Breaking Free from Adversity to Choose Her Art Form

―For your work SAKURA, would “horishi (tattoo artist)” be the right title to use?

Yes. Horishi feels the most natural to me. I’m Japanese and I practice tattooing in Japan, so that feels more fitting than calling myself a tattoo artist.

―So there is a difference in nuance after all.

Irezumi and tattoo basically mean the same thing; it is really just a matter of whether you say it in Japanese or English. But even so, being Japanese is something that matters to me.

―When did you first get an irezumi or tattoo yourself?

I was twenty, in my third year of college, when I had some lettering tattooed inside my lip. That was my first tattoo.

―May I ask what the words were?

I had “Love Yourself” tattooed in English, as a reminder to be able to love myself. It was over pretty quickly, and the pain wasn’t that intense, so it wasn’t a particularly difficult spot.

―Was the reason you chose that location for your first tattoo because you were hesitant about having it seen by other people?

Right... In my case, no one in my family had tattoos, and my mother in particular was strongly against them. So when I thought about where I could get one, I realized that inside my lip wouldn’t be visible.

―Did you start getting more tattoos soon after that?

Yes. But while I was still in college, I only had two or three on my chest. I had a butterfly tattooed in the center of my chest, and another on my wrist. After graduating, I spent a year apprenticing at a different tattoo studio from the one I’m at now, and during that time there was a rule that I could only be tattooed in places approved by my master, and only by artists approved by him. After I left there and joined my current studio, I started getting tattooed like crazy (laughs).

—What kind of person founded the studio you’re currently with?

Hori-ai is a horishi whose work is rooted in traditional Japanese tattooing, and I’m apprenticing under him. There aren’t any rules about the tattoos I get on my own body either. It’s a very free studio.

—I heard a little about this during the shoot, but you also spent some time overseas, didn’t you?

Yes, I went to Melbourne. After leaving my first studio, I spent a year working as a horishi in Japan under Ai, my current master, and then went to Melbourne in my second year. I worked there for a year and came back last year, so I guess I’m now in my third year with Ai.

—So your time in Australia came while you were still affiliated with Hori-ai’s studio.

That’s right. I remained affiliated with the studio, and when I told him, “I want to go overseas,” he let me go. He even told me, “When you come back, you can return here.”

—He sounds like a very understanding master.

Exactly, he really lets me do things my own way. He himself traveled from country to country as a backpacker when he was younger, so he said, “There’s no reason for me to stop you if you want to see the world. Go.”

—Was there any particular reason you chose Melbourne?

People around me strongly recommended it. They kept saying, “Sakura, Melbourne would suit you perfectly.” Honestly, at first I thought I’d be happy anywhere English-speaking with access to the ocean, and I was vaguely thinking Sydney might be nice. But people around me who had done working holidays kept telling me that, so I thought, “Maybe they’re right?” and asked my master what he thought. He said, “I have a friend who’s been running a restaurant in Melbourne for about twenty years, so I can introduce you,” and I was able to move into that person’s share house. Once I decided on Melbourne, everything fell into place very quickly.

—Once you actually got there, did you understand why everyone had recommended Melbourne to you?

Completely. I really understood what everyone had meant. Australia has a warm climate, and people are very easygoing. Basically, they don’t pay much attention to what other people are doing. If I had to compare Melbourne to somewhere in Japan, I’d say it has a bit of a Shimokitazawa feel. There’s a strong cultural scene, and music and art really thrive there. The city itself isn’t that big, and it has this subcultural, alternative side without feeling overly flashy or trendy. I really loved that local atmosphere.

—Were you involved in tattooing while you were in Melbourne as well?

Yes. I worked at a studio there. It had been part of the local community for a long time, and everyone working there was Australian, so it had a very warm, close-knit atmosphere. People passing by would just wander in and say, “I want a tattoo,” and sometimes dogs would come in, or even rabbits (laughs). It was incredibly free, and I loved being able to experience that local scene. I also got to see a different kind of tattoo culture from the one in Japan, so I’m really glad I went. Tattooing was just completely normal there, simply part of everyday life.

—Even though tattoos have become much more common in Japan than they used to be, it’s still hard to say that society is very accepting of them.

Yes. In Melbourne, it almost felt unusual to meet someone with no tattoos at all. Even someone like me, with tattoos on my face, should have stood out, but people just accepted it as, “Well, some people are like that.” It made things so much easier.

—This may be a negative question, but did that experience make you more conscious of how restrictive Japan can feel by comparison?

But I had always assumed that was just how things were, and to me it felt normal. I was always conscious of other people, and I always had the sense that I was being watched. I don’t mean that as either good or bad. It was simply a fact. I knew that even without doing anything, I might surprise people or come across as intimidating, and I thought that was simply my position in Japan as someone with tattoos. But in Melbourne, I realized how easy it could feel, how much easier it was to breathe, so I suppose I must have been carrying stress in Japan without even realizing it.

—You had accepted that sense of restriction as something inevitable, only to discover that there was actually a world where it wasn’t.

Japan is an island nation, and naturally, most people here are Japanese. But in many cities overseas, not just Melbourne, people come from all kinds of racial and ethnic backgrounds, so difference is simply taken for granted. People have different backgrounds, and I think that creates a kind of acceptance where difference itself is considered normal. Maybe because Japan has so many people from the same ethnic background, people are more surprised to see someone whose self-expression is a little more striking. Perhaps even more so because there is an underlying assumption that everyone is fundamentally the same.

—There certainly seem to be many moments when you become conscious of that aspect of Japanese society.

But I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. I think the discipline and seriousness that come from people trying to fit together are also strengths of Japan, and there’s a kind of beauty in people acting as a group rather than always putting themselves first. It’s just that when it comes to tattoos, there are many situations where I feel they make things a little difficult, or where I feel apologetic about them.

—Were there any other things you realized after becoming so deeply involved in tattooing? Good or bad.

The good things... honestly, since getting tattoos, there’s been nothing but happiness for me. Taking that first step from zero to one takes courage, but I made that leap pretty quickly when I was around twenty. I did struggle with it at first. For me, there were obvious concerns: opposition from my family, social credibility, the inconveniences I might face in the future life, and I also had to let go, at least once, of worrying about how other people would perceive me. But once I had done that, everything became much easier. There was no going back anyway, so there was no point in worrying anymore. I’m surrounded by things I love, and I’ve been able to make a living doing what I enjoy. And I feel like maybe I can make other people a little happier too. ...Yeah, I think I’m just happy.

—That’s a wonderful way of looking at it. As more people became aware of your work, I imagined you must have received more negative reactions as well, which makes what you’ve said feel all the more meaningful.

There were especially a lot at first. It was scary, honestly. I kept thinking, “Have I done something to bother anyone...?” But most of what people said to me was the same kind of thing I’d already heard over and over from family and relatives when I told them I wanted to pursue tattooing, so I mostly just thought, I guess that’s how people see me, and it didn’t really affect me. The only thing that hurt was being called an “ungrateful daughter.” I was aware of that myself, and I had always felt guilty toward my parents.

—I can imagine how both you and your parents must have felt at the time...

It started when I was twenty and studying at art school. I told my parents, “I want to become a horishi,” and for about two years after that, things between us were terrible. I made them angry, I made them cry, and I caused them a lot of worry... Up until then, I had always felt that I’d been raised by very sensible parents, and I’d never really thought that what they told me was wrong. So even when they said things that were a little different from what I thought, I could usually accept that maybe they were right, but when it came to tattoos, I just couldn’t accept their opposition. I simply couldn’t see them as something bad.

—Perhaps their concerns were less about tattoos themselves and more about everything surrounding them.

think so. But whatever the background or circumstances, I genuinely couldn’t understand why I should be told it was wrong to call something beautiful when I found it beautiful. Maybe it was the first real rebellious phase of my life. But when I think about why I held onto my conviction so strongly, why I clung to it the way I did, I wonder if being opposed was exactly what gave me the determination to prove that I was right. If they had said, “You want to do tattoos? Sure, why not,” maybe I wouldn’t have held onto it so fiercely. It made me struggle with questions like, Why is this wrong? Why is it so difficult for people to accept? and gave me a reason to think deeply about them, so in that sense, I think maybe it was ultimately a good thing for me.

Different Perspectives. Lessons from Momotaro

—So even adversity had its purpose. Before you became so deeply involved in tattooing, what were you studying?

I attended an art studio through junior high school, high school, and university, and in junior high I mainly focused on drawing and painting. I painted large works, including pieces around size 100 using acrylics, as well as design illustrations. After entering art school, I studied glass, dyeing and weaving, and various forms of embroidery in the crafts department. Then, in my third year, I transferred to fashion textiles. It wasn’t fashion design in the conventional sense of drafting patterns and making clothes, but rather artistic expression using textiles. The work didn’t even have to be clothing; it could be an object, and the most important thing was the concept. I was studying in a department where textiles and fibers were simply the materials used for that kind of expression.

—So you were exposed to many different forms of expression and creative practice.

I studied textiles and explored fashion too, but I started to feel that it wasn’t quite right for me... What I loved, what I found exciting, was expressing ideas through art. I wanted to keep drawing for the rest of my life, but being a painter didn’t feel quite right either. Oil painting wasn’t it, and neither was traditional Japanese painting... With product design, you have to work within a client’s concept and understand their intentions, and sometimes that means holding back some of your own originality. I found that difficult... While I was thinking about all of that, tattooing suddenly entered my life. I thought, “This is it...!” 

—You knew instinctively.

I realized that once I had established my own style, I could put my drawings directly onto someone. With clothing, once you take it off, that’s the end of it, and a print can disappear from view once it falls out of fashion. A painting can stop being seen once it is no longer displayed. But a tattoo remains on someone’s skin for their entire life, even after I die, and someone can still see my work. There’s no other form of expression like that... I thought tattooing was incredible. I was drawn to it visually too, but more than that, as an artist looking for a way to express myself, I felt that tattooing was the most precious medium of all.

—So you felt certain about it. Still, it’s a little surprising to hear that you also studied textile design and fashion.

Around the time I entered college, I became interested in three-dimensional forms of expression. Come to think of it, in one of my textile classes, we had an assignment to create clothing based on the folk tale “Momotaro”. We could focus on any part of the Momotaro story. It could be the dog, the monkey, Momotaro himself, anyone. The assignment was to create clothing with a concept suited to one of the characters.

—That’s an unexpected connection (laughs).

I know, right? (laughs). I had such fond memories of that class, so the name “MOMOTARO JEANS” resonated with me even more. For that assignment, I wanted to focus on the oni (evil ogres), so I did a lot of research into the story of Momotaro and its historical background.

—The oni? That’s an unusual angle.

I found myself wondering what the oni in Momotaro actually represented, so I started looking into it. There are many different theories, but one interpretation I came across was that the oni were actually people who had been ostracized and driven out of their communities. According to that theory, the story of Momotaro is connected to people involved in ironworking in the mountains of Kibi, and Momotaro, the monkey, the dog, and the pheasant represented warriors or armies sent by the imperial court to seize the highly valuable iron resources held by the indigenous people there. The story was about taking that iron and presenting it to the imperial court, which would explain why the oni were portrayed as having so much treasure.

—There are many interpretations of the origins of Momotaro, but that theory certainly changes the way you see the story.

History is always told by the victors, so the oni are portrayed as evil, but I started thinking that perhaps they were simply people like everyone else, and if that were true, then from their perspective, maybe Momotaro was the frightening one. It felt almost like the movie “Princess Mononoke”, and made me think about how arrogant human beings can be... I learned that perhaps there could be another side to the story like that.

—There is some overlap with tattoos there too, in the sense of something being labeled bad from a single point of view.

That’s why I sometimes think that things people reject might actually be rejected because they have too much individuality, too much impact, or perhaps because there is something almost too compelling about them. The world is full of strange contradictions, isn’t it? That’s why I like the villains. Someone like Cruella, for example.

Tattoo as a Form of Expression

—It really makes you think about the importance of imagination and of looking at things from a different perspective. You were drawing on your iPad today as well. Is that something you do regularly?

Yes. I’m not drawing specifically for tattoos. I really just draw whatever I like. If a client sees something and says, “I want this,” I might adapt it a little for tattooing and propose it that way. If I go too long without drawing, I start feeling restless, and it’s not good for me mentally (laughs). I could draw on paper too, but what I want to do is tattooing, and when I want to express something that way, there are clients who are willing to go along with me. I feel very fortunate. It makes me realize that when you take something seriously, people really do notice.

—How would you describe the tattoos, or irezumi, that you create?

I suppose they would be considered blackwork, but honestly, I’m not entirely sure myself. They’re not traditional Japanese tattoos, and I don’t really feel the need to categorize them. Broadly speaking, what I’m especially drawn to right now is abstract painting and what’s called abstract tattooing. Rather than depicting something figurative like a flower, I want to communicate something conceptual through flow and the composition of lines alone. But there are so many different forms of expression within abstraction, so sometimes I wonder whether there’s any need to classify it at all... One phrase I came across recently that feels right to me is “wearable abstract painting,” but I still don’t know what kind of “XX tattoo” I should call it.

—What kinds of things inspire you when you express yourself through tattoos or drawing?

Natural curves. The flow of water, the shape of leaves, tree roots that look like blood vessels, the movement of a trunk. I think I’m drawn to the curves that appear when nature moves along the path that feels most natural to it, rather than anything artificially created.

—You certainly have many tattoos yourself that are inspired by natural forms.

Yes. I find nature’s uncalculated curves very pleasing to look at. Water doesn’t flow because it decides, “I’m going this way,” does it? There may be rocks in the way, and it simply moves softly around them, and the path it leaves behind becomes a line. A tree doesn’t decide, “I’m going to put down roots here!” It simply extends its roots in the direction where the nutrients are richest and the conditions feel best. I feel a sense of peace in that. It feels as though everything is giving way to one another and existing alongside one another. Those curves seem to have emerged from moving peacefully in order to coexist.

—So it’s that lack of deliberate design that draws you in.

Exactly. That’s why I think nature is the most beautiful. Within that, there are contrasts and balances that feel right to me, and when I apply them to tattooing, I also need to stylize them so they suit the body. I think that’s where originality comes in. If I were simply copying everything exactly as it is, there would be no particular reason for me to be the one doing it. I think the parts I personally find beautiful, and the patterns in the way I choose to express them, are what give meaning to my own expression. That’s what I think makes the work original.

—You mentioned blackwork earlier. Why do you choose to work exclusively in black?

I choose black because I find it beautiful in a very classical sense. What draws me to black is that, through density and shading, a single color can create a depth that feels almost like many colors, and can even appear vivid. I think there are things that can only be expressed through other colors, and maybe decades from now I’ll be doing very colorful tattoos, but for now, I want to master black first. I also really love blue and indigo. I think that’s probably because they feel like Japanese colors to me. Traditional Japanese colors. Not sky blue, cobalt, or emerald blue, but those subdued, deep shades of blue.

—Some people may see your work as avant-garde, but hearing you talk about it this way, it begins to feel like a blend of tradition and contemporary expression.

Part of why I like traditional Japanese tattooing is that there’s something reassuring about its traditional techniques. As a Japanese person, it feels natural to me. But in the end, I’ve only ever lived in the present day, so even if I have that respect for tradition, I think this is simply how it comes through when I’m the one expressing it. Even so, I still feel a certain sense of nostalgia in it.

—I feel like I understand now why the deep blue of denim sits so naturally with you and your tattoos.

But honestly, I’ve hardly ever worn jeans before. Sorry.

—Oh, not at all (laughs). I just thought that the silk-blend jeans you chose really suited you.

When I tried them on in the store, I thought, maybe I could actually pull these off. After I washed them at home and they softened up, they became more comfortable, and as I wore them around the house and at work, I felt like they gradually became more and more my own. I think the reason I hadn’t worn jeans much before probably had something to do with my father. He really loves American vintage style, so I always had this strong association between denim and classic American casualwear. But I’m not American, and when I wore them, I felt as though I was imitating something that wasn’t really mine.

—Denim certainly has that side to it. And it’s true that its roots are in America.

Tattooing has something similar. Western-style tattoos done by a Japanese artist are still Western-style tattoos interpreted by a Japanese person. And the reverse is true too with traditional Japanese tattooing done by an American. It’s not a question of whether that’s good or bad, but I think that because there can be admiration involved, I became especially sensitive to anything that felt inauthentic, unreal, or merely imitative.

—It raises all kinds of questions, including where the line lies between cultural appropriation and homage.

But after wearing this pair of jeans, I found myself wondering why I hadn’t known about it before. Traditional denim from Okayama has this understated depth to it, and I really like that.

—Not just with tattoos, but in general, I really get the sense that as you’ve grown older, you’ve found a way to engage with society that feels more comfortable for you.

I think so. I feel like I’ve learned how to coexist with it. Maybe it’s because I’ve had more and more opportunities to feel that what I’ve done wasn’t wrong, and I’ve been able to come to terms with that. Once I had fully pursued what I wanted to do and no longer felt the need to prove myself, I started to realize that my own satisfaction alone wasn’t enough to make me truly happy. Rather than forcing anything on anyone, I now think in terms of coexistence, and I hope both sides can feel comfortable that way.

—You seem to be in a very healthy place mentally now. 

Of course, I’m still nowhere near satisfied. When I transfer something I’ve drawn on canvas onto someone’s skin, there are still parts I can’t reproduce with my current level of technique. And when it comes to things like speed or unevenness in solid areas of color, I’m always doing my best, but I’m not satisfied at all. And whether the color will stay beautiful years later is something you can only really know after several years, or even decades.

—It is an art form with such a long history, so I imagine the path toward mastering it and continuing to improve must be a difficult one.

Yes. I have a foundation in drawing, but as a horishi, I’m still very much a beginner, and I can’t say that my work is at an especially high level yet. So I don’t want anyone to think that what I say represents the tattoo world as a whole, and I’m sure there are people who don’t want tattooing to become a more open culture. There are probably also people who think I’m only getting attention because I’m a young woman, which is still unusual among horishi, and because I stand out. But even so, I approach everything with complete sincerity and give it one hundred percent. And there are people who see the same beauty in the things I find beautiful and say, “It’s beautiful.” That alone makes me happy.

—The social implications and prejudices surrounding tattoos are often discussed, but I feel there are far fewer opportunities to talk about their individuality as a form of expression or the skill involved in creating them, so what you’ve just said feels very real to me.

That’s actually how I want people to look at tattoos. I hope they can set aside the idea that tattoos are something frightening for a moment and enjoy them the same way they would look at a painting: “This design is beautiful,” or, “If you placed this expression here on the body, the movement it creates would be really interesting.” Even the same image can look completely different on the body than it does on canvas, and tattoos can enhance the natural lines of the human form. That’s one of the things I find so beautiful about tattooing. At the end of the day, I just love tattoos. There are no second chances, and even a single misplaced line matters. That tension forces me to engage completely and seriously with the art and expression I want to create.

PROFILE

SAKURA

Born in Tokyo in 2000. Decided to become a horishi while attending art school. Her name, Sakura, comes from the fact that she was born on March 25, during the season of hanagasumi, when cherry blossoms appear as a haze in the distance. Drawn to tattooing as a form of expression, she spends her days engaging with both her own artistic sensibility and the individuality of the people whose bodies become her canvases. She is currently based at studio5 in Shimokitazawa, Tokyo.

@sakura_tattooer