Yukihito Suenaga

A series by Dentsu Inc.'s Yutaka Miyakawa: "A Marketer Peeks into the World of Art."

This time, I engaged in dialogue with art education practitioner Sachiho Suenaga.

It was 2020. I picked up a yellow book at Maruzen. Opening it, Claude Monet's "Water Lilies" from the Ohara Museum of Art collection immediately caught my eye. The content was so wonderful from start to finish that I mustered a little courage and emailed the author. That was my first encounter with Ms. Suenaga, author of "Art Thinking for Ages 13 and Up: Discover Your Own Answers," now a bestseller with over 220,000 copies sold. Since then, I've commissioned work from Ms. Suenaga, observed her workshops, and somehow, several years have passed. This time, we visited Musashino Art University, her alma mater. While documenting what happened there, I also wanted to jot down a bit more about the Ms. Suenaga I saw.

Cooperation: Musashino Art University Museum & Library
 

◆An Artwork Born in the 21st Century

In 'Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds and Up', it defines the artist's creative process as "observing the world through your own unique perspective," "generating your own answers," and "thereby creating new questions." Centered around six masterpieces by 20th-century artists, it explains how artworks are born and what lies at their core, all told in an exciting, engaging style.

While the book's genre is clearly "Art & Fine Arts," I found its content deeply relevant to me as a business professional. It also generously incorporates Ms. Suenaga's insights, naturally drawing attention to the appeal of "Ms. Suenaga herself." And at the book's end, there's this sentence:
 

In closing, I want to express my gratitude to my family, who always prioritized my curiosity above all else, even though their approach to my education was often unplanned and exploratory. I often reflect on how the best education I ever received came from them.

I want to share the story of the "beginning" that connects to this "end" – Episode 0, so to speak. I'm transcribing it almost exactly as Mr. Suenaga shared it in the interview, so please savor it in its entirety.
 

I think I grew up in a pretty unique household as a child. My father, while primarily working as an illustrator, was someone who dabbled in all sorts of activities. He'd decide, "Mime!" and start teaching himself, then soon after, he'd invite an audience and put on a show. Or he'd decide, "Tap dance!" and perform it in a show, even though he had no professional dance training beforehand. He'd create tons of oil paintings and hold solo exhibitions. When we went camping as a family, he'd find a rock he liked, bring it home, paint on it, and sell it. Recently, after turning 65, he apparently started doing manzai comedy. It's like he just has to try everything at least once. Growing up seeing that up close, I think it really instilled in me the idea that "in life, you can do anything" (laughs).

Many of the friends who visited our house were unique too—some were incredibly skilled magicians, others were freelance pianists who played jazz beautifully, there were people skilled in fortune-telling, and even someone who called themselves my father's producer. There was also someone who protested against a landfill construction project and ended up living deep in the mountains of Tama. As a child, I didn't know their real names or what they did for a living, but it was fun. It was a diverse environment, and I think it was a great formative experience. There were art supplies my father used and props for his performances lying around the house, so it was an environment where you could just jump into something whenever inspiration struck.

We didn't have much money, but my mother would scour local community newsletters for free experiences. Rice planting, homestays in the countryside, camping trips, theater groups, puppet shows. If you looked, there were all sorts of free things to do. I'm really grateful she let me have those experiences. It paid off (laughs), because I grew up incredibly curious. I loved studying and got straight A's in every subject. It wasn't just that I loved art or crafts; it was more that within all these activities, there was always something about creating or expressing myself.

 

When I started high school, I became incredibly eager to go overseas. My parents had absolutely no financial means to travel abroad and had never been themselves. So, for me, overseas was truly an unknown place. The very idea that there were places different from Japan felt incredibly mysterious. So, I got a part-time job at a supermarket, saved about 300,000 yen over a year, and went on a 10-day short stay to England. That turned out to be another great experience. I realized that the way I think now, my perspective, and what I consider common sense—they can be completely different! Discovering that was thrilling and exciting. Whether it's foreign culture or art, that feeling of being drawn to the diversity of perspectives is something that connects to who I am today.

 

Because this overseas experience was so significant, when considering university, art schools weren't an option. I wanted to go to a university where I could study languages and international relations. While I was a kid who liked studying, I never did things like gathering information or making plans for entrance exams. I never opened a past exam book, never took a mock exam. My parents were pretty hands-off, thinking, "Well, you'll manage somehow." So I recklessly applied only to national universities and failed. That's how I ended up taking a gap year. You'd think someone taking a gap year would go to prep school and study intensively, right? I didn't even consider that. I spent the year working part-time and studying at the library. And sure enough, I failed the exams again.

Around the time my second year of retaking began, my mother couldn't stand watching me anymore and made a wild suggestion. "You've always loved making things since you were a kid, right? Why not try applying to the Tokyo University of the Arts?" she suddenly said. "Even if it doesn't work out, the experience of immersing yourself in creating during this time will definitely be valuable in itself." Tokyo University of the Arts was the pinnacle, and back then, the competition ratio was dozens to one . But I got into the idea myself. So, in my second year of retaking, I changed my path. I rushed into an art prep school, and I think the teachers there were a bit surprised too. But I improved rapidly, even with plaster cast drawing, and passed the first stage of the Geidai entrance exam. However, since I was already in my second year of retaking, it was absolutely crucial to get in that year. I completely forgot to think about safety schools. By the time I realized, the application deadlines for most private art universities had already passed.

 

Amidst all that, the one place I still had time for was Musashino Art University's Department of Art and Culture (Geibun) (laugh)! I luckily got in. But because I entered Geibun this way, I felt a bit cynical among all the excited freshmen who'd come to Tokyo, thinking, "Huh, I'm two years older than everyone else." Geibun offered many interesting lectures and extracurricular classes, like talks by multi-talented professionals and various art projects. But I hardly participated in any of them and wasn't a very motivated student. I just threw myself into my art production.

It was definitely not a college life worth praising, but looking back now, I'm really glad I was able to be at Geibun. As I wrote in 'Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds', "Art isn't just the flower (= the work), right? The essence of art lies in growing roots of inquiry from the seeds of your own interests. The shape of the flower that blooms as a result can take many forms of expression. It's not just painting or sculpture that's art; writing, music, and even formless ideas or activities can be flowers of art, as long as they stem from the seed of the creator's interest and the roots of their inquiry." That's exactly the philosophy of the Arts and Culture program. Geibun is a relatively new department at Musashino Art University, bridging disciplines like painting and design that were previously separate. It was a department focused squarely on the process, embracing the idea that the expressions students create can take many forms. I was profoundly influenced by Geibun's philosophy. My time there has become a huge asset for me now.

 

Perhaps because I felt guilty about having taken two years off before university, I had this shallow thought that I should get any qualification I could, so I obtained teaching credentials. In my fourth year, I took the teacher recruitment exam. Miraculously, I passed. It was an era when the exam had extremely high competition rates, so I never expected to pass. When I saw the results on my computer, I thought, "Maybe my candidate number flashed on the screen by mistake," and I immediately took a screenshot as proof (laughs). I was also job hunting. Coming from an art school background, I really wanted to be a designer and got a job offer from a Western tableware manufacturer I admired. So I was faced with choosing between teaching and corporate work.

When I solemnly consulted my seminar professor about it, he said, "Either one is fine, isn't it?" I thought that was a pretty vague answer, but he continued, "However, once you choose one, I think you should completely forget about the one you didn't pick and move forward on the path you chose." It didn't really resonate with me at the time, but looking back now, I realize it was a great message. I've come to interpret it as meaning that since countless choices will arise in the future, rather than agonizing over which is better during the planning stage, I should be honest with my feelings, go with the flow, and take things as they come. I ultimately chose teaching, but looking back, I see that in both my elementary and junior high school yearbooks, I wrote "I want to be a school teacher." And in story form, no less (laugh). It really made me think that everything is connected.

 

I became a middle school art teacher, and it's so incredibly enjoyable that I truly feel it's my calling. I'm sure many people who become school teachers feel that same sense of fulfillment. While there are times spent with fellow teachers (adults), fundamentally, you're constantly interacting with the kids. Junior high school has this intense energy—crying, laughing, getting angry—like nothing I'd ever experienced before. Repeating cycles of meeting and parting, those few years flew by in the blink of an eye. Of course, it wasn't all fun; there were struggles and conflicts, like disagreements over educational policies. Even so, overall, I felt becoming a teacher was the right choice.

 

But after a few years, I started wanting to do more painting. I realized my own creative work had just stopped abruptly after graduating university. Feeling like "now is the only time," I decided to quit teaching and dedicate myself to creating, so I went to graduate school. Tokyo Gakugei University had a painting research lab in its master's program, so I entered that. But once I got in, my feelings weren't really pointing toward painting anymore. I started questioning art itself. Why do I paint? What even is art? When I started thinking like that, I couldn't paint at all.

But what was fortunate was that many professors in the graduate program at Tokyo Gakugei University at that time were researching workshops. Naturally, my interest shifted there, and I started conducting art workshops for children. Together with friends I met in graduate school, we gathered local children for workshops and discussed the insights gained there. It was truly practice-based research and became a profound learning experience for me. Up until then, I'd only seen school education and my thinking had become rigid. But by considering workshops outside of school, I felt that rigidity start to unravel. My peers were also people who had advanced to graduate school, so their words, their perspectives, their viewpoints were unique. It became a valuable experience to re-examine education from angles different from before.

At that time, I had left my position as a middle school teacher but was still teaching a few days a week as a part-time lecturer (hourly instructor) at middle and high schools, focusing solely on art classes. I naturally began applying the flexible thinking I gained from the graduate school workshops to school education, and that's when lesson planning became truly enjoyable. Within that process, I came to recognize the idea I later wrote about in 'Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds': "Art isn't just about the flower. The seeds of your own interests and the roots of inquiry are the true essence." During my time as a middle school teacher, I realized I had been focusing too much on "creating flowers (i.e., finished artworks)." I thought there should be room for lessons that focused more on the seeds and roots than the flowers themselves. Driven by this awareness, I began creating lessons like those described in Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds. I started seeing children who had said they disliked or struggled with art confidently expressing their "own answers," creating a positive cycle.

At home, my partner and I would often discuss art lessons and contemporary art—things like Brillo Boxes. Then my partner said, "I never cared about art before, but this is interesting." They added, "I wish I'd had lessons like this. Even business people like me, who have no connection to art, could enjoy it this way." That really got me thinking. I felt a growing desire to share these lessons not just with middle school students, but with people from all walks of life.

 

It might sound contradictory, but I do enjoy expressing myself, so I also have this desire to create something tangible. That's why I made it into a book. It was about a third the length of 'Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds,' but I gave it a proper cover and finished it as a real book. A prototype, you might say. It wasn't like I had any publishing deals lined up or anything. I created my own "work." Once I gave shape to my ideas, various connections started to unfold. First, I sent the manuscript to an educational publisher, and an editor contacted me, leading to a meeting. I was thrilled just to meet them, but they said, "The content is interesting, but if it's written by just one art teacher, the audience will be limited. What if you teamed up with a well-known business figure for a co-authored book?" Turning what I'd created as my own work into a co-authored book was something I couldn't accept. I went home that day, agonized over it, and decided it just wasn't right. I turned the offer down. Right after that, another opportunity came my way.

There was this person named Kunio Sasō, who later contributed an afterword to my book 'Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds'. Through a work connection, my partner gave him a prototype, saying, "My family wrote this." Then Mr. Sasō contacted me saying, "I read it all in one go in my bathtub that day. It was super interesting. I sent it to my editor." This happened right after Mr. Sasō had published a book with Diamond Inc., so it reached editor Yū Fujita. Without any planning on my part, my writing had found its way to a publisher. Mr. Fujita also read it in one sitting and contacted me immediately. It was an incredibly serendipitous connection that led me to meet both Mr. Sasō and Mr. Fujita. From there, it took about another year of writing to refine the manuscript into its final form.

 

And so, in the 21st century, the work titled Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds was born.

 

◆The Seventh Class

Learning about Ms. Suenaga's life is deeply meaningful. While it's not unreasonable to peek into her life as a sort of "supplementary reading" because she's a bestselling author, I take a slightly different approach.

In 'Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds',

 

Once upon a time, painters during the Renaissance, when Western art flourished, had a clear goal: "to capture the world as it appeared to the eye." Since then, for over 500 years, they developed techniques to depict the three-dimensional world on a two-dimensional canvas.

However, the invention of the "camera" in the 19th century and its widespread adoption in the 20th century radically changed their circumstances. The artistic practice of "imitating the visible world" was easily replaced by the technological innovation of photography.

Yet this did not spell the end of art.

 

The book is structured chronologically around six classes (lessons), each focusing on one of "six artworks born in the 20th century" by Matisse, Picasso, Kandinsky, Duchamp, Pollock, and Warhol.

 

"Painting what the eye sees," "perspective-based viewing," "depicting concrete objects," "art = visual art," "a medium for projecting images"... Twentieth-century artists sought to transcend the various conventions that had constrained art in the past.

And finally, with Warhol's Brillo Box, cracks began to appear in the very framework of "art" itself, the very framework that had been the battleground for these struggles.

 

The wall dividing what is art and what is not. This wall also serves to separate the authoritative from the non-authoritative, and the side of authority can eventually become a sanctuary. But! Could it be that such conventional walls, or the walls within our own minds, were actually illusions? Mr. Suenaga clearly expresses the achievements of 20th-century artworks and artists that led us to this realization through six classes. Looking back now, the innovations represented by these six works seem interconnected, and that connection is profoundly beautiful. It's history's "Connecting the dots." What emerged there was a vast, flat world.

Flat. Meaning anyone can participate. A free world without unjust pressure. That sounds appealing, but it could also be described as a harsh world without backing. It can feel daunting.

And there's also a major shift occurring outside the realm of art history. As society grew more complex, what had been considered the right answers became less applicable. Our anxieties gradually grew. Then, around 2022, AI suddenly became very familiar. Entrusting things to AI might bring some peace of mind, and we felt a little lighter. But another anxiety began to surface. In a world where AI holds sway, what should people, what should I, do? It feels a bit daunting.

That's where Ms. Suenaga's proposal gives us a push: "We have art thinking." Observing her activities over the past few years, I realized she herself embodies and practices art thinking. Her very existence felt like the perfect theme. In other words, for me, it's the "Seventh Class." Learning about Ms. Suenaga's life is like studying living history in real time, which is profoundly meaningful.

And the roots of Mr. Suenaga's inquiry continue to grow.

What I'm writing now is a book about "sensibility." In Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds, I wrote that artists do three things in the process of creating work: "Observe the world through their own unique perspective," "Generate their own answers," and "In doing so, generate new questions." Schools, companies, and various other places that resonated with this concept invited me for lectures and workshops, leading me to engage with many different settings. Through this, I realized something. When conducting corporate training, I noticed everyone focused intensely on producing "their own unique answers." The emphasis was squarely on creating new value, on crafting answers never seen before. Conversely, in schools—perhaps influenced by the current push for inquiry-based learning—I often observed teachers stressing the importance of first formulating "new questions." I was frequently asked to teach students how to pose questions effectively.

In response to these situations, I realized we must thoroughly cultivate the first of these three points: "your own unique perspective." Conversely, I don't believe there's a specific method for creating answers or formulating questions. If you possess your own unique perspective, answers and questions will naturally emerge. And seeing the world through your own unique perspective isn't about training your observational skills or anything like that; I believe it's about "sensitivity." I believe opening your sensibility and accepting the various influences from the world leads to seeing it through your own unique perspective. Sensibility is like a door. If it's closed, you can't receive anything the world offers, no matter how much is out there . Conversely, if you open that door, things come in on their own, without you having to search for them. You receive what enters. Only then does your "own unique answer" emerge.

 

This book is structured around finding hints for opening the door of sensitivity from artists and children. Artists are people who create their own answers through their unique perspectives, so we can find hints within their works and their very way of life. And then there are children. Young children naturally perceive the world through their own unique lens. By imagining a child's perspective, I believe adults can also gain hints for opening the door of their own sensitivity.

During my graduate school years, I spent considerable time working with children in art workshops. I also served as a consultant for a children's craft program for three years. Through this, I encountered the creative works of children from all over Japan and observed their creative processes, gaining many valuable perspectives. However, the most significant influence comes from my direct interaction with my own child. I deeply feel that there are things only a parent can understand, things felt as one with the child. This experience forms the foundation of my writing.

 

When all of us stand before this vast, flat world and our sensibilities open up, won't Ms. Suenaga's work naturally connect to the "six artworks born in the 20th century"? At that moment, I feel we'll find ourselves murmuring, "Another dot in history has connected."

◆"It's frustrating."

I believe Mr. Suenaga is a tolerant person—or, to put it plainly, someone with immense patience. Without going into details, I've witnessed several situations where, by common sense, one might get irritated or even complain. Yet Mr. Suenaga never raised his voice or flinched; on the contrary, he calmed the atmosphere. He turned the tables. Each time, I felt, "What nerves of steel."

Learning about Mr. Suenaga's life story through this interview made me think, "Ah, I see. So that's how his values were formed." It all clicked into place. Truly, "Connecting the dots." And I learned something else.

 

Until 2020, he was a middle school teacher, but after publishing his book, his activities took a 180-degree turn. He's now involved in education and art in so many different ways. Lectures, workshops, collaborative projects, new educational initiatives—he has tons of opportunities to output ideas. But each time, that output becomes input for him. It feels like he's doing output and input simultaneously. Over these five years, I've filled countless notebooks—packed with things I've studied from books, random ideas, and more . Looking back, I realized just how hard I've been working these past five years. I think that output is only possible because I've been putting in that much input.

On the other hand, as my activities expanded, I also felt many challenges. For example, I work as a freelancer, but compared to working as a civil servant or company employee, the value placed on belonging to an organization with benefits seems deeply ingrained. While company employees are told to "hang on and push through no matter what," freelancing is often seen as "a way of working that could collapse at the slightest setback." What's really frustrating is that it's often perceived as something you shouldn't pour your energy into at the expense of family or childcare. That's not true at all .

Also, as a mother of a five-year-old, I deeply feel the challenges of succeeding both as a mother and as a woman. It didn't bother me when my work was small-scale, but as it grew, these challenges became more apparent. While there's this idea that "it's the 21st century, freelancing is totally fine," or "it's not the Showa era anymore, women working is normal," the reality is there's still a lot of negative perception around it. When women with young children try to work, they often face a binary choice: either leave their child in daycare and work full-time like someone without children, or quit their job to focus solely on childcare. In fact, many company systems and daycare policies are structured this way. You can't just say, "I'll only send my child to daycare three days a week."

For me, time with my child is a major source of personal growth, so I want to cherish that time. On the other hand, I also want to pour my full energy into my expanding work and activities. By dedicating myself to my work more than most, I want to see what lies beyond. There's societal disapproval for trying to have both. You have to choose one or the other. But I think there could be ways of being that aren't limited to the traditional either/or. It's incredibly tough. But even if I could go back and choose again, I'd still choose this way of being.

Partly because my graduate research involved children's art workshops, time spent with my own children is also a form of study for me. Observing children as they truly are and learning from that was both my research and my practice. I still approach my own children this way, and I consider it time worth paying for. I often feel anxious when I can't get as much work time as I'd like. At those times, I reframe it: time with my children is vital input time for myself.

 

A voice spoke to me from Ms. Suenaga's book (work), Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds and Up. It was a voice I hadn't heard until this interview. A desperate voice. While I don't believe Ms. Suenaga wrote this book to directly challenge societal unfairness or intolerance, or to push for change, I felt this work—and her very way of living—has the power to cultivate the social soil that enables people to recognize unfairness and intolerance. With its popularity of 220,000 copies, it has "in effect" spread lightly throughout society. I felt this was both a byproduct and something essential.

Who decided it had to be an either/or choice?

The wall separating art from non-art. In a flat, free world where we realize that wall is an illusion, can we open our sensibilities and truly gain freedom? When that responsibility is placed in the hands of us ordinary people, who hold the potential to become artists, I want us to look again at Ms. Suenaga's words "frustrating" and her situation. I want everyone to look.

◆Living in the Now

As mentioned at the start, Art Thinking for 13-Year-Olds begins with the "Water Lilies" held by the Ohara Museum of Art. I felt Mr. Suenaga must hold a special fondness, or perhaps deep respect, for the Ohara Museum's story. I took it upon myself to believe that I was the only one who could bring together art historian and former Ohara Museum director Shuji Takashina and Mr. Suenaga, so in 2022, I arranged a dialogue between the two. It became a vibrant space where the roots of inquiry extended and connected.

At the conclusion of that dialogue, I posed a question to both: What does art bring to us? Mr. Suenaga responded:

 

After my art classes, I ask students to submit reports or share their thoughts. Sometimes, their writing isn't even about the artwork they created. It's quite distant. Some write about experiences from their childhood, or about things that have been bothering them recently, or feelings of discomfort they've had. Others mention that while walking around in their daily lives, remembering this series of classes, they suddenly noticed the interesting or absurd aspects of things they'd always taken for granted. Things they'd overlooked before suddenly stood out strangely. I received many such reflections. From this, I think what engaging with art like this brings forth is a kind of "sensibility" or mindset that makes you pause and think, "Huh?" – that sense of getting stuck on things. It becomes the driving force to develop your own way of seeing things and craft your own answers. I think it's about always getting stuck on that "Huh?" and questioning things. By repeating that, your own questions gradually emerge, or themes you want to think about start to form. I think that's what art is.

 

Takashina-san made everyone laugh, lightening the mood: "What Suenaga-san just said sums it up perfectly, so I think I can just repeat it." He concluded with: "If I were to add one final thing, art gives us the joy of living. Art is truly something that engages the whole person."

Suenaga-san never overlooked the dissonance within herself and took action. From childhood, unwaveringly, with the utmost naturalness. Truly, in a wholly human way.

And now, Suenaga is about to take flight into a new environment.

Image Production: Satoshi Iwashita