A canvas of flinching cells, a frame with skin-like texture, and an array of eye-catching colors draw you into an
In the realm where pixels dance in discord and the old boundaries of the screen are challenged, jonCates emerges as
Patrick Amadon is interested in art that stirs shit up in the real world.
Bleak city streets, strange noises, and the penetrating scent of garbage mix with the comforting sounds of R&B and a hope for the future that nothing can squash. Nate Santana, better known as Dead Society Poetry, brings together a unique blend of poetry, music, and film that gives voice to the often overlooked aspects of urban life, casting a spotlight on the interplay between poverty, suffering, and the vibrancy of city living.
Dead Society Poetry’s creative process is a finely tuned alchemy of different art forms. He masterfully combines the rhythmic cadence of music of varying genres and styles, the evocative power of words, and the visceral impact of film to create artworks that are deeply moving and profoundly insightful. Each piece is a reflection of the raw emotions that permeate urban life, oscillating between hope and hopelessness, color and darkness.
The city, with its stark contrasts and dichotomies, serves not just as the inspiration for his work but also as an integral part of his artistic identity. The city’s influence is palpable in his art, infusing it with a sense of authenticity and immediacy. Today, we have the opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of Dead Society Poetry’s artistic vision and the city that shaped it.
Virginia Valenzuela: So I wanted to start with the fact that this is chapter 7 of an existing series and I’d love to hear a little bit more about that series and what you’re trying to accomplish with it.
Nathan Santana: Okay, so the series is titled the “City of Dreams.” To me the City of Dreams is this sociological inquiry into the ramifications of poverty on individuals and communities. And it was this idea, the “City of Dreams” was born one day just driving around my hometown, which is Bridgeport, Connecticut. Bridgeport, Connecticut is one of the five major cities of Connecticut. Bridgeport is, historically it’s one of the worst cities in the US.
VV: Why are you smiling when you say that?
NS: Because I love Bridgeport. That’s my shit right there. I’m from the projects. [We laugh.] So yeah, Bridgeport is one of the worst. Lots of crime, lots of pain, lots of misery, and it goes on generationally.
So again, the “City of Dreams” was born from observation, but it was also inspired by one of my favorite poems, “Harlem” by Langston Hughes. Dreams deferred, what happens with a raisin in the sun, whatever is said there in that poem. But there was one profound, very poignant line where he’s asking what happens with a dream deferred. Does it explode? And so, I was just really thinking about how dreams are essentially the new opium of the masses in this neoliberal society that we live in, where people are essentially hamsters on a wheel going to work, to work for a better life. It’s almost like the myth of Sisyphus. So you’re fuckin’ working. You’re working hard, but you ain’t going anywhere, but the only things that are driving you forward, the carrot on the stick, are your fuckin’ dreams.
VV: Yeah.
NS: So what we got is motherfuckers out here just dreaming all the time, dreaming for success, dreaming to get the fuck out of the ‘hood, lottery tickets, fuckin’ menial jobs. And when nothing comes, the only thing that comes is pain and misery, it’s really the only thing that’s real. Then you have a whole bunch of other coping mechanisms and you have all these negative behavioral manifestations.
I’m an epidemiologist. My focus is HIV and STIs–or STDs, is what we still call them. I focus on syphilis and congenital syphilis and HIV investigation. But my original and main interest in epidemiology was always social epidemiology. It was always looking at the social and socioeconomics and circumstances as the actual etiology of most diseases.
VV: Yeah, totally. I mean when it’s not even about access to doctors, I mean that’s a part of it too. But it’s like…something I think about a lot with poverty–because I grew up in a below-poverty household as well–it’s the food insecurity.
NS: Right.
VV: And I don’t know. Do you know to brush your teeth for two minutes in the morning and at night, it’s the little things like that that compile year after year. And then obviously, there have been all these books and studies about how sadness and pain can cause disease, right? So, yeah, I think there’s definitely a connection here just in quality of life and what that quality is when you don’t have access to basics.
NS: Exactly.
VV: Which Latinos know very well. I grew up in a food desert. We had an Associated Marketplace and everything was canned and processed.
NS: Right, right exactly. Food, that’s one aspect. And you also have a very sort of coercive relationship with labor tied to this whole dream of success, where, the lower on the totem pole you are, the menial labor, the stress is exponential.
VV: And the money is minimal.
NS: And the money is minimal. And so you’re just living this entire life where your cortisol levels are in survival mode. So the unique thing about Bridgeport in Connecticut is that it’s surrounded by vast wealth. So then you also have an added element of knowing your socioeconomic position. Income quality, and it’s right in your face. And so you get this element of shame your entire life.
It’s almost like being this colonial subject where you’re constantly reminded of your second-class citizenship. Of how you are less than because you can’t afford things, because you can’t buy things, because you can’t consume things, and in our society, in this consumer society, being a consumer is almost tied to patriotism. It’s almost tied to your inclusion in society and it isn’t just consumption of goods, physical tangible goods; it’s also this consumption of social media, is the consumption of TV shows. You’re in this conversation with someone and they’re saying “You haven’t watched ‘Game of Thrones,’ motherfucker? You’re stupid.”
VV: And it’s like, no. I got three jobs.
NS: So now I guess I’m a fuckin’ pariah, and I gotta watch “Game of Thrones.”
VV: I haven’t watched “Game of Thrones” and I’m not interested, so…
NS: Yeah, me either, I never watched a single episode.
VV: I’m watching real life and it’s just as scary.
NS: Hell yeah real life nasty, is messy, is fucked up. I don’t need “Game of Thrones.” There are so many motherfuckers out here having sex, fuck that. [He laughs.] I don’t need “Game of Thrones” to see that shit.
VV: So I think that’s a great segue to talking about this piece, “Chapter 7: Black Plastic Bag.” It’s really packed with a lot of specific imagery both in the way that you filmed it and in the way that the poem unfolds, so I’d love to talk first about all of the multimedia that you used in it because calling this multimedia seems like a gross understatement. You’ve got layers of film, you’ve got distortion, music, throat singing, noise layers, you have the audio of the poem. I’d love to hear a bit about what each layer brings to this piece in your mind, and more importantly, what inspired you to bring so many different pieces of media together?
NS: Hmmm. I’ll answer the last part first. I’ve always wanted all of my poetry to have an audio component as opposed to just text.
VV: Yeah.
NS: Audio and visual. That’s pretty much it really, I mean for that part. It’s just that every time I wrote a poem it was always very visual, very auditory. I could hear things. I could see things happening and while I don’t have the production capability, the whole multi hundred thousand dollars to actually bring everything to life. I do what I can.
VV: You go indie!
NS: Yeah, I go super indie. Look, this is my chapter 7 fuckin’ camera, this thing right here.
VV: My God!
NS: This is from 2010. I got it for free.
NS: And it’s just me and it’s my partner, my partner just helps me, or it’s on an iPhone. It’s super low budget.
Yeah, so, everything comes together. The piece stands alone, but it’s also interwoven with themes from the rest of the series. So I always envision the “City of Dreams” to be this overarching, multi-volume thing. And this would be the first volume of the “City of Dreams.” But I always envision it to be a multi-series, multi-volume ongoing body of work that is interwoven with musical overtures with musical themes.
So you have listened to Chapter 7, but if you listen to other chapters, there’s this theme that is prominent throughout — it’s like doo-doo-do-do-do-do-do-doo — that you can hear throughout the other pieces. So I wanted it to be this grand, interwoven story with multiple themes that connect throughout the series, throughout the different chapters, almost like this book, right?
So there’s the prologue and it runs through chapter 7, and chapter 7 is the last chapter. Then you have the epilogue; the epilogue will be just music.
VV: Something I really love about it too is that for a series like this, I would expect an artist to put it all on the same marketplace in the same spot and I love that you’re putting it all over the place. You have one piece on MakersPlace and that exhibition with Whale DAO, this piece on Mint Gold Dust. And it just feels like this story deserves to be on many different platforms and all over the internet. It’s a story that speaks to not just people in Bridgeport, or me here in New York; it speaks to people out in the projects in Jersey, or like, all over California.
NS: Yeah, yeah.
VV: So I like that choice that you made of almost making it universal because the themes of it are pretty universal. There are more people who are poor than rich, right?
NS: Right exactly, and there’s the pain, misery, suffering, all that stuff is felt by everyone in almost the same way, it’s just kind of fucked up. [He laughs.]
VV: I’d love to hear a little bit more about, what made you want to pick up that camera and use film in this, because a lot of people in the NFT poetry world, I noticed they tend to do more, like, AI work, or a kind of simple background with the text on top, something a little more static or only slightly animated, and you went in the total opposite direction. You created a short film basically, so I’d love to hear about your connection to film, your connection to using that camera and moreover, I’m assuming this is footage of Bridgeport?
NS: Yeah, so a lot of my pieces include footage of Bridgeport and also footage of different areas in New York City, because I have a connection there as well.
Again, the film aspect, it’s just that I always had a visual and the visual is told through moving image, the moving image.
VV: I think you were saying something earlier about how you’re creating a specific aesthetic with the film and then obviously some of the film is distorted. There are parts in this piece where it seems like there are two different clips overlaid with each other.
NS: Yeah.
VV: Like it’s coming in and out of vision. I find it really interesting because it’s not cut and dry, like the film for you seems to be just another material.
NS: Yeah, and I mean, I’ve always wanted to tell a story, especially when it comes to film. I’ve always been influenced by very avant-garde, very weird things and I like shots that are just essentially nonsensical, in a way incoherent, non-linear and it’s just like a long, still shot and there’s a lot to take in.
But I’m also telling a story, so it’s not just the poem. The music tells a story as well. The music is trying to evoke emotion. I feel like the poem is probably the most in-your-face direct part of the piece. And it all comes together really well, but when you break each piece down, the poem, the spoken word, that’s the most direct part. What I actually enjoy the most is the stuff that you have to think about, which is the short film aspect, the music. The music is emotive. It’s trying to convey an emotion. It’s trying to tell you what the real world is like. It’s dirty. It’s disgusting. It’s sad.
But at the same time there’s a break at the end like the outro of Chapter 7 where it becomes this R&B thing, and it’s like if there’s a juxtaposition where the music in the beginning is really eerie, the visuals are really fucked up; but then there’s a juxtaposition in the mood of the music, and then the lyrics are fucked up. So there are multiple things that switch and then it goes back to just me cutting myself [out of the bag].
VV: Yeah, and that’s one of my favorite things about this piece, that you can’t really get comfortable ever. You’re either being pushed to feel uncomfortable through the music, through the imagery. And then once you do feel comfortable with the jazz at the end, then it’s like bam! You come right back, and so I think that’s a great metaphor for life. Things happen, things change. Just when you think you’re living the life, then you get laid off or your mother gets sick. And that’s so potent because it kind of shows whether you’re really affluent or just going through the motions, trying to get through, bad things happen and kind of throw you off your game and it’s not different, the money doesn’t make that part any easier.
NS: It reminds me of that meme. I don’t know if you’ve seen this, but it’s fresh in my mind. It’s like “I paid off all my bills” and then there’s somebody screaming, there’s like a video of somebody screaming, and it says my brakes, my car brakes are screaming.
VV: Yeah.
NS: So right after I paid off my bills, there’s another bill coming up.
VV: That is so true! Every time you’re like, all right, my credit card is fresh. Fuck. Now there’s a new expense. Yeah, it never ends. So, let’s talk a little bit about the imagery here and what the poem is talking about, because you start with things we might find in a garbage bag and then I think it’s kind of moving into some of the challenges of living in the modern world. And then finally we land on some amazing Puerto Rican food staples, but they are also distorted.
You say “mofongo with a side of basura [garbage].” You say “chewing on rusty nails, chicharrón sleeping on the floor with a squid in a brown paper bag.” So it feels like the speaker of this poem is talking about how sustenance, it’s important, but in this poem it’s being corrupted, and obviously without sustenance you can’t survive. So can you speak a little bit more to the idea of survival and how it’s functioning in this poem?
NS: Yeah. I’m not gonna talk about the poem specifically. There’s one thing that I don’t do, and I don’t talk about the work specifically.
VV: That’s fine.
NS: I allow people to just walk away with what they want to walk away with. The context for me is just sociological inquiry, poverty, pain, life. Whatever else you get from it is what you get from it.
VV: The only clues you’re given.
NS: Exactly, and catharsis, like the most important thing, individual catharsis, what I was feeling, what I’m trying to say, my story is being put there for all to see.
But yes, survival comes at a cost. It comes at the cost of your health. All right, we talked about the food deserts, we talked about eating food that isn’t essentially good for you, despite it being food from your homeland, from your people. It’s just like super oily, super this, super that.
VV: It’s like instead of chorizo, you’ve got those salchichas, with like 1000% of your daily salt intake.
NS: A thousand percent, maybe more.
VV: Maybe per sausage. Yeah, that’s the thing right? It’s like you get really happy because you found some tortillas? Then you’re like, what the hell is in this? It tastes chemical, like there’s something weird here and like I love that idea of the cost of connecting with your culture. You’re away from it. You get this rundown version of it that ends up, maybe it gives you a little bit of comfort when you’re eating it, but it ends up hurting you in a way, right?
NS: I also wanted to play with a lot of juxtaposition. So you’re eating this food, this mofongo, you have this momentary comfort, but you’re surrounded by, essentially, basura [garbage]. You’re surrounded by hurt, you’re surrounded by pain, you’re surrounded by an environment that is covered literally with garbage. You walk out of your house and all you see is fuckin’ trash, flattened out McDonald’s cups–
VV: Heroin needles–
NS: Two condoms on the corner–
VV: Blood! I’ve seen blood on my street, and more than once.
NS: You see everything. You get a momentary comfort and after that momentary sort of amnesia, you wake up and there’s a side of basura [garbage]. And if there’s one thing about your sides, they’re always there on the side on your plate. You’re always reminded of your side. [He laughs.] There’s always the main course, but the sides, fuck!
VV: They’re not so great. Excuse me, can I send this back? [She laughs.]
NS: Yeah, I don’t want this fuckin’ broccoli. Get this broccoli out of here.
VV: Alright, I’ll skip this next question because we’re not gonna talk about the poem. I was really interested in the way the poem uses color because we start with this really dark black-and-white glitchy aesthetic, and then the poem happens and then you ask the viewer “do you feel me?” And then we switch to the jazz and the color comes on and now we’re seeing film in color and interestingly enough because of what you chose, it’s like now we’re seeing graffiti in color. So it’s like you’ve put us from black and white to color but the images that you’re showing are melancholy. I’m still feeling this darkness from it, even though you’ve turned the lights on. So I’d love to hear a little bit more about that choice. And yeah, how do you view color in this?
NS: That’s not something I think about.
VV: [She laughs.] Of course not.
NS: I’m not consciously thinking about color in that way. To me, my process is very much mimicking the chaos of everyday life. It’s experimental. It’s improvisational. It’s chaotic. This is what comes next. This influenced that, so this will come next.
VV: Yeah.
NS: I always find it very silly, in a way, and I don’t really mean to talk shit about artists, but, when all those fuckers are out here talking about practice and discipline and it’s like, okay you turning this shit into a fuckin’ job, fuck off, just express yourself. So to me that’s how I approach things, so if it comes out in a sort of way like that, it wasn’t really conscious. There’s this maybe subconscious effort to experiment, and if it comes out that way it’s because perhaps it was…I don’t know, I can’t really describe what I’m saying here, but…
VV: Yeah, I get you. That’s fascinating because the only part that has color really is the jazz. Most of the other one with the darker music and covering of the face with the plastic bag, all of that is so dark and the black and white fits so perfectly and that’s so amazing, especially as I’m thinking about your musician brain, right, that’s in the background, is probably what was working there. And so I find that fascinating because earlier in the piece, there are a couple of flashes of light and there are little tiny bits of color and so it actually made me think of “The Wizard of Oz.”
She starts in black and white, goes to the Land of Oz and it’s color, and then goes back home and it’s black and white again, and your piece did the same transition and it just made me think so much about–you mentioned catharsis. And so I was thinking about how the subject of this poem is living this dark life and then finally states this poem and then we go into a world of color. It almost to me felt like the power of catharsis, the fact that maybe after you get something off your chest that changes the way you see the world. But then he goes right back into the darkness. The catharsis is momentary. It doesn’t help, you still find your way back to the shit that you were dealing with beforehand.
NS: Right. I wrote a poem about this a few years ago and there’s a section in that poem where you’re in a labyrinth and you see this crack in the wall and you squeeze through like a tiny mouse, and then you’re outside of the labyrinth. There’s a moment of joy and celebration that then gets sequestered because the labyrinth isn’t just a stagnant labyrinth. It’s this moving, breathing machine inside of a machine that creates itself, that reproduces itself and it actually uses your brain, your thoughts to create more elaborate labyrinths to keep you inside of it.
VV: It’s like, you leveled up? Me, too.
NS: But it’s already 50 steps ahead of you.
VV: Yeah.
NS: So, in my mind that is always what’s happening. I’m breaking through and it’s the same thing with when you clean out your credit card and then your brakes are squealing. It’s just like, how is this always the case? Why is this always happening?
VV: Can’t catch a break ever.
NS: Why can I not break free without being put right back in? And I always think of fuckin’ “Godfather 3.” They keep pulling me back! Or even “Carlito’s Way.” I don’t know if you’ve seen “Carlito’s Way.”
VV: Of course. Yeah.
NS: And you block over the Bronx? Carlito is trying to get out, but, he can’t.
VV: Yeah, exactly. So before we go, let’s talk about the music a bit. There are a lot of pieces here, including jazz, R&B, and more. What was the process of bringing all of these pieces together?
NS: As I mentioned previously with my sort of experimental improvisational process, the music actually came together in the same way that “Oceans of Pain” came together.
I asked Greg Wilcox, who is a bassist, multi-instrumentalist, and throat singer, to contribute some throat singing. And he had no idea what the music was going to be like, and I basically just gave him a prompt. Do something inspired by black plastic bag. Think about that, and just whatever it is you do, think about that.
VV: Channel it.
NS: Yeah. Don’t worry about the key. Don’t worry about tempo. Don’t worry about rhythm. Just in your head, think about this, and let it out. And then there was also the trumpet player. His name is Ni!
I did the same thing. I was just like, think about this. Don’t worry about anything else. And I like that when it comes to music, that’s my approach. It’s just like the birds, the insects, the deer, the other animals, they don’t work. They’re not planning what they’re doing. They’re just going by their own tune.
VV: Just making a symphony, just like that.
NS: It comes together in this super harmonious thing. If you are ever in the forest and you hear the birds chirping, you hear the trees swaying, you hear the river going over fuckin’ rocks and shit. It’s like, these motherfuckers ain’t talking. They’re just doing what they’re doing. And so what I did was I just put everything together as if we were disparate components, but we fit so harmoniously.
VV: I see you. I see what’s going on.
NS: Yeah, the jazzy R&B part too, I remember creating that and I was like wow, this is fuckin’ amazing. [He laughs.] And my partner sang on it and she wrote the lyrics to that. I was just like “City of Dreams,” black plastic bag. Think about it. But yeah, the rest of the music, it was all me. The piano, my opera singing.
VV: Incredible.
Your introduction to new art available on
Mint Gold Dust.
Paul Petersen (aka Spherical Art) has had a long journey from studying painting at UCLA to minting digital art of mesmerizing geometric shapes.
Pixel artist Gutty Kreum explores the digital backstreets of Japan and injects them with nostalgia and quiet beauty.
Your introduction to new art available on Mint Gold Dust.
Quantum Spirit
Jennifer Panepinto is a visual artist combining analog and digital processes, and often plays around with negative space. Her artworks are inspired by her own journey with mental health, exploring both positive and dark concepts, frequently using rainbows. Jennifer is also inspired by the conscious mind and metaphysics, a theme present in her work. Jennifer’s art is multidisciplinary, using a range of mediums from Polaroid to AI Art. Jennifer has been a professional graphic designer and illustrator for the past two decades. Jennifer received her MFA in Design from The School of Visual Arts in 2003 and a BFA in Photography from Pratt Institute in 1998.
Trancing Field
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Nacho Frades
Born in Madrid in 1967 and now residing in Cadiz, Nacho Frades is a distinguished digital artist known for seamlessly blending traditional techniques with modern digital innovations. His works, characterized by their intricate details and emotional depth, resonate with authenticity. With a style that infuses life into ordinary subjects, Nacho’s artistry is evident in every piece, be it on canvas or a digital platform. His foray into Cryptoart showcases his adaptability and forward-thinking approach. Amidst the evolving digital age, Nacho’s artworks stand as a testament to the timeless beauty of everyday life and the transformative power of art.
Trattoria
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SphericalArt
SphericalArt, aka Paul Petersen, is a geometric artist and poet who finds and creates his images inside of 3D polyhedral spheres. He looks for unique arrangements of polygons that hint at an emerging story. He overlays meaning onto the inherent beauty of polyhedral patterns. He also curates as the host of the weekly show, DISCOVERING NFT ARTISTS on the Tokensmart Discord server. He studied painting at UCLA with William Brice, earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. He did post graduate study at the Art Center College of Design. He’s had careers as an advertising art director, watercolorist, and medical illustrator. His technical proficiency in computer graphics has put him in a position to explore this new area of geometric image creation.
Color Roulette #9
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jonCates
jonCates makes Glitch Art worlds. From his vision of the Old West in 鬼鎮 (Ghosttown)™ to the futures of the Ancient East in 金山 (goldMountain), he explores glitch storytelling.
金關係，The Secrets of Glitch
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1 ETH
MizzD
MizzD is a digital and visual artist inspired by the wild and beautiful vibrations of life. She has been oil painting since 2008 and digital painting since 2018. Her strong style and vibrant spirit evolve by combining tradition and technology. For MizzD Art is a portal to happiness and joy. She uses art to boost the mind, body and soul. It is proven that being surrounded by bright alluring colours can influence our way of being and way of life. Colours can nurture our spirit and give us energy. MizzD’s wish for us is to enjoy and experience the strong sensations created by colours and forms.
Citrus Variation
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Taking offers
Am I dreaming? Is this virtual reality? Are all these people rushing to make the train just NPCs in my metaverse? Did I really just see a video for an NFT drop on that 50 foot screen? Is that cartoon cat mascot with a bowtie and top hat winking at me?
“And so even if no verse ever emerges from the mute poet, even if the painter never sets brush to canvas, he is happier than the wealthiest of men, happier than any strong-armed emperor or pampered child of this vulgar world of ours — for he can view human life with an artist’s eye; he is released from the world’s illusory sufferings; he is able to come and go in a realm of transcendent purity, to construct a unique universe of art, and thereby to destroy the binding fetters of self-interest and desire.”
–Kusamakura, Natsume Sōseki
October 11, 2022. The day that Japan fully opened its borders to foreign tourists. An announcement that some were surprised by, given Japan’s strictness surrounding COVID travel and its 220-year history of isolation from the outside world from 1633 to 1853. Known as “sakoku,” this national policy restricted trade and relations between Japan and most other countries. Foreigners weren’t allowed to enter Japan, and the average Japanese couldn’t leave the country.
Born in 1867 at the start of the Meiji era, Natsume Sōseki, the father of modern Japanese literature, saw his country open up to the West and begin a breakneck process of modernization. Although he was infatuated with Japanese and Chinese classics, he chose to study English at university because he thought it might be useful for a writing career in this new world. In 1900, the Japanese government sent Sōseki to study in London with the distinction of being “Japan’s first Japanese English literary scholar.” He spent most of those two years alone at home, devouring English books.
Sōseki’s upbringing at the start of Japan’s modern era and his time in England set the stage for his novel Kusamakura in 1906. Centered around a nameless artist narrator who takes a hiking trip to a mountain hot spring inn, the main character aims to achieve a “nonemotional” and “unhuman” approach to capture the beauty around him, as it is.
Like Sōseki, the nameless artist is infatuated with modern Western culture, but also reveres Japanese traditional art forms such as haiku and ukiyo-e, and finds himself in a liminal state between these two worlds. His novel captures a moment when Japan was at a turning point, with one eye on the past and one on the future, where seemingly anything was possible.
~~~
November 5, 2022. The Reiwa era. Anticipation in the air. A gorgeous autumn day with Japan peeking through the clouds below. Rows of Japanese travelers returning to their families for the first time since COVID sealed off the archipelago from the outside world. Gaijin on business, gaijin with fanny packs and urban hiking gear, gaijin of the neckbearded otaku variety. And one Thundercat, dressed in a fuzzy animal hoodie and a Murakami backpack patterned in joyous rainbow flowers. All of us masked up, ready for a customs gauntlet before finally emerging from the metro to the intoxicating smells of rich, umami curry.
I’m traveling with one of my oldest friends, who has been studying Japanese for the last few years and generously agreed to help as a translator. We’re here to meet a new generation of Japanese artists navigating another turning point for their country. With one eye in the physical world, and one eye in the digital.
Techno Temple in Electric Town
Standing inside the grounds of Kanda Myojin, a shrine with 1300 years of history now perched on a small hill in Tokyo, all is calm. The tranquil vibe feels worlds away from the lights and noise of nearby Akihabara — Japan’s mecca for otaku and technophiles. In fact, the shrine sells an “IT Information Security” talisman to guard your devices from viruses, data theft, and other potential issues. I make sure to purchase one to bless my gear and protect me from future rug pulls.
Anocam (a photographer and artist from London who has been living in Tokyo for the past 3 years) also graciously meets up with us for the day to take photos and help translate. His work captures the frenetic, dreamlike quality of Tokyo with a deep respect and love for the city.
We’re here to chat with EXCALIBUR — a 13-person collective led by two artists who prefer to remain anon (I’ll call them “Y” and “M”). Wearing handmade masks covered in computer keys, the founders welcome us into the shrine’s adjoining tearoom, where we sip on iced coffees and matcha whisked with bamboo.
Although the collective comprises a roster of visual artists and musicians, the main concepts come from Y’s brain, and then M works on the animations and finer details.
Y is deeply interested in the Shinto religion — they were born and raised near a shrine that appears in Japanese mythology, where the sun deity and energy deity descended to Earth and first lived together. The deities then traveled across Japan and arrived at their present location of Ise Shrine, one of the holiest sites in Shinto.
“There are 8 million deities and over 80,000 shrines in Japan,” Y says. “In other words, in Japanese Shintoism, the divine spirits are replicable. And even if the spirit is split, the original divine spirit is not affected, and the split spirit performs the same function as the original divine spirit. Therefore, each deity is original, and they all have their home. In the same way, all reproduced digital data are original, meaning they must have a home somewhere. We hoped to provide a home for the souls of digital data.”
This is what drew the collective to NFTs. EXCALIBUR makes conceptual pixel art about the melding of the physical and the virtual, so it was a natural progression to start creating crypto art.
“PRAYABLE (Nagoshi no Harae)” (2021)
“Before NFTs, with digital art you would print it out, put it somewhere, you would project it somewhere, or you would need a digital screen. But it could be copied. There’s not an origin, per se,” Y says. “And with NFTs, you can see the art has a soul, where you can follow where this thing goes. There is an origin to this thing.”
EXCALIBUR are disciples of Yutaka Matsuzawa (a pioneer of conceptual art in Japan), who was concerned with the vanishing of the object and visual image in physical art, creating an anti-materialist art that focused on absences. The collective calls their overlap between the physical and the virtual “Street, Ethernet, Field.” “Street” refers to the street art that they’ve done in the physical world. “Ethernet” is their portmanteau of “Ethereum” and “Internet” — the digital world that they’re exploring (also a cable). And then “Field” refers to their gaming focus, which can inhabit physical and/or virtual worlds. Games can be anywhere.
For a recent exhibition, EXCALIBUR pay homage to Art Nouveau and Zen philosophy with “Fūkō Hibi Arata,” which literally means “the light and wind are new every day.” Nature always gives us something new to ponder, and EXCALIBUR evokes the ever-shifting natural world with their “pixelated natural landscapes.”
“As technology improves, we’re getting closer to where the physical world and the digital world is just one flowing thing,” Y says. “Whereas now, you have a reality and a digital world, or even comparing it to Ready Player One, the physical and digital are clearly separate. Whereas something like The Matrix, you cannot tell the difference. There isn’t a difference…We’ve never thought about it being good or bad; it just is.”
COVID and gaming inspired their series “NEW GAME+”. “[‘NEW GAME+’] is a system that allows you to start over from the beginning of a video game that you have already completed, while retaining your status,” the booklet for the series states. “We were severely damaged by the Corona disaster, but our world is neither GAME OVER nor RESET. Can’t we consider that we have cleared the social structure once and for all? We have seen the ending of this reality. Then, you can start again with your own status inherited.”
“NEW normal GAME” (2021)
With a vivid color palette that references retro gaming, EXCALIBUR’s work is firmly in the pixel art style, but it’s not just an aesthetic choice. They find that their Shinto and Zen concepts make more sense as pixel art than, say, 3D art.
Unlike the general NFT community in Japan — which Y finds to be small and atomized, due to the Galápagos effect and the country being an archipelago — the pixel art community is tight-knit. They enjoy playing games together and connecting from all over the world. They share a similar art style, interests, and complaints about the creative tools they use — as well as an aspiration to be “pixel perfect” with their artwork. Essentially, “pixel perfect” means creating something without design imperfections, all the way down to the pixel level. To be “not pixel perfect” is unforgivable.
After our tearoom chat, we take a stroll with EXCALIBUR to the main drag of Akihabara, which is lined with multi-story arcades packed with UFO catchers, horse race betting simulators, and taiko drum games. On the classic games floor of a GiGO (formerly SEGA) arcade, we play House of the Dead 2 and Arkanoid before watching Y expertly maneuver a retro shooter called Xevious that serves as a big inspiration for EXCALIBUR’s artwork. The game’s lead artist, Hiroshi Ono (a.k.a. “Mr. Dotman”) was a legend in the pixel art world.
While EXCALIBUR have embraced NFTs and use computers to create their pixel art, they ultimately think of themselves as conceptual artists. The newness of the technology they use, or its relation to “classic” art, isn’t as important as the concepts the technology explores.
“Another 100 years pass by, and digital art now becomes classic art,” Y says. “It’s all relative.”
“Wonderful Mirror of Japanese Soul, Shibuya” (2023)
~~~
Earlier in the day, we rendezvous with Anocam at a hookah bar in the heart of Akihabara called Chill Inn, on the seventh floor of a building nestled among tech merchants and maid cafes. Chill Inn is adorned with artworks by MITSUME, an artist whose talent for illustration is unmistakable. Before the bar opens, we have the pleasure of chatting over shisha and mint tea. Throughout the interview, he sips on a hookah and the sound of water bubbles up between his thoughts.
MITSUME is wearing a button-up shirt patterned with a monochrome manga cityscape by the late Kansai Yamamoto — a larger-than-life designer who had a storied career designing fashion for icons like David Bowie at the height of his stardom. MITSUME had the honor of collaborating with Yamamoto as well.
Raised in a city near Nagoya called Gifu, MITSUME began drawing when he was 6 years old. From a young age, he had a dream to be an illustrator. As an adult, he attended a CG design school for 2 years, where they taught skills such as video game character design. After graduating, he applied to work at game studios like Capcom and Konami as a graphic designer, but he couldn’t find a role in the industry. So he pivoted into client illustration work and continued honing his creative vision.
MITSUME’s artwork at Chill Inn, Akihabara
Even so, MITSUME loves games. His all-time favorites are Street Fighter II and Resident Evil 2, but the games that influence his visceral and hyper-detailed artwork come from the cyberpunk aesthetic, with warped cyborg characters that tend towards the feminine but generally appear desexualized. All told, he’s optimistic about society’s shift to the metaverse and thrilled at the prospect of more Japanese IP wading into the NFT space, like Pokémon. We both agree that when Pokémon NFT drops, it will be legendary.
“I’m really inspired by the metaverse and NFT technology, especially the explosion of value of digital art with the NFT market,” he says with a smile. “There are so many possibilities… I would be happy if the fusion between humans and machines becomes possible. I myself would like to become a cyborg. If a body part can be modified into a machine, I could fly, see what the eye cannot see, and go to deep parts of the ocean or to space.”
“2045” (2022)
The lines between reality and the digital world are starting to blur, and that’s a theme that MITSUME clearly enjoys. For instance, he’s inspired by digital fashion and how it can mirror the physical garment. Likewise, when he was 18 years old, he started live painting in front of an audience, and IRL performances have continued to be a major part of his creative practice.
“With live painting, the finished painting is far from idealistic — it is distorted and has dirty parts,” he says. “I think of it only as a live performance, so I feel uncomfortable when just the finished painting is seen. However, I feel pleasure in the act of humans painting a picture. The excitement I felt as a child just by coloring the color red, or the pleasure of drawing not knowing what I was drawing. There is no need to draw a beautiful painting, I just want to color or just freely draw something. Sometimes the painting turns out far better than I could have imagined.”
Meanwhile at home, MITSUME starts with line drawings on paper and scans them into Adobe Illustrator, where he re-draws everything using only a computer mouse. His process is partly inspired by Japanese line drawings called Chōjū Giga (literally “Animal Caricatures”) from the 12th and 13th century, which are often referenced as early works that led to the manga artform. These four scrolls feature animal caricatures that satirize Japanese priests from that period, and today they are a national treasure. When I ask about his modern inspirations, he cites Katsuhiro Otomo, the revered manga artist and creator of Akira.
In January 2022, a collector reached out to MITSUME and suggested that he mint NFTs of his work, and by February he had released his genesis on SuperRare’s digital art marketplace. Though he loves the web3 community, he finds that people in Japan generally don’t understand the use cases for NFTs, how to interact with them, and why they would want to use them in the first place.
“[Past ← wisdom → Future]/M01” (2022)
“Japanese people don’t really buy art. There are very few collectors,” he explains. “In Japan, there isn’t really a culture of decorating your room with art on the walls.” This is partly because most landlords in Japan don’t allow renters to drill screws or hammer nails into a wall to hang up artwork.
According to an annual survey by the Japanese government, Japan’s share of the global art market was just 3.7% in 2021 — a small figure given the country’s population of over 125 million. However, more Japanese collectors have slowly entered the traditional art market over the past 5 years, with Christie’s seeing a 14% increase from 2020 to 2021. Perhaps as NFT technology becomes more integrated into everyday life, people in Japan will discover the advantages of collecting digital art. No need to hang up a canvas in a cramped Tokyo apartment; you can just collect it on the blockchain.
Like EXCALIBUR, MITSUME also brings up the Galápagos effect. By being so disparate and secluded from the rest of the world, it can be difficult for Japanese artists to break into the international community. The language barrier is also a major factor. Not much gets in; not much gets out.
On the other hand, because Japan is relatively secular compared to countries like the United States, MITSUME finds that Japanese people can more easily relate to a wide variety of artists’ creative expression without having to subscribe to a particular religion. So he remains optimistic about Japan’s creative future.
“Nonexistent cross-section” (2022)
No matter if MITSUME is exploring a new country or a digital world, it’s clear that travel and adventure fuel his creativity. He often hikes into the mountains for inspiration and his manager can’t reach him for days. And even though this year will take him on a busy tour schedule around the world, he still plans to trek to the top of Mt. Fuji this summer — a rite of passage for the Japanese people. Sometimes, you need to unplug from the metaverse, even if you’re helping to create it.