I was lucky enough to catch the 2024 Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale, a massive open-air art festival held in the mountains of Niigata Prefecture once every three years. I was, as expected, captivated by its art and gripped just as strongly by its nature. What really got me though was that no one part of that equation won out over the other, nor did they merely complement one another. Instead, they existed seamlessly within each other, creating a liminal space the likes of which I’d never experienced in any other art festival or museum. I was constantly dumbfounded, constantly flipping my head from side to side, trying to take it all in. Here, we have rolling hills, dotted by art works, no two of which resemble each other in shape or make. Conversely, here we have dozens of works of art, hugged by hills and their rich, rippling greenery. It was hard not to sink into this dialogue between nature and art, hard not to see them as simultaneously, fluidly enveloping and reemphasizing each other, as if they were one great mass where the division between idea and matter, between man and nature ceased to exist. I am no expert in art, nor am I a huge outdoorsman, and yet I was so wonderfully shaken by this experience. So much so that I want to grab everyone I see on the street and say, “You have GOT to go to the next Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale” (or just visit the Echigo-Tsumari Art Field’s permanent exhibitions 🙂)
The question above is quite the loaded one. There’s a lot to talk about with the Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale, including the nitty gritty of its creation, the vast world of its art and artists, its ancient landscapes and their stories, the many changes across its many iterations, the head-spinning logistics of the whole thing, what its seeks to communicate and achieve both economically and culturally, what it actually communicates and achieves, the ethics of it all, and so much more. It’s no surprise then that formal academic research has been conducted on the Triennale in multiple fields. It’s a big topic, a big story, so I’ll keep things simple.
The Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale is, again, an open-air, international art festival held in rural Niigata Prefecture once every three years (COVID-19 complicated things, as you might expect). With roots in a largescale regional revitalization program helmed by the Niigata prefectural government, the event is conducted in cooperation with over a hundred local municipalities and almost four times as many artists and art collectives. It aims to revitalize the region by directly involving local communities, promoting sustainable tourism, and raising awareness of a number of ecological and sociological issues, such as Japan’s oft-reported dwindling rural populations and the impact of industrial development. A pair of terms that often gets thrown around here is local and global (sometimes paired as glocal), describing the unique interplay we get when local revitalization, local art, and local history meet global tourism, global art, and global history.
So how does a day at the festival play out anyways? Beyond the bare details of the thing and its handling of man and nature, local and global–what is it like to move around the festival and see what it has to offer? How does it feel on the skin? I’d wager the experience itself here is just as much a draw as the art and nature, a real sum-of-its-parts type beat.
One important element is movement. Comprising six areas (Kawanishi, Matsudai, Matsunoyama, Tokamachi, Tsunan, and Nakazato) that themselves comprise countless towns and villages, this is a festival that demands a lot of movement. The lack of robust public transportation options and the remoteness of some of the installations leaves one with two options for getting around: drive or participate in one of the official tours of the area which feature buses. I went with the former and never looked back. For my money, this is the way to do it (albeit the tour is perhaps a more efficient option for those looking to maximize what they see), allowing for a real adventure to unfold as you dive down switchback roads into dense valleys, crest mountains, slip through dark tunnels, blast across sun-baked fields, and dance through quaint towns peppered with traditional, lattice-shuttered homes. Some of the installations themselves require a lot of foot travel, providing ample time to really steep in the area while moving between artworks. It’s here that the open-air element is best utilized, with space and movement drawing the guest closer to the environment, the art, and the atmosphere they create together.
Again, this set up, this whole arrangement is delicately balanced in such a way that no one element of the experience dominates the others. It is, like the best of stories, about the journey and not the destination (although there are some FANTASTIC destinations here). A big result of this, beyond its rich atmosphere, is the texture of the story it’s trying to tell. Unlike a traditional history or art museum with rote explanations and little movement, the Triennale uses the themes we’ve discussed so far–nature and art, local and global, space and movement–to create what I can only describe as a physical, experiential deep map. This term was first used by travel writer William Least Heat-Moon to describe literary writing that documents a particular, limited space with vertically-layered detail ranging from geography and geology to local politics and folklore. And the experience the Triennale offers is similarly focused and layered in both its construction and material. Its art, both local and international, tell their own stories, but they likewise dialogue with and contribute to the nature that encases them. For instance, special attention is paid to how the artworks offer new visual perspectives on the landscape, with many experimenting with framing, contrast, and material use. Here, the artworks reflect not only on the histories and narratives they bear but also their physical connection to the place itself and what they emphasize about it.
I visited four different locations during my visit, each of which is also open year-round as part of the permanent Echigo-Tsumari Art Field. I’ll run through each of them briefly, but please note that each one of these contains so much more than a flimsy article can capture. Again, there are even more installations beyond the four I’ll discuss here.
My first stop was SoKo (known officially as the Isobe Yukihisa Memorial Echigo Tsumari Kiyotsu Soko Museum of Art) located in Tokamachi. The museum primarily houses the works of Yukihisa Isobe, an artist with a rather unique background. He began his career as an avant-garde artist, before temporarily stepping away from the arts to work in ecological urban planning in the United States. He ultimately returned to art but with a new ecological bent that strives to visualize man’s impact on the environment. What’s most powerful here is how visceral and instantly comprehensible this impact is rendered in his work. For instance, one of his more famous works, Where has the river gone?, which was initially featured as a part of the inaugural Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale, uses yellow flag poles to mark the former course of the Shinano River that once ran through the area before being stopped by a dam.
At SoKo, I was most struck by a work from Isobe’s Ecological Context series, which utilizes maps and an eclectic mix of materials to visualize environmental change. One of these maps adorns a large portion of a wing. Tubes run across the work, water surging violently around each twist and bend. First laying eyes upon the work, I was struck by a feeling not unlike the mix of pity, horror, and strange wonder that one experiences when first seeing a hospital patient hooked up to an array of tubes, wires, and dizzying lights. In this way, SoKo functions well as a first stop, preparing guests to be sensitive to and critical of the tension between man and nature
Renovated from a pre-existing sightseeing tunnel by Chinese architect collective MAD Architects ahead of the 2018 Triennale, the Tunnel of Light is perhaps the most famous installation of the Echigo-Tsumari Art Field. Most cursory Google searches will only show you the great finale that is the reflecting pool and may leave you with the impression that this is all the Tunnel has to offer or that the other parts somehow pale in comparison. I admittedly fell victim to this trap, but as a result, the Tunnel surprised me at every turn. For one, the thing is much longer than you’d think. Each stretch of the tunnel features different colored lighting that represent different elements (the earth, wind, fire, water sort of element, not the kind you learned about in Chemistry 101). Along the way, the Tunnel periodically features large portals that offer curated views of the gorge outside, complemented by art installations unique to each spot. Experiencing all of this can take the better part of an hour if you take your time, and I suggest you do. The Tunnel of course ends with that famous reflecting pool, which captures a gorgeous straight-shot view of the gorge stretching off into the distance. It’s stunning, every bit as beautiful, magical as the pictures would have you believe. But for me, the Tunnel of Light, like the rest of the festival, is best taken as a whole. It takes you on a genuine journey that will have you remembering, thinking, feeling and just living–a must visit.
The Matsudai Joyama Art Complex (with the sleek Nohbutai facility, designed by a Dutch architect group, MVRDV, at its center) and the surrounding area (with works from artists across the globe) were the peak of my experience, with so much to offer that one would be hardpressed to capture it all in one article, let alone one section of an article. Trying to write about this area, now, in which it’s necessary to address the space in its entirety–its artworks, its rice paddies, its various facilities, its trees, the diverse nationalities of its artists (including such names as Ilya and Emilia Kabakov and Yayoi Kusama), the repurposed farm homes and castle representing a history much older than the festival itself–I feel like the silliest of gooses, like a guy trying to run a marathon at a 100-meter pace. But the thing is, everything I talked about in the introductory portions of this article apply here. This is the Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennale in microcosm, its supreme achievement, and greatest proof of concept.
Again, more than any one bit of the experience, the star of the show is the simple act of passing through the liminal space being created here, one that floats between the borders of art and nature, local and international, the past and the present–all that jazz. But if I had to pick my favorite part of the experience–not unlike selecting a favorite child–it would have to be Matsudai Castle, which stands on top of a small mountain. The trip up to the castle takes you past many art installations and through much nature, and once you reach the top, you’re treated to a gorgeous panoramic view of the area and its endless mountains. Approaching the castle as such, you’re liable to feel like a samurai seeking respite from battle (I certainly did after sprinting up the mountain path, determined to beat my co-worker in an ill-timed race). Upon stepping inside though, you’re faced with an almost contradictory sight: a set of abstract modern art installations constructed for the 2021 Triennale. This particular installation worked best for me when all of its contrasting elements were in view. For instance, it’s hard to beat the initial walk up to the castle, with its traditional architecture that, at the entrance, gives way to a monochrome void of optical illusions. For me, this contrast effectively visualizes the intense eruption of imagination, emotion, and memory that comes with entering old buildings like this as a modern spectator.
My last stop was the Echigo-Tsumari Satoyama Museum of Contemporary Art monET (pronounced like the artist’s name) in Tokamachi. Like SoKo, this is more of a traditional art museum, but it of course has a few tricks up its sleeve. For instance, its building–a work of the late Hiroshi Hara, famous for the futuristic Umeda Sky Building and Kyoto Station–is a prime example of “simple is best.” It’s essentially a big cube that’s been hollowed out in the middle, but this allows for an abundance of natural light to flow in. This open-air section is further complemented by a vast pond designed by artist Leandro Erlich, “Palimpsest: pond of sky,” that covers the entire area. Upon entering the museum, guests are greeted by this beautiful combination of sky and water, so grand that it seems to support the building more than its concrete walls. It also produces a distinct optical illusion when viewed from a certain angle, wherein the whole of the building, walls and all, is mirrored within. The sight, a result of some serious geometric black magic, can be a bit of a head spinner at first glance, but it’s all the more captivating for it.
During the Triennale, monET’s central area is home to limited time exhibitions that offer new perspectives on the space. As for the rest of the building, the first floor hosts temporary installations and local events, while the second floor is home to the permanent collections. The museum is also home to an onsen and restaurant, among other facilities.
When I visited monET during the 2024 Triennale, the central pond was latticed by walkways allowing guests to fully immerse themselves in its great reflection. The vista was further complemented by blue and pink lights and a host of temporary exhibitions that produced a lively, vibrant atmosphere distinct from the quaint Niigata countryside that I had been traveling around just before entering.
It bears repeating that this article has barely scratched the surface of what the Triennale and the Echigo-Tsumari Art Field have to offer. While the Triennale is only held once every three years, the Art Field, which includes all of the locations I discussed here and more, is regularly open to guests. For more information regarding the installations, the next Triennale, and access to Echigo-Tsumari, please check the links below.
Echigo-Tsumari Art Field Official Website
https://www.echigo-tsumari.jp/en/
Tokamachi Tourist Association Official Website
https://www.tokamachishikankou.jp/en/special/special_art/
*For specific credits, including the names of the artworks and their respective artists, please hover over each image.
<Author>
Joseph Bayliss
Travel Consultant at WaWo Japan Travel
