ΑΩ - Alpha Omega | Takahata Town, Yamagata Prefecture Outdoor Art Exhibition Archive"Alpha Omega." The title had been in my head for a long time. It comes from the Book of Revelation, "the beginning and the end," and no phrase has ever felt more right to me for describing painting's place within art. Painting is the alpha and omega of art (as any true lover of art would surely agree — I am a painting supremacist). A rather grandiose title, and I confess I was pleased with myself for it, daydreaming that one day I would hold a painting exhibition under that name.
I began to think about the exhibition in concrete terms two summers ago, when I saw Fukunaga's work at Satoshi Ohno's studio in Fujiyoshida. Something clicked the moment I saw the painting — one that appears in this exhibition as well. By then I had already collected several of Ishii's works, and though the two men's styles are quite different, I sensed a peculiar sanctity common to both, and simply wanted to see their paintings in the same space. The time was ripe. "Alpha Omega."
At first I intended to do it in the familiar Tokyo manner — a white cube, the "conventional art style." With the help of Hikari Studio in Kyoto, the neon sign the two artists designed was completed, and just as I was about to begin preparations with an opening around May in mind, the novel coronavirus turned into a pandemic before our eyes. After the Lehman shock, the black swan had spread its wings once again, and the world was transformed.
Closed borders, the death of Ken Shimura, infection counts climbing day by day, shocking footage arriving from Europe and America, the postponed Olympics, the state of emergency, stay home... Stunned at how catastrophic things had become, I shut myself in at home and spent day after day on the PlayStation.
In early May, under the state of emergency, my wife and I headed for a change of scenery to a villa in Nagano that an acquaintance had happened to pass on to us in March — carrying a slight sense of guilt about leaving Tokyo for the countryside. The Dangozaka Service Area, usually packed with people, was nearly deserted, most of its shops shuttered. The expressway was empty; not even freight trucks were running. Confronted with a scene straight out of a racing game's tutorial mode, I grasped anew how serious the situation was. It was obvious that a severe economic downturn was coming.
Minamiaiki Village in Nagano, where the villa stands, sits at high altitude: open vistas, abundant nature, few people, and remarkably delicious air. In Tokyo, even a trip to the neighborhood supermarket had carried an unpleasant edge — the invisible dread of the virus — but here there was none of that. Savoring a long-lost sense of release among the trees, enjoying barbecue and a tent sauna, my refrain in those days was "the pandemic has finished the city." It was around then that I began, vaguely, to think about the "outdoors."
Meanwhile, new infections subsided and the state of emergency was lifted. That the numbers could be brought down this far without any legal enforcement — the Japanese capacity for self-restraint half impressed me and half frightened me. I assumed we would press on, like Taiwan or Hong Kong, until new cases stayed at zero for weeks on end; instead, it seemed, Japan chose "coexistence" along with the "new lifestyle." Could one really coexist with this virus? The numbers, I thought, would surely rise again before long.
Under such circumstances — hard as it was to say to the two artists — my honest feeling was, "This is no time to be talking about art." The white cube exhibition I had envisioned was the very epitome of crowding: no one would come, and frankly I didn't want them to; if a cluster broke out it would be no laughing matter; and above all it seemed to me fundamentally contrary to public health ethics. After a while, though, I began to think the other way around: what would an exhibition look like that obeyed those ethics to the letter? Would a "new art style" be possible — one that avoided the "Three Cs" entirely and carried virtually zero risk of infection?
The answer I arrived at was "outdoors" and "online." The outdoors might work, but an online exhibition would surely be a far poorer experience than seeing the work in person — and I still think even VR would not change that much. And yet the almost snide excess of its fixation on ethics and infection control struck me as new and interesting, and I felt I had at last glimpsed a reason to hold an art exhibition under these conditions. Since it would be a problem if word spread and visitors actually turned up, we did no publicity whatsoever; the announcement cards went out just before the dates; the viewing website was password-protected and invitation-only; and the whole thing was limited to two nights. In this excess of caution I was beginning to find a savor peculiar to our times.
Uriwari Sekitei Park lies in Takahata Town, Higashiokitama District, Yamagata Prefecture — where I lived until I left for Tokyo at eighteen. I had never properly visited the park; I knew only that it was rather popular with city people and that an outdoor music event had been held there the year before. Searching the web, I found that the park, a former quarry, consists of a plaza enclosed by high cliff faces and man-made caves — spaces that flow loosely into one another yet stand on their own — and it seemed just the right scale for an outdoor exhibition. Above all there was the cave, so evocative of a grotto. One need not cite Bataille on Lascaux: cave, sanctity, and painting are contextually inseparable. In the midst of the pandemic, painting would return to the place where it began. It was, truly, "Alpha Omega."
With the artists' consent, I went straight to my father, who said we could probably use it. With the town office's cooperation, it turned out we could. Officially, however, the project went through described not as an exhibition but as a filming session — and though we never intended otherwise, I wonder what would have happened had we applied as an exhibition open to the general public. That outdoor music event was canceled this year. Tokyo's museums, incidentally, were by then already open in the "conventional art style," with no restrictions to speak of. I make no judgment either way; that was simply the reality.
When July came, infections rose again, as expected, and tension mounted once more. Even so, the three of us quietly pressed on with site visits and preparations, and it was settled that Fukunaga would hang his paintings on the cave walls while Ishii projected video onto the rock face along the way and the cliff at the back. During the preparations, because my mother is in delicate health, my parents asked me to keep to a kind of quarantine at their house, using only the large room, the toilet, and the open-air bath. I felt bad toward the artists, yet part of me understood all too well the realities and habits of mind particular to the countryside; the virus's troublesomeness sank in, and my commitment to the "new art style" only deepened.
On August 27, Ishii, Fukunaga, Usami, and I drove into Yamagata in a two-ton truck and a station wagon. Katayama and Tezuka followed, and then Miyake arrived. To make absolutely sure no infection was carried from Tokyo into the region, artists and staff alike lived in tents — a thoroughness that was itself part of practicing the "new art style." Throughout the period Yamagata suffered a heat wave exceptional for late August; some fell ill, but with the help of employees from my father's company the work went forward, and somehow we reached opening night.
And so the outdoor art exhibition "Alpha Omega," realized under the guise of a filming session, opened — and since no one had been invited, naturally no one came. Only the artists, the staff, and a handful of guests were there. In the darkness, over the roar of the generators, I shot video on a BMPCC4K while Usami shot stills with a Canon SLR. These should give a fair sense of the exhibition space. What the two artists created was superb. Ishii's performance — physical in the most literal sense — shook the soul, and Fukunaga's paintings, lit by lanterns against the cave's stone walls, gave off a bewitching, sublime air unlike anything in his work before. Standing in the venue, the two of them looked, somehow, like priests.
At the same time, it is true that an exhibition prepared with such care and effort, and without an audience, felt somehow hollow and strange. I would be lying if I said I never wished more people could have seen it in person. And yet this was fruit seized at the end of a struggle against reality; doing it in this form, at this moment, was precisely what gave it meaning, and it is certain that the exhibition could only have been born of this era and these circumstances. As its organizer, I take pride in having presented one form of the "new art style."
At the end of August 2020, had there been no pandemic, the Japanese would presumably have gone on living as they always had, drifting back into the everyday while basking in the afterglow of the Olympics, and "Alpha Omega" would have been held, without incident, in some white cube. To have realized an exhibition worthy of mourning that lost timeline — a kind of rite of grief for a past and a future that never arrived — to have seen it with my own eyes, recorded it on video, and released it as an online archive, now feels like an unsurpassable happiness. Though it cost no small amount of money, time, and labor.
Daisuke Akiba, Organizer
Since March this year I have mostly been at home. The reason needs no explanation, but I never imagined I would stop seeing people to this extent. I don't remember much of what I did during that time, though mostly I remember looking after my child. I taught my university classes online from home, and of course I kept making work, but what comes back most vividly is the time spent with my family. The daycare was closed, the playground equipment was off-limits, the malls were shut — there was almost nowhere to take a small child. It felt as though modern society as a whole were facing a crisis it had never experienced. And not only in Kitasenju, where I live: the same situation was unfolding everywhere in the world, and the grounds for optimism seemed to shrink by the day. I heard theories — a biological weapon leaked through mismanagement; the distance between city and nature had collapsed (in other words, environmental destruction was the cause); livestock facilities had been kept too unsanitary. How could I possibly know the real reason? I stayed home most of the time, but I often took my child to the neighborhood shrine. In the end, though, we found ourselves going more and more to the banks of the Arakawa River, about ten minutes away by bicycle. I looked for things to do in the place known as the setting of the TV drama "Kinpachi-sensei." There was a spot on the riverbank swarming with crabs, and we played at catching them. Catching crabs at the Arakawa and bringing them home became a daily routine, and the entryway of our house filled up with crabs. At first they would dart out of sight the moment we came near, but after a few days their movements grew sluggish, and they barely fled even when touched.
I think it was around mid-July that we came to Uriwari in Yamagata Prefecture. My friend Akiba brought Fukunaga and me to his family home. Fukunaga and I have been fellow artists since our prep school days, each pushing the other on, yet until now we had never taken part in the same exhibition. Every exhibition planned for this year had been postponed to next year or later. I had lost any concrete short-term goal, and the studio at home no longer had the atmosphere of business-as-usual production. It simply did not feel like a time for making things. Akiba had been planning a two-person painting show for Fukunaga and me in Ginza, but the coronavirus had drained that, too, of any reality. Without thinking it through very deeply — somewhere free of the "Three Cs" — we ended up deciding on an outdoor exhibition. But around the time we went to Yamagata, the second wave was beginning in Tokyo, and there was no way we, having come from Tokyo, could meet anyone. So it became an outdoor exhibition in Yamagata, but with no audience — an online exhibition. Uriwari Sekitei Park had apparently been a working quarry until quite recently: a small mountain sliced away vertically, great faces of bare rock exposed. Trees grew thick along the tops of the sheer walls, and I thought, so this is what the inside of a mountain looks like. I also had the sense of standing face to face with the strata of this land. The quarry held a cave-like space hollowed into the rock face and a space walled in on all sides with only the sky open above, and Fukunaga and I decided to take one each for our displays.
The exhibition title "Alpha Omega" was Akiba's. It is a monotheistic sort of title, and frankly not one I feel much at home with. I asked him his reasons several times, but in the end never quite understood them. What I did understand was that he cared about it, and on that point he would not yield. For the concept, please read the statement he wrote. He decided the title, the site, and the participating artists, but the interesting thing about this exhibition is that while it was in progress, exactly who was running it remained ambiguous. The reason lies in its half-playful spirit. Leafing through Bataille's book on Lascaux, I came across the name Homo ludens — "the one who plays." The people of Lascaux painted the cave walls because they were players; the Neanderthals, people of labor who did not know play, painted none. Art was born from the play of the Lascaux people — such, it seems, was Bataille's thinking. Recent geological research, however, suggests that cave painting began not thirty thousand years ago, as once believed, but perhaps as far back as seventy thousand — so Bataille was probably wrong about the Neanderthals never painting. The Neanderthals surely played too, and we, for our part, arrived at this exhibition by playing — let us leave it at that.
I had heard that summers in Tohoku are cool, but camping at a fully exposed site in a heat wave was anything but fun. It was hotter than Kitasenju, and it rained. It will make a memory, no doubt. And the state of the pandemic, the world over, remains unchanged even now.
Tomohito Ishii
For the details of how this exhibition came about, I would refer you to Ishii's text; but the project had been simmering since around the end of 2018, which means a run-up of nearly two years. Over that time I met several times with Akiba, the organizer, and with Ishii, yet I could not picture the exhibition until near the very end. Akiba, it seems, could see it all along.
Early this year, just as concrete dates were being settled, the world was overtaken by the coronavirus. My part-time work dwindled; each day I cooked for myself, exercised a little, and turned to painting. The tiresome social rounds disappeared, and in that simple, rational life I sensed something like the natural mode of human living — so this, I thought, is what it actually takes to satisfy the necessities of a single human existence. But the feeling was short-lived: going on living entirely alone, meeting no one, began to feel like a kind of regression, something critically wrong for a human being. Whether for that reason or not — and of course the pandemic itself played its part — the plan drifted away from an ordinary gallery show toward, at any rate, showing the work outdoors.
My first impression on visiting the quarry at Uriwari Sekitei Park in Yamagata, the exhibition venue, was of several distinct sites: a space enclosed by the towering cut faces of enormous rock walls, open to the sky above, and a large cave-like space hollowed out in the shape of a cube. Each had its own structural character, and the whole was a remarkably singular place. Since I was to show paintings, I took the cube-shaped space. I have called it cave-like, but it is really more like an assembly hall (it is in fact used as one for events) — a perfect cube, at once a natural thing, a rock mountain carved and hollowed, and a thoroughly artificial space, the site of quarrying. On its walls, above, below, left, and right, countless incisions left by the cutting machines remain raw and vivid, and because these scorings further emphasize the space's horizontals and verticals, it can resemble a work of Western architecture — a church. Yet at the same time it is the ruin of a quarry, and there is no escaping the image of the hole, the cave; to hang paintings here is, like it or not, to be conscious of cave painting. This time I hung five paintings — organic renderings of mops and cleaning tools — symmetrically, and lit them with two lanterns. My initial idea was thematic: the image of organic mops and cleaning tools worn down by labor would answer the machine-cut scorings in the stone, each being a trace of labor. But once the paintings were actually on the walls, the mops and cleaning tools shed their meaning; only the paintings' forms and colors remained, the scorings in the surrounding stone pressed forward on the attention, and the space itself seemed to come organically alive. The act of hanging a painting on a wall sets off a reciprocity between wall and painting that fuses the space into one. And that, I felt, was an event that just barely grazed the line running from cave painting to church painting.
Daisuke Fukunaga
α Tomohito Ishii Ω Daisuke Fukunaga
Perhaps everyone harbors the desire to see what cannot be seen. One day I realized I had ordered a microscope on Amazon. As in elementary school, I looked at the veins of leaves and observed all sorts of things. Out of curiosity I collected and examined what lies inside the human body — blood, breast milk, semen — and there, indifferent to consciousness, the various motions that make up the body were actually taking place. Above all, the first time I saw my own sperm made visible, I was thrilled. Semen ordinarily exists as something spat out, and can even feel like so much waste; but to think that inside the cloudy liquid I had expelled, these fish-like things were squirming — the thought filled me with something like reverence. Watching the sperm wriggle and swim like carp or tadpoles, I felt I finally understood what sexual desire is. Within it there is a powerful drive to break through the outer shell and press inward. I wanted to project that drive onto the rock wall at Uriwari. It seemed to me somehow akin to the quarryman's sense of working toward the interior of the stone. The relation between the movement of sperm, an organism, and the inorganic rock that receives its image called to mind the notion of the "half-body" I had once read about somewhere — on my own loose interpretation, the idea that the system of reproduction carries one's own death folded within it.
Tomohito Ishii
In an open lot at Uriwari, I asked the child of an artist friend who had been living in Yamagata since July to come and gather stones. I had the child lay the gathered stones on a scanner, and turned that into video. The original plan had been to bring local children together and have them lay out stones all at once, creating the stone imagery collectively, but the pandemic made that difficult. "Sub image (garden of jouissance 5)," the painting shown here, is that video rendered as a painting. Incidentally, all the footage projected in the performance also comes from this video. I had often watched children arranging stones in everyday life. Children are always drawing out, with all their might, the latent relations between the human body and things. Looking closely at the stones lying all around Uriwari, I saw that they were fragments cut loose at the quarry. These stones must have been born of the quarryman's acts upon the rock. When quarrymen cut stone, they feel out its interior through the chisel (though no doubt machines often do the work now). The stone's interior is rendered sensible by the quarryman, and the human, too, enters into the stone. Stone and human seem here to be joined to one another. That relation lives in the stone fragments scattered across Uriwari — I felt it suffusing the place. The quarryman who cuts the stone and the child who arranges it created the occasion for transforming the image-like, that register of things whose reality is so thin. Through that transformed image-likeness, as through an entrance, I felt I could at last touch something that felt substantial. The painting is also the trace of that touch.
Tomohito Ishii
This is my first performance work. While performing, all I could see was the ring of light the projector cast out of total darkness, my own body receiving the image, the rock wall towering behind the projection, and the shadow of my body. The image-like is a phenomenon, and to me it has very often felt thin in its reality; even ordinary urban life had come to seem to belong to that image-like register. "Image" is an exceedingly abstract word, but if I dare to use it anyway: the image and the substantial are far apart, and what is substantial lies, on the whole, at a distance — this almost classical intuition was one of my motives for making this work. It coincides with what usually moves me to paint. The place where I performed is enclosed by rock walls on four sides (strictly speaking, three), open only to the sky. At night the sky, too, went dark, and I had the sensation of being inside a hole, inside a cave. There, in the hole, in the cave, I conceived a structure of entering the interior of the eyeball, the interior of the camera. Stone had felt to me like the very opposite of the image-like. Into that space where image and substance can at times be felt as separate things, I resolved to enter, body and all, and become the one who stands between.
Tomohito Ishii
From left: Daisuke Fukunaga, Tomohito Ishii, Arata Hasegawa, Nami Yokoyama
| 1981 | Born in Tokyo |
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| 2006 | Completed Master's Program in Oil Painting, Graduate School of Art and Design, Musashino Art University |
| 2024 | "Icarus and the spirit of place" Tokyo Gallery + BTAP (Beijing, China) |
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| 2023 | "Sub Anaglyph" CAPSULE (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2022 | "To the ground, to above the ground, into and out of the Crystal Palace" Tokyo Gallery + BTAP (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2019 | "Plane of Jouissance" CAPSULE (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2017 | "House of future" Maki Fine Arts (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2011 | "Complex Circuit: Boundaries of Recognition" Gallery αM (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2025 | "Micro Salon" Tokyo Gallery + BTAP (Beijing, China) "Neo Moroism" Xinjiang Art Museum (Xinjiang, China) |
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| 2023 | "Urban Sansui β" kudan house (Tokyo, Japan) "Urban Sansui" kudan house (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2022 | "Eloquence of the visual" Tokyo Gallery + BTAP (Tokyo, Japan) "Eloquence of the visual" Woong Gallery (Seoul, Korea) "touch the light" MITSUKOSHI CONTEMPORARY GALLERY (Tokyo, Japan) "αM+ vol. 2 My Hole: Hole in Art: Subterraneans and Mirrorless Mirror Part2: Mirrorless Mirror" gallery αM (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2021 | "Resting Place in the distance" Mountain lodge in Minamiaiki Village (Nagano, Japan) |
| 2020 | "Alpha Omega" Uriwari Sekitei Park (Yamagata, Japan) "Individual Sansui" Komagome SOKO (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2019 | Hikikomisen Satellite "Distance and Transmission" gallery N (Aichi, Japan) |
| 2018 | "SURVIBIA!!" Digital Hollywood University (Tokyo, Japan) "Backlash" Space TGC (Tokyo, Japan) "Neo Moroism 5" Tsinghua University Visual Artcenter (Beijing, China) |
| 2017 | "Pharmakon: Medical-ecological approach for artistic sensibilization" The Terminal Kyoto (Kyoto, Japan) "New flat field" Digital Hollywood University (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2016 | "The Greater Taipei Biennial of Contemporary Arts" National Taiwan Art University (Taipei, Taiwan) "Neo Moroism 4" 798 Art Factory BTAP (Beijing, China) "Adachi Delta" Adachidelta (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2015 | "Siding Railroad 2015" Ex-Tokorozawa Meal Center (Tokyo, Japan) "My hole, Art of hole" Space 23℃ (Tokyo, Japan) "Neo Moroism 2" Red Tory Museum of Contemporary Art (Guangzhou, China) "Daiwa Collection Ⅶ" Okinawa Prefectural Museum & Art Museum (Okinawa, Japan) "Innocence" Temple du gôut (Nantes, France) |
| 2014 | "Parplume UniversityⅡ" Contemporary Art Museum Kumamoto (Kumamoto, Japan) "Neo Moroism 2" 798 Art Factory BTAP (Beijing, China) "Parplume University" YAMASHITABILDG (Aichi, Japan) "Summer and Painters" ARATANIURANO (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2013 | "Biennial Open Exhibition" NN Contemporary art (Northampton, UK) "ILYAURA The Window" The Window (Paris, France) "Day(s) dreaming" Le 59 Rivoli (Paris, France) "SOMANYIMAGES" Sprout Curation (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2012 | "Pandemonium" XYZ collective (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2011 | "4 Artist show" Shugo Arts (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2008 | "15years" WAKO WORKS OF ART (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2007 | "Portrait Session @NADiff" NADiff (Tokyo, Japan) "Portrait Session" Hiroshima City Museum of Contemporary Art (Hiroshima, Japan) |
| 2006 | "Masada Takeshi & Tomohito Ishii" WAKO WORKS OF ART (Tokyo, Japan) "Degree show" Musashino Art University (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2005 | "flom/to #3" WAKO WORKS OF ART (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2004 | "Graduation works" Musashino Art University (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2023 | Nomura Foundation Art and Culture Grant |
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| 2019 | Arts Council Tokyo Single-Year Grant |
| 2012 | Paris award, Musashino Art University |
| 2005 | The 20th Holbein Scholarship Student |
| 2017 | The Laforêt Summer Vacation Project (Ghiffa) |
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| 2012 | Cité Internationale des Arts (Paris, France) |
| 2022 | "αM+ vol. 2 My Hole: Hole in Art: Subterraneans and Mirrorless Mirror Part2: Mirrorless Mirror" gallery αM (Tokyo, Japan) |
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| 2019 | "My Hole: Hole in Arts series" Curation, Space23℃/ CAPSULE/ clinic |
| 2018 | "My Hole: Scab of the 21st Century" Curation, Space23℃ |
| 2017 | "New flat field" Direction, Digital Hollywood University |
| 2016 | "Adachi Delta" Direction, Adachi Delta |
| 2012 | "Pandemonium" Curation, XYZ Collective |
| 2019 | "My Hole: Scab of the 21st Century" exhibition catalog published |
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| 2016 | "My Hole: Hole in Art" exhibition catalog published |
| 2013 | "ILYAURA The Window" Nuit Blanche joint project (Paris, France) Founded Art Association ILYAURA (Paris, France) |
| 2023 | "Sansui in Tokyo" Urban Sansui catalog, by Ryosuke Kondo (art critic) |
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| 2019 | "The Swollen Hand of 'I'" Kumo to Houki, by Ryo Katsumata (art critic) |
| 2018 | "Whereabouts of Illusion" Bijutsu Techo, by Takuya Nakao (curator, Art Lab Hashimoto) |
| 2014 | "Parasophia au Monde" Parazine, by Miki Okubo (Art Association ILYAURA) |
| 2012 | "Pendulum of the Image" Pandemonium booklet, by Keisuke Mori (Musashino Art University) |
| 2011 | "The Pandemonium of Images" αM Project, by Masayuki Tanaka (Director, Musashino Art University Museum & Library) "Art Anatomy" Kyoto Shimbun, by Yasuyuki Nakai (Chief Researcher, The National Museum of Art, Osaka) "Topography of /" Bijutsu Techo, by Tomohiro Masuda (Researcher, The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo) |
| 2005 | "Gallery Review" Bijutsu Techo, by Yuichiro Takashima (curator, Setagaya Art Museum) |
| 1981 | Born in Tokyo |
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| 2004 | Graduated from Tama Art University, Faculty of Art and Design, Department of Painting, Oil Painting Major |
| 2024 | "Time in Fermentation" Tomio Koyama Gallery Roppongi (Tokyo, Japan) "Self Meditation" High Art (Paris, France) |
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| 2022 | "Fertile Break" Antenna Space (Shanghai, China) "Beautiful Work" Nonaka-Hill (Los Angeles, CA) |
| 2020 | "Labor" Tomio Koyama Gallery (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2015 | "Documenting Senses - From Cats' Eyes, Not Dogs -" Tomio Koyama Gallery (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2013 | "Nostalgia" Tomio Koyama Gallery (Kyoto, Japan) |
| 2011 | "To have something as support" Tomio Koyama Gallery (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2008 | "Local Emotion" Tomio Koyama Gallery (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2006 | Tomio Koyama Gallery (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2024 | "Mon Cherie CoCo" Institut français de Tokyo (Japan) "Let's See" ArtSpace@HeluTrans (Singapore) |
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| 2023 | "Some Stools" TACOSUAVE (Hachioji, Tokyo, Japan) "BLUE WIND" HIGH ART ARLES (Arles, France) |
| 2021 | "Natsuyasumi: In the Beginning Was Love" Nonaka-Hill (Los Angeles, CA) "Fifteen Painters" Andrew Kreps Gallery (New York, NY) |
| 2020 | "Alpha Omega" Uriwari Sekitei Park (Yamagata, Japan) |
| 2019 | "island" Art Laboratory Hashimoto (Sagamihara, Kanagawa, Japan) |
| 2018 | "SUPER OPEN STUDIO 2018" LUCKY HAPPY STUDIO (Sagamihara, Kanagawa, Japan) "Satoshi Ohno Studio Exhibition" Satoshi Ohno Studio (Yamanashi, Japan) |
| 2017 | "waiting in vain" statements (Tokyo, Japan) "COOL INVITATIONS 4" XYZ collective (Tokyo, Japan) "Sayonara Jupiter" 356 Mission (Los Angeles, CA) |
| 2015 | "SOMETHINKS: Daisuke Fukunaga, Keisuke Yamamoto" Art Laboratory Hashimoto (Sagamihara, Kanagawa, Japan) "Taguchi Hiroshi Art Collection A Walk around the Contemporary Art World after Paradigm Shift" The Museum of Fine Arts (Gifu, Japan) |
| 2014 | "Group exhibition by Tomio Koyama Gallery" TOLOT/heuristic SHINONOME (Tokyo, Japan) "The Way of Painting" Tokyo Opera City Art Gallery (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2013 | "The Storm for Art and Popular Culture" Nagoya Citizens' Gallery Yada (Aichi, Japan) |
| 2011 | "GOOD NIGHT MIHOKANNO" Akiba Tamabi21, 3331 Arts Chiyoda (Tokyo, Japan) "FM 'REISSUED WOMEN' — Homage to David Salle" Sprout Curation (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2010 | "Painting by Four Artists" Tomio Koyama Gallery Kyoto (Japan) |
| 2009 | "VOCA 2009" The Ueno Royal Museum (Tokyo, Japan) "TEAM 15 MIHOKANNO 'Hello! MIHOKANNO'" Tokyo Wondersite Shibuya (Tokyo, Japan) |
| 2008 | "AFTER THE REALITY 2" Deitch projects (New York, NY) "Vrishaba through Mithuna" Curated by Soshiro Matsubara, hiromiyoshii (Tokyo, Japan) |
| Morgan Stanley Art Collection |
| Ryutaro Takahashi Collection |
| The Taguchi Art Collection |
| 2009 | The 1st Koji Kinutani Prize (organized by The Mainichi Newspapers) |
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| 2008 | Local Emotion, Tomio Koyama Gallery. Author: Daisuke Fukunaga |
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