Tomokazu Matsuyama's studio is located in a former Brooklyn rope factory, on the northernmost stretch of Greenpoint. Its spacious white walls are perfect for hanging the artist's large-scale, wildly inventive paintings: colorful, cultural mash-ups where Japanese references seamlessly blend with silhouettes from fashion and lifestyle magazines. The result is a visual medley that looks uncannily familiar and foreign at once. Realism is not the goal. Neither is a certain period or place. Figures can resemble anime characters or model Gigi Hadid. Fauna, meanwhile, might be lifted from the wood-block prints of Watanabe Seitei. Greenery might nod to Henri Rousseau. "I mix things to be completely freed from nationality and culture," he says. "My work is not about East meets West. It's about the blend."
One main source of inspiration turns out to be, in fact, the pages of this publication. Like a DJ, Matsuyama has sampled bedrooms, stairways, porches, and more from Architectural Digest, reinventing them in surprising ways. Steps might lead to empty doorways, like an M.C. Escher artwork. A Parisian living room might reappear blanketed in snowflakes. "People never show their homes in Japan," he explains, recalling the first time he encountered an issue of AD. "It was like seeing a triple-X-rated nude. But the glamour was there, so I instantly became very attached. And the Western philosophy of showing your home as part of a lifestyle became an identity for me as well."
Matsuyama arrives at his studio-designed by the architect Keisuke Nibe-most weekday mornings, and works into the evening, often continuing at home late into the night. He is busy, having recently opened a solo exhibition at Tokyo's Azabudai Hills Gallery and completed a mural for a branch of the Chicago Public Library. At the time of our meeting, he was preparing for a comprehensive show at The SCAD Museum of Art in Savannah, Georgia, now on view through the end of the year. Like his idol, Andy Warhol, whose work hangs on his studio walls, Matsuyama employs a large team comprising various departments, from research to model renderings to painting.
His style can be explained, in part, by his upbringing. Matsuyama grew up in Takayama, a mountain town whose wooden Edo-era architecture earned it the nickname Little Kyoto. When he was nine, his family moved to Orange County, California. (His father, a pastor, was interested in a cultural exchange.) They returned to Japan after three and a half years-enough time for Matsuyama to have fully immersed himself in 1980s American culture. He learned to skateboard, later becoming a semi-professional snowboarder in college.
He never imagined he would be an artist, but when a serious injury forced him to rethink his career path he enrolled at Pratt in New York City to study graphic design. "I didn't think there was an option to become a fine artist," he says. "Back then, there was no Nara. There was no Murakami. There was no Kusama." Eventually, though, he bought his first canvas and tubes of paint and taught himself.
His studio reflects his braided history. Here, ancient Japanese vases with ikebana arrangements by Kan Asakura mingle with artworks by Barry McGee. His shelves are lined with books on everyone from Tom Wesselmann to Picasso to Wangechi Mutu. "I wanted to represent myself," he explains of his art. "I'm a proud minority here. In New York, everyone questions your identity-where you're from, where you belong, what community you represent. Defining diversity is quite interesting."
