Flying Dutchman (link)
A glance through the gallery reveals that Kawai Keiko’s art pieces are missing something — a signature. None of her artworks have one. I asked her about it many times, but never received a satisfactory answer. She simply didn’t want to leave a signature on the canvas.
She also felt that no titles were necessary for her work — people who saw one of her paintings were free to feel whatever emotions it stirred and imagine whatever title best fit their experience.
However, the exhibitions she participated in required titles for identification. Often, she would simply call a work, “Artwork” or “Place” with a numbered identifier afterwards. But occasionally, she called on her knowledge of classical music and literature, referencing these in the titles of her works.
(Niece A)
The little girl standing between the parents is Kawai Keiko. (Circa 1930)
Aunt Keiko used to say that, of all artists, she admired Sakata Kazuo the most. Since I had no idea who he was, I just took her at her word. Later, I learned that Sakata Kazuo was a remarkable painter who led the Cubism movement in Japan. He was born in a family of medical doctors, back to his great-grandfather. Notably, his grandfather was a physician of western medicine, something he achieved by means of the Dutch language during the Edo period. Similarly, Aunt Keiko was born into a medical family, including her father and grandfather, who actually served the court of the regional lord Ikeda. With such a familiar genealogical transition from medicine to art, she likely felt empathy to his familial upbringing.
(Niece B)
Charcoal drawing of Venus de Milo (link)
Aunt Keiko never added a signature or date to her artworks. When I asked her what I should do with her paintings after her passing, she simply told me to throw them away. I've worried that this website and the act of showing her works to the public may not have been what she wanted.
Then I found a charcoal drawing of Venus de Milo amongst her works, which seems to have been drawn in her forties. It reminded me of my childhood, seeing a small replica statue of Venus in her formal reception room — it always struck me as out of place in a traditional Japanese-style house.
Imagining why Aunt Keiko kept that charcoal drawing over the decades, we hope she would forgive us for creating this online gallery.
(Niece B)
Crayon drawing of Akira (link)
One piece in this gallery stands apart from the rest. Amidst the oils and a few works with other mediums, this drawing is unique.
It's in crayon on the back of a flyer — a doodle. Aunt Keiko was a big fan of Miyagawa Akira, who appeared on a children's music program. Aunt Keiko had drawn it quickly, while watching TV.
She'd intended to throw it away, but her brother and his wife, who lived nearby, took it home and treasured it instead.
(Niece B)
Untitled (night I) (link)
My aunt rarely talked about her experiences during the war — she was like most of her generation in that way. I did hear her talk about the Okayama Air Raid once.
People fled the city center to escape the bombings. My grandfather, a surgeon, offered what help he could. The front yard became a triage, filled with injured people. Aunt Keiko, who was 18 years old at the time, helped treat them. She held down the bodies of crying patients as their limbs were amputated, since there were no anesthetics in those days.
It was and remains an experience beyond my imagination.
(Niece A)