Category: Spring 25

After reading this article, I took a look at the documentation of Ryoichi Kurokawa’s artworks.

His combination of natural landscapes and digital visuals is incredible: in his work Rheo, he used a lot of binding and shaking lines to form a bunch of waves that might suddenly turn into the landscape of a river and then shake and flow with the audio. In syn_, he also utilized this technology to create a smooth transition from digital patterns to natural objects, which demonstrates how technology has brought more possibilities to the art industry.

From my point of view, multi-sensory stimulation and transition is the core of his art. It’s not only the transition between digital effects and natural images but also the transition between simple and complicated content, which brings a strong sensation to the audience when combined with the immersive experience of visuals, audio, and vibrations. It seems that the sensations can resonate.

I also really enjoy how he shows his teenage passion in his artwork: in his work Unfold, he presents nebulas and planets in the universe. The canvas is quite simple and clean, as it only contains the main object on display and a completely black background, which resembles what Kubrick had done in 2001: A Space Odyssey, and this artwork is as immersive and attractive as that film.

Interestingly, according to the article, Kurokawa’s studio is not connected to the Internet, while his artwork seems to be the product of cutting-edge technology. This can be a reflection of how we might utilize technology in our lives, as it might be useful but distractive.

Ryoicihi Kurokawa’s work falls in two broad categories or as the author puts it two hangers. The first category is projects that challenge synaesthesia, the concept of stimulating senses involuntarily using other senses. Whereas the second Category is “Deconstruction of nature”, where Kurokawa creates pieces that revolve around algorithms, shapes, sounds, etc found in nature. The former is described as the tasting of colors or seeing of sounds. Projects under this category are created in a way that combines audio and visuals to stimulate the brain. I’ve always been a big fan of projects that explore both audio and visuals at the same time yet this makes me question where the line is drawn between mastering a good balance of both and creating overly stimulating pieces that end up being a bit too much for people. Is there even a limit or is it entirely subjective?  

Projects on the latter hanger, “Deconstruction of Nature,”  are based on natural occurrences and phenomena. These types of projects remind me of Marco Barotti, another artist who draws inspiration from natural phenomena and biological systems. Barotti’s work often involves kinetic sculptures and sound installations that mimic or respond to environmental changes. Like many other artists, both Kurokawa and Barotti saw natural systems with a more microscopic lens and decided to take that as a base for their artistic pieces. Both artists examine nature through a microscopic lens, breaking down organic forms into data-driven structures or reinterpreting biological and ecological systems through interactive installations. Which bridges the gap between nature and technology.

People often compare music to writing mathematical sentences, as both can convey a story of their own. Therefore, I think that it seems natural for sound and composition to represent both abstract and physical aspects of the world. Live coding, combined with visual elements, enhances this representation by engaging multiple senses, creating a richer, more immersive context for the audience. This multisensory experience aligns with Kurokawa’s central concept of “synaesthesia and the deconstruction of nature.” I believe that activating multiple senses simultaneously during a performance not only deepens the audience’s engagement but also highlights the intricate relationship between sound and visual representation. Similar to the way sound waves and color frequencies correspond, the synaesthesis theory leads me to wonder: if sound can be associated with specific colors, can colors, in turn, evoke specific sounds?

Furthermore, it is through the visual representation of sound that deeper meaning emerges. By transforming the auditory into the visual, the performance gains an additional layer of interpretation, embodying what Kurokawa refers to as the “decoding of nature.” This seamless fusion of “graphic analyses and re-syntheses” introduces a poetic quality to the performance, where sound and visuals breathe life into the piece. As a result, the work takes on the fluid, organic qualities of nature, embracing both its structure and its inherent noise and randomness.

Dorothy Feaver’s article on Ryoichi Kurokawa introduced me to an artist who thinks like both a scientist and a poet. Kurokawa’s ability to dissect natural phenomena and rebuild them into immersive audiovisual experiences is captivating. While I found the technical aspects of his work slightly intimidating, the underlying themes of synesthesia and “denaturing” nature resonated with me.

The article paints a vivid picture of Kurokawa’s process, from the isolated Berlin studio to the collaborations with his producer. His concerts, like syn_, aim to fuse sound and image, creating a total sensory experience. The concept of “denaturing” nature, using data to reveal hidden structures, is equally intriguing.

What struck me most was Kurokawa’s almost architectural approach to time and space. He’s not just creating art; he’s designing experiences that challenge our perception. The article left me pondering the relationship between technology and nature, and how artists like Kurokawa can help us see the world in new ways. While I’m not sure I fully grasp the technicalities, I’m definitely curious to experience Kurokawa’s work firsthand and get lost in his synthesized sensory landscapes.

Synesthesia allows artists to experience one sensory input while automatically perceiving it through multiple senses. While Ryoichi Kurokawa is not a clinical synesthete—nor am I—I find myself intrigued by how his artistic process unfolds. In true synesthesia, the brain acts as a bridge between senses, but Kurokawa seems to approach it differently. He envisions the brain not just as a connector but as a target, an audience, or even a collaborator. As he puts it, “I want to stimulate the brain with sound and video at the same time.”

Exploring his portfolio, I noticed a strong sense that his works are created using TouchDesigner (and turns out it’s not). As a new media student constantly exposed to different tools, my instinct was to research his technical choices. But then I came across his statement: “I don’t have nostalgia for old media like records or CDs, and I’m equally indifferent toward new technology.” This struck me. As an artist, he moves fluidly, guided not by tools but by his vision, much like the way he deconstructs nature’s inherent disorder only to reconstruct it in his own way. It’s not the medium that matters—it’s the transformation.

Watching Octfalls, I could already imagine the experience of standing within the installation, anticipating each moment, immersed in the sudden and precise synchronization of sound and visuals. As I explored more of his works, I noticed how they differ from what I have seen in many audiovisual performances, where sound usually takes precedence while visuals are more of a support role. In Kurokawa’s pieces, sound and visuals are equal partners, forming a unified whole. This made me reconsider my own approach—perhaps, instead of prioritizing one element over the other, a truly cooperative relationship between sound and visuals could be even more compelling.

“Nature is disorder. I like to use nature to create order and show another side of it. I like to denature.” Kurokawa bends over the iMac, clicks through examples of his work on a hard drive, and digs out a new concert piece that uses NASA topographic data to generate a video rendering of the Earth’s surface. Peaks and troughs dance overa geometric chunk on the black screen, light years from the cabbie’s satnav. “The surface is abstract, but inside it’s governed by natural laws,” he says.

I find Kurokawa’s perspective on nature as disorder, and his desire to “denature” it very interesting, particularly how it resonates deeply with the tension between chaos and order that exists in both art and science. His use of natural data such as NASA’s topographic information to create structured, perhaps even arguably a surreal presentation of the Earth highlights the duality between the organic and the artificial. It suggests that while nature may appear unpredictable, it operates within a framework of fundamental laws that can be harnessed and reshaped through human interpretation. 

Kurokawa ultimately challenges our perception of what is ‘natural’ and what is ‘artificial.’ His work demonstrates that the act of imposing order on nature does not necessarily strip it of its essence but rather reveals another dimension of its beauty—one that we might not perceive in its raw, untamed state.  

Dissected, “de-natured,” and distilled into abstract sounds and images, natural phenomena become eccentric compositions, revealing the wonders contained within.

Ryoichi Kurokawa’s artistic approach reminds me of deconstruction—the process of breaking down natural forms, sounds, and movements into abstracted components before reassembling them into new configurations. His work does not aim to capture nature as it appears to the naked eye; rather, he dissects it, isolates its underlying structures, and reconstructs it through audiovisual synthesis. This act of deconstruction is not about destruction but rather about rediscovery, revealing hidden layers of complexity that are often overlooked in everyday perception.

In Octfalls, Kurokawa takes the movement of water—something familiar and continuous—and deconstructs it into disjointed yet synchronized audiovisual fragments. The cascading motion of waterfalls is translated into sharp, digital interruptions, reframing the fluidity of nature as something mechanical, algorithmic, and layered. In this process, he distills the essence of motion rather than merely illustrating it, allowing the audience to experience nature in a new, mediated form.

This act of reconstruction aligns with the Japanese aesthetic concept of wabi-sabi, which values imperfection and the beauty of decay. Kurokawa’s work does not seek to present a polished, idealized version of nature; instead, he embraces its instability and unpredictability. His compositions often feature glitches, distortions, and irregularities, mirroring the natural world’s inherent disorder. Through deconstruction, he does not strip nature of its essence but rather uncovers its transient, ever-evolving nature, which keeps the audience continuously engage in the nature system.