An interview with Iwazaki san

Influenced by street culture, electronic music, and the quiet forces of the natural world, Takeru Iwazaki’s practice unfolds through rhythm, repetition, and immersion. Drawing predominantly in black, his expansive lines accumulate like sound, responding to one another in continuous motion.

Rooted in his hometown of Shizuoka, Iwazaki’s work reflects a deep sensitivity to both environment and inner state. His drawings emerge from what he describes as a “flow state”—a moment of complete absorption in which time dissolves and the boundary between self and action disappears.

1. Nature and Flow

Your work feels deeply connected to organic movement and natural rhythms. Do you remember when you first became aware of nature as something you wanted to explore through drawing?

A: I think the first trigger was being deeply drawn to the wide range of transformations that water can take, and feeling strongly moved by its sense of freedom. That experience made me want to consciously explore nature through the act of drawing.

2. Viewer, Self and Connection

When you describe painting as entering a flow state, it feels as though the boundary between yourself, the work, and the viewer begins to dissolve. How do you think about this relationship while you are creating?

A: In this series, I build the work by layering new perspectives and ideas after the initial drawing. But at the drawing stage, I hope the viewer can perceive the work as one of many natural phenomena.
Rather than strongly focusing on relationships while I’m working, I place more importance on whether I am fully immersed in “what I am drawing right now.” If I can enter that state, then I feel that this is, for me, a good way of making work.

3. Tokyo vs. Shizuoka 

After spending time in Tokyo, you chose to return to Shizuoka. How did the difference between these environments affect your concentration, rhythm, and relationship to your work?

A: In Tokyo, there were many external stimuli, and at the time I felt it was difficult to concentrate on my work.

On the other hand, after returning to Shizuoka, I feel that the environment — with its supportive relationships rooted in the place where I was born and raised, a moderate level of stimulation, and abundant nature — helped to bring my creative rhythm into balance.

The fact that I can access central Tokyo in about an hour when necessary also felt like just the right distance and balance for me.

4. Street culture and Music Influence

Street culture and electronic music—especially abstract hip hop—seem central to your practice. Rather than direct references, how do these influences translate into your lines, rhythms, and sense of movement?

A: Before I began drawing, I was also working as a DJ, so drawing while listening to music felt like a natural flow for me. Because music was the entry point for my mode of expression, I try to visualize its rhythms, atmosphere, and imagery, translating them into lines and movements in the work.

Rather than quoting music directly, I create by expanding a sensation that rises up like music itself.

5. Origami and Flow

Origami is often associated with sharp folds and structure, rather than fluidity. How did working with folding and overlapping surfaces expand or challenge your ongoing exploration of “flow”?

A: Through the act of “folding” in origami, I realized that flow is not something that simply gets interrupted, but can also be an action that generates a new flow.

Until now, I had focused on drawing lines on a flat surface, but by incorporating familiar gestures and elements of play, I began to rethink the line in more sculptural terms and to experiment with its possibilities.

There was also a feeling that I was seeking dynamic changes, like the irregular way drums are played in music. Starting from my own drawings, being able to discover new forms of pleasure and new developments has been very meaningful to me. And I feel that this process itself is a very Japanese kind of act.

6. Conclusion

If “flow” is something that is constantly changing, how do you continue to find newness within it, both in your work and in yourself?

When the work is finished and the flow state ends, what remains for you?

A: I feel that newness is born in the moment when a new perspective begins to take root within me, or when I suddenly become aware of something.

For that reason, I genuinely enjoy the act of moving my hands and experimenting, and I feel a strong sense of excitement there.

When natural phenomena and various interests unexpectedly connect in my mind, a new form of expression comes into being. To make that possible, I value maintaining a curiosity that continues to take interest in a wide range of things.

After finishing a work, along with the sense of accomplishment of having completed it, what remains is a feeling of a “living record” — a condensation of the environment, my mental state, my skills, and my ideas at that moment. I believe a work is a trace that could only have been born in that particular instant.

In the repetition of lines and the transformation of form, difference quietly emerges. What appears uniform reveals subtle variation; what feels fixed begins to move. Within this gentle tension between individuality and unity, the work remains open, continuing its flow beyond the space of the exhibition.