Kawamata has said that it's possible to consider all of his installations as a single artwork: I construct, I deconstruct, I construct, I deconstruct, I construct... It's like a flower. The flower grows, blooms and wilts, and the next year it blooms again. It's a continuous ensemble, which exists in multiple sites, in Europe, in Japan, in America. Sometimes it blooms here, sometimes over there.... The scale may be different, the material... It's a continuous project, which follows the same idea, the same concept, but the place is different, different people come to help me, the organization is different, each time the experience is different. But at the same time it's always the same thing. Another defining element of Kawamata's practice is its collective nature. The artist depends on the help of others for the realization of many of his works, especially those on a larger scale. He says that he appreciates developing his ideas with others, whether they be students, carpenters, architects, engineers, or anyone else that may be open to making suggestions. The artist has organized "workshops" to develop projects collectively, like in 2008 at the
Ecole nationale supérieure d'architecture de Versailles, when he worked with 150 students to create the installation
Gandamaison. While the artist does use preliminary sketches and drawings, he affirms that it is impossible to know what the installation will look like upon completion as the installation only takes its final shape during the process of construction.
Early installations Kawamata's first three-dimensional installations were simple wooden partitions that allowed him to restructure interiors, like
Measure Scene 2, presented in 1979. Upon completion, the bombed-out church appeared to be cradled by Kawamata's precarious gathering of planks, embodying fragility and determined strength all at once. Writer Yvette Biro recounts her experience of visiting the site: On the one hand, we had the impression of witnessing a normal construction process...on the other hand, inside the space we found an unexpected peaceful zone. The silence and the energy of the action collided and - much more - supported each other, lending a sense of liveliness, the illusion of dynamic existence to these odd ruins.Art historian Mouna Mekouar argues that Kawamata "does not seek to define a form, to erect an architecture, or to close off a space; on the contrary, he tears down the foundations of Architectonics and interferes in the interstices so as to dig passages, to recycle time." The
Field works are intended to bear a strong resemblance to the temporary, transitory shelters of the homeless in cities around the world, drawing attention to otherwise unnoticed architectures. Kawamata has left behind
Field works in cities such as Tokyo, Chicago, New York and Montreal. In São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, Kawamata was struck by the prevalence of
favelas, shanty towns that sprawled across the city. "Near the hotel where I was staying, right close to the favelas, the police arrived and destroyed everything. A week later, the people had started to rebuild it. It's like a natural cycle...destroying, throwing away, rebuilding. It's a non-site situation, a situation of non-history." In 1991, Kawamata erected his own
Favela in Houston. About twenty fragile plywood shacks were built on the riverbank, against the backdrop of the gleaming Houston skyline. Art historian Mouna Mekouar argues that Kawamata's installation reveals "social disparity, the brutal cleavage between the rich and the poor". The result was a layer of colorful garbage - fishing rope, plastic, ropes, bottles, utensils, electrical appliances - that hung above visitors' heads. Since 2008, Kawamata has also constructed
Tree Huts, somewhat whimsical structures sometimes resembling birds' nests, sometimes resembling rudimentary tree houses. Kawamata has exposed these structures within gallery spaces, but also in the
public sphere. Rugged, asymmetrical and crude in construction, they appear to sprout organically from the city's architecture like parasites. Art historian Caroline Cros suggests that these interventions are meant to remind the viewer that "architecture is not the privilege of humans alone", noting importantly that, like Kawamata, "animals and plants are magnificent architects that work collectively". ==Gallery==