Masato Matsushima

Dentsu Inc. Yutaka Miyakawa presents the series "A Marketer Peeks into the World of Art."

This time, I spoke with Mr. Masato Matsushima of the Tokyo National Museum. He is active in many fields, including serving as the art historical consultant for the NHK historical drama "Berabou," but above all, my impression is that he is a person of immense depth. Several years ago, he recommended Ryu Murakami's novel "The World Five Minutes Later" to me, and I've reread it many times since. Perhaps Mr. Matsushima perceives the world with a breadth and depth I cannot even imagine.

◆What Shaped Mr. Matsushima's Values

Miyagawa: Your work, Mr. Matsushima, feels both incredibly avant-garde and yet grounded in a consistent core set of values. How did that way of thinking develop? Was there a formative experience?

Matsushima: There wasn't any clear trigger, really. I think I'm the type of person who goes with the flow of my surroundings. I feel like I've always moved based on rational judgment about where I could perform best within that flow.

But at the same time, I've always had this desire to experience various things simply because I'm curious. In that sense, I think I've always had this sense of searching for myself, wondering "Who am I, really?"

Miyagawa: Does that feeling persist today?

Matsushima: Yes, it does. Even when working at the museum, I pour myself into the exhibitions at hand, but when it comes to "what am I truly aiming for?"—that's a different matter. When I was younger, I still felt like I could become anything. It was a bit like that 90s subculture vibe, where you feel like you're at the center of the world. But as you get older, you start to see the limits—time, physical, or financial.

That's when I started thinking it might be more reasonable to focus my energy on how to find common ground with society without compromising my own ideas or spirit within this finite life, and how to align my thoughts with the existing society.

Miyagawa: When did you start feeling that this approach to compromise was working?

Matsushima: I became clearly conscious of it around 2006-2007. At that time, printing companies and manufacturers were advancing technologies like printing techniques that reproduced the texture of ink on washi paper and high-definition photography. It was exceptionally high quality, even by global standards.

Replication technology advanced dramatically, to the point where even experts couldn't tell the difference between the real thing and a copy. It reached a level where you couldn't tell without chemical analysis. If you shuffled a high-definition reproduction of the Pine Forest Screen with the original and showed them to me, I doubt I could tell them apart. That made me think the meaning might lie in the form itself, in the visual structure.

Miyagawa: That feels like a question touching on the very essence of art.

Matsushima: Exactly. That's when I started wondering, "What if we made the painting move?" Japanese paintings are often described as flat, but they actually appear to move. Take Katsushika Hokusai's "Girl Blowing a Popin." She's not just turned sideways blowing a popin. Her furisode sleeve is fluttering, right? It depicts the moment a woman, who was facing forward, is suddenly called from behind and whips her head around. The momentum of that movement makes her sleeve billow. Furthermore, considering classical conventions, the voice calling her was likely from a man she knew. Her heart was captured by that voice, and she turned around with the poppy still in her mouth. You can even read that emotional state into it.

These conventions—these codes—abound in Japanese painting. Once you internalize them, the paintings naturally seem to move. But without that experience or knowledge, they don't appear dynamic. That's why I wanted to create that entry point: I conceived of animating the paintings through video. Nowadays, through immersive experiences utilizing projection mapping, high-definition video, and electronic devices, we can begin to "feel" movement. Once you experience that sensation, I believe that even when viewing the actual painting inside a glass case, you will naturally perceive movement. We've entered an era where technology can provide that gateway.

Miyagawa: I think codes and conventions can also be called "cultural literacy." So, you've been attempting to update this "cultural literacy" about art through immersive experiences.

◆On Broad Accessibility

Miyagawa: Matsushima-san, your output is incredibly diverse, like collaborations with Nogizaka46 and director Mamoru Hosoda. What's the thinking behind that? I always feel it shows great depth.

Matsushima: Director Hosoda was a classmate in university. We reconnected about ten years later through a mutual professor, which led to him using the Tokyo National Museum for "The Girl Who Leapt Through Time." When I revisited Hosoda's work then, I was struck by how sharp his sensibility is. Especially his "presentation" is completely different from Western animation. I thought, "Ah, this is Japanese painting, isn't it?" A defining feature of Hosoda's work is that characters travel to "other worlds." And the moment they enter that other world, the color of the outline changes. I wasn't sure if it was intentional, but that expressive technique shared common ground with the tradition of Japanese painting. People often say ukiyo-e and emaki scrolls are the origin of animation, but I realized that's not just a metaphor—structurally, it's genuinely true.

As I thought about it this way, I began to feel a tangible connection: "Pop culture is linked to ancient art." And by connecting contemporary culture with ancient art, I thought it might open a path for more people to discover my work.

Miyagawa: In "Summer Wars," the characters' outlines turn red the moment they enter cyberspace, right? When Matsushima-san mentioned that "this shares similarities with the National Treasure statue of the Peacock King," I was completely drawn into its depth.

Matsushima: Both ancient art and animation are fundamentally worlds of "fantasy," aren't they? In a sense, they're flights of fancy. Whether you can empathize with that world depends not just on the story, but also heavily on the power of the visual elements. But for people who aren't initially interested in that world, empathy is hard to cultivate. If that's true even for anime, then antique art has an even narrower audience. That's why I believe using pop culture like anime and manga as an entry point to engage with antique art could open people's eyes to both worlds at once.

◆Japan's Potential

Miyagawa: So far, you've explained how Japanese culture and art possess unique codes and structures. Looking at the bigger picture, what are your thoughts on Japan's position in the world and its potential?

Matsushima: As a premise, I believe no creation ever emerges from absolute zero. It always involves arranging what came before or attempting to transcend it. This holds true for Edo-period painting history, my specialty—the first step in art history is identifying distinctive features by comparing works to their predecessors. This actually resonates with contemporary pop culture. Things created by people living in the same country, breathing the same air, and sharing the same culture and way of life will manifest a distinct "authenticity" in their expression, even as eras change.

So, what defines Japanese-ness? Japan is a land with an incredibly harsh natural environment. Earthquakes occur somewhere year-round, and landslides and river floods are frequent occurrences. It's been that way for thousands of years.

Therefore, the Japanese had no choice but to live alongside nature. It wasn't about a sense of controlling nature, but rather constantly contemplating how to harmonize with it. That sensibility shaped the forms of their faith and culture. A world of imagination and concepts, striving to become one with nature, developed tremendously.

Miyagawa: I see. That seems closely connected to animism.

Matsushima: Furthermore, Japan is a country lacking in physical resources. While the land area of Honshu alone is comparable to a European country, the terrain is mountainous and rivers flood easily, leaving few habitable areas. Large-scale agriculture isn't feasible either. In such land, if someone monopolizes something, others can no longer live there. That's precisely why "sharing" becomes fundamental. Looking back at history, Japan has had only a handful of major civil wars, right? Beyond that, people have always found a way to compromise and coexist.

Helping those in need, sharing what you have when you can afford it, relying on others when you're in trouble. This spirit of "mutual aid" has always breathed life into Japan. The Edo period is a prime example. While GDP was certainly not high, a circular society functioned for nearly 200 years. Values prioritizing sustainability were simply ingrained in everyday life. Of course, modern concepts of human rights didn't exist.

I believe this spirit, passed down through the generations, continues unchanged today. It manifests not only in the stories but also in the very techniques of expression found in manga and animation. As Japanese animators' skills advance, there's a natural tendency to gravitate toward Western-style realism and detailed rendering. I completely understand that feeling, but I believe Japanese animation is valued globally precisely because it has established its own distinct approach. It's this uniqueness that elevates its relative value and naturally conveys Japan's unique way of thinking. How can we share with the world the things Japan has seen, the wisdom and ideas it has accumulated? I believe culture is also expected to play a part in fulfilling such a role.

◆View on Work

Miyagawa: We've expanded from pop culture to discussions about the Japanese view of nature, spirituality, and mannerisms. Listening to you now, it feels like this overlaps with the "way of working" and "approach to interests" you mentioned at the beginning, Matsushima-san. Not trying to control things, but adopting an attitude of letting yourself flow with the current. I felt anew how the sensibility cultivated by the Japanese over a long time naturally syncs with your way of life.

Matsushima: Now that you mention it, that might be true. It's not about resisting, but more like constantly being swayed by the waves. I really like jellyfish. You know how they float around in the water? That's my ideal. You might not always go exactly where you want, but while riding the current, you see unexpected scenery. I think that's the kind of life I like.

Ultimately, I prioritize whether something is enjoyable for me. I don't feel the need to monopolize things or push others aside. Instead, I find life easier when everyone is satisfied and having fun. When working within an organization, since there are all kinds of people, collaborating with them definitely moves things forward faster and is more enjoyable. To achieve that, it makes sense to make things seem interesting to everyone. So, as a practical approach, it actually aligns with what I've been saying. I think this stance is really good for me right now.

Miyagawa: That "let's do this together" approach feels connected to organizational theory too.

Matsushima: Of course, not everyone will understand immediately. Everyone has their own specialties and different areas of interest. I never expected my approach to be fully understood from the start. But our work isn't like medicine or firefighting, where it directly impacts life and death. That's precisely why I think we should just do what we enjoy. It's not like the Tokyo National Museum is suddenly going to disappear. So I always think it's better for us to try things we want to do now, things with potential for the future.

Miyagawa: People in marketing and advertising, myself included, tend to think client-first. But years ago, Matsushima asked me, "What do you all really want to do?" That question has stayed with me. It felt like he was asking, "What kind of future do you envision for yourself?"

Matsushima: I think that applies not just to marketing and advertising, but to museums as well. Places that should inherently be free of boundaries and constraints somehow become bound by assumptions of "how they should be." But now, museums and art galleries worldwide are changing. Despite their diverse specializations, everyone is moving toward the idea that a museum is a "platform." That is, a place where diverse people gather and it can be used in various ways. Or, a place where people meet and unexpected things happen. Creating such "spaces" is increasingly demanded.

Japanese art museums tend to feel like textbook spaces, and visitors have grown accustomed to that. But I believe they should be far more diverse. It should be perfectly fine to stand before a work and say, "This is what I think," and discuss it with someone. Overseas museums already see such exchanges happening naturally. It should be perfectly fine to just bask in the sun and zone out in the back garden of the Tokyo National Museum. Even at the Louvre, there are plenty of people who spend hours just relaxing like that, right? Time spent quietly immersed, surrounded by something, is incredibly important.

◆Businesspeople Engaging with Art

Miyagawa: This might connect to what you just mentioned, but I think there's a sense that when businesspeople engage with art, it enriches their work and life. Could you share your perspective on that "enjoyment," Matsushima-san?

Matsushima: In Japan, there's a tendency to immediately ask, "What's the point of this art? What use is it?" Or perhaps there's a kind of "obsessive compulsion" to think, "This work has this specific intent, so I must understand it correctly." I think school education plays a part in this. People often rely solely on information before they even get to the point of "feeling" the work themselves.

But when someone from overseas asks me about the appeal of Japanese art, I find that sharing what the piece meant to me personally conveys its charm far more effectively than just repeating information you can find online. Like, "When I was little, my mom took me to see this piece, and it really stuck with me," or "I went back to see it again with my own child." Those kinds of "stories" stay with people, don't they?

Miyagawa: When someone's memories and feelings are woven in, it draws the listener in much more deeply, doesn't it?

Matsushima: Exactly. An anecdote like, "At the Louvre, the Mona Lisa was surrounded by crowds, so I couldn't really take my time with it. But the Vermeer room was completely empty, and I could quietly study it at length," conveys that person's sensibility and character. Art, I believe, is far more meaningful in terms of "how the viewer felt" and "what they thought" than in the work itself.

Miyagawa: If art isn't about providing "answers" but rather about prompting "questions," that seems like an incredibly important value.

Matsushima: We live in an era where AI provides general information. Precisely because of that, I hope people find value in what they personally feel when encountering a work. When you encounter a work with history and can sense even a little of the atmosphere of its era, that alone might become an experience that transcends time and space. As I mentioned earlier, I think the Japanese are fundamentally a people skilled at thinking in the realm of imagination and concepts. Stimulating that kind of sensibility should be a catalyst for breaking down fixed notions and generating new perspectives and ideas.

Miyagawa: That applies to work and daily life too, doesn't it?

Matsushima: Absolutely. While we're surrounded by countless stimuli and pleasures today, it's not just about fleeting consumption. If you pause to wonder, "Why do I like this?" or "Where does this feeling come from?", you start to see your own core values.

For example, if you enjoy cleaning, looking at old tools and wondering, "Why is this cleaning tool shaped this way?" can lead you to explore the lifestyle, social class, and seasonal rhythms of that era. Connecting that way of thinking to the things around you now—that moment when your personal "likes" link to history and culture—feels like a profound experience.

Miyagawa: It's like your world's resolution increases through the things you love.

Matsushima: Exactly. Museums and art galleries are full of hints for this. After all, they're treasure troves of cultural assets – the accumulated wisdom and endeavors of humanity. Of course, even without such a rational purpose, if you feel "I've been a bit tired lately" or "I'm just not feeling happy," you can casually drop by a museum or gallery and do nothing at all. Sometimes, just zoning out there can be incredibly healing. When surrounded by things steeped in history, your own worries start to feel insignificant.

Miyagawa: I always feel that you, Matsushima-san, think about things from an incredibly long-term perspective.

Matsushima: We're just in the middle of history. Thinking that way might help us see our current worries as not such a big deal. When life gets tough, just dropping by is enough. In that sense too, I want us to be a platform that stays close to people's lives.

Miyagawa: Merely in the midst of history—hearing those words, I felt a sudden weight lift from my shoulders. It made me realize anew how profoundly meaningful it is for museums to remain places that let us feel the flow of time. Thank you for your encouraging words.

Image Production: Satoshi Iwashita