring, Kikujiro or Battle Royale. I understood that Japanese philosophy was extremely rich, much more, of course, than I had imagined during the clueless years of my childhood. Only in 2013 was I able to go there for the first time, a trip for the Japanese release of Paris vs New York. After this great introduction I was given the chance to return there every year and I received an incredible welcome.

Through my family history, I have always been attracted to the West, to the United States in particular. These trips to Japan totally opened my mind and I developed, as I often do, a kind of obsession for the place. During my first trip I traveled the classic circuit, and was able to go to the island of Naoshima where the famous pumpkin of Yayoi Kusama welcomes you. I also went to explore the architectural works of Tadao Ando. My favorite trips are road trips: Kyushu, the Japanese Alps… anything that is impossible to explore by train. After a few trips, I told myself that I had to work on a book dedicated to Japan, without knowing yet what form it would take.

I quickly started thinking about what it’s like to travel by Shinkanzen (the famous high-speed train), because it is something very typical of Japan with a strong link to childhood, to imagination and to the actual reality of travel. The journey provokes very powerful mental images and it is this thin layer of the journey that is most remembered years later. When Covid started, I was like everyone else, unable to travel to Japan. Eventually, I decided to speak to those who dream of going there but who have never been able to. Some of whom, perhaps, will never go. Many images and words came to mind, and I started writing a story around these words. They are generally repeated twice in the book, to make interesting parallels or link them to other words.

Yes! When we talk about konbini in France, we immediately think of the online media. Few people know that it is a Japanese word which comes from a derivative of the words convenience store, which really means small neighborhood business. Konbinis are Japanese Franprix/7-Eleven open 24 hours a day. They are icons of the country. It’s the poetry of these images that I have in mind when we think of travel. When I think of Japan, I picture vending machines, I think of konbini, temples maybe… But mostly, small scenes of daily life, the serenity of the streets, the cherry blossom trees…

Yes indeed. Japan is both very big and very small at the same time. It is rather symbolic to set up the exhibition and launch the book here. We are inside one of the very few travel agencies that gives the possibility of traveling to Japan at the moment… This place seems to be a gate to a country that has completely closed in recent years. Those who know Japan recognize things. Those who have never been there are intrigued. What I try to show is the image one has before going there for the first time – the one I had before I turned 33.

When I used to think of Japan, I used to think of Blade Runner. I would imagine tall buildings in the rain. With pollution, mess everywhere. The reality is quite different. Japan is calm. Everything is thought through for children and their safety. They are very protected, they can take the underground on their own aged 6, to go to school. That’s why I wanted to open the exhibition with this little girl at the entrance of the agency. The spirit of childhood is very protected in Japan and I find that it is less and less so in France. There is also a kind of constant wonder in Japan, which is kept even in adulthood. You could say that the Japanese seem to keep a part of childhood all their lives, they take the time to contemplate pretty things, they like to do things with a lot of care. There are all those details that I would like people to feel with the book. Hence the colors, hence the work on the finesse of miniatures in the exhibition.

I have a lot of Japanese friends who speak English but I understand a little Japanese. This allows me to figure out a lot of things. It is always more complicated in the countryside, but it is precisely there that the trip is the most interesting. This is where you really understand the culture. I was a little frustrated when I couldn’t speak to people, so I took a few lessons. In small villages, it helped me a lot because few people speak English. That being said, body language is also very important and can achieve a lot of things. The best memories in my opinion come from sharing meals. Small dishes to share like tapas. There is a real exchange around food, different from using words. It’s like living emojis.

In any case, it is in the search for that simplicity. In Va au Japon, there is an actual story, which allows, past the pictures, to have a second reading. In my previous books, there wasn’t necessarily a story, here I am giving readers some clues, because Japan is not an obvious country to understand.

It’s more of a life experience guide than a travel guide. A guide of digested feelings, and above all an ode to the feeling of missing something. I think that if you like a country, you necessarily miss it. You attach yourself to something that you cannot find here, by definition. It’s almost difficult to talk about it in less than 200 pages. Sofia Coppola talked about it very well in Lost In Translation. But it is a film that spoke of her life, a life ultimately very far from everyday life. And without necessarily any connection with the street or the world below.

Yes. Japan is a paradox. It is a very developed country, with very few visible inequalities, unlike in the United States. Everything is very modern and at the same time there is a feeling of untouchable fragility. Some things seem fragile, like the sheet metal roofs. There is also a motley side to it that makes the charm of the country. It’s like an imperfect deck of cards, contrasting with Ando’s perfect concrete. I learned how to resonate the imperfections of this reality in the drawings for the book.

No, for this book I chose to do things by hand. That’s what I learned there, that things don’t have to be perfect. An example that comes to mind is the beautiful Japanese ceramics. From a distance, they look perfect. But if you look closely, you notice the small accidents. There is this idea that if something breaks, we fix it and we celebrate it even more, it is as if it became sublime. This is the Kintsugi technique, or that of the golden glue. We take the time to celebrate all these small things. Put together, they are far from insignificant.

It’s true. I had time to work on all three openings. The pictures, the words, and the story, so that everything flows smoothly. I really took the time to polish those three things. Initially, I wanted to make it into a visual and audio book. But then I decided to build a book with a shape similar to that of a haiku, with a few small keys to take the reader by the hand.

Va au Japon will hopefully be translated into Japanese. I can’t wait to see how they’ll handle it. I ask substantive questions about lifestyle and social habits, the use of plastic or chauvinism. I question gestures that I do not really understand, such as women hiding their mouths. There hasn’t really been a sexual revolution in Japan as there has in Europe or the United States, at least not the same one. Sometimes it feels as if we were in an Ozu film in the 60s. But then, even after 200 pages, the country is still just as mysterious to me as it was before and it will probably remain so.

Propos recueillis par Pauline Marie Malier

Photos : Valentin Le Cron

Traduction : Jessica Jensen