Hyperart: Thomasson

by Genpei Akasegawa

Central Question: What if art is just a name for what doesn’t last?
Author’s other names: Katsuhiko Akasegawa, Katsuhiko Otsuji; Affiliations: neo-Dada, Hi Red Center, anti-art; Most notorious public episode: the “Thousand-Yen Bill Incident,” culminating in a 1976 conviction for printing and mailing invitations that could be mistaken for currency; Translations of Shashin Jidai: “Photography Times,” “Photography Age,” “Super Photo Magazine”; Year of book’s first publication in Japanese: 1987; Year of first publication in English: 2009; Translator of English edition: Matthew Fargo; Representative passage: “Would it be totally morbid to call them ‘Atomic Thomassons’?… The shadows left by these buildings are the shadows of human existence. The thing that branded them was not a nuclear explosion, but the energy released by ‘extenuating circumstances.’”

A Thomasson, according to Japanese conceptual artist Genpei Akasegawa’s inaugural stab at defining it, sometime around 1982, is “a defunct and useless object attached to someone’s property and aesthetically maintained.” A doorknob in the middle of a wall, for instance, or the reinforced guardrails of a two-meter footbridge leading directly to a dead-end dirt road, or a stairway with a recently repaired banister that connects to a second-story window. It is something discovered in the urban landscape, generally, that serves no discernible structural or cultural purpose and whose continued existence can thus be understood only, in the context of modern capitalist logic, as art.

Understood is a heavily freighted word to use just there, but consider who was doing the understanding at the time: Akasegawa, an avant-gardist gadabout and writer with a penchant for pseudonyms, plus a bevy of his art students and eventually a small delegation of readers of his column in the photography magazine Shashin Jidai. They roved around Tokyo finding, inventorying, and commentating Thomassons with a curiosity that reads as perfectly genuine, if not quite serious; the cleanest distillation of the spirit in which they conducted their inquiries may in fact be the etymology of the word Thomasson, after an American baseball player who, during his tenure with the Yomiuri Giants, struck out so often he earned the nickname “the giant human fan.” “He had a fully formed body,” Akasegawa muses by way of explanation, “and yet served no purpose to the world.”

We hope you enjoy this excerpt.

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—Daniel Levin Becker

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