Tetsuya Maruyama (Yokohama, 1983) is an artist whose interdisciplinary practice includes film, performance, sound, installation and everything in between.
An owl finds a dove in a twilight bankruptcy, entering the territory he knows it does not belong. Inside this unknown universe of sound/image, two worlds always seem to collide; Whistle of cassette tape/walker, voodoo ritual/new morning and funeral/fisherman's boat.
In school, we learn to remember to live, but in life, we learn to forget to enrich living. Frozen from the film-propaganda, Let the student study (1962), by Jean Manzon, made against the student movement in the pre-coup-d'etat context, a frame is photocopied, stretched and submerged in the cave of time.
Ppresenting a divided image of light and shade, of the seen and the unseeable, Tetsuya Maruyama’s L.O.V.E.S.O.N.G. reflects on the physicality of the analogue film strip. Exposing a scratched image and crackling optical sound, the film abstracts notions of textural wear and tear, life and death, destruction and creation.
The scratched and faded – and at times almost abstracted – home movies that pass through the projector in Tetsuya Maruyama's "Shashin no Ma" simultaneously welcome and resist nostalgia, in what is both a meditation on the physical nature of the analogue film strip and the ghosts that reside within it as well as a poignant tribute by an artist-filmmaker son to his amateur-filmmaker father.
The scratched and faded – and at times almost abstracted – home movies that pass through the projector in Tetsuya Maruyama's "Shashin no Ma" simultaneously welcome and resist nostalgia, in what is both a meditation on the physical nature of the analogue film strip and the ghosts that reside within it as well as a poignant tribute by an artist-filmmaker son to his amateur-filmmaker father.
The scratched and faded – and at times almost abstracted – home movies that pass through the projector in Tetsuya Maruyama's "Shashin no Ma" simultaneously welcome and resist nostalgia, in what is both a meditation on the physical nature of the analogue film strip and the ghosts that reside within it as well as a poignant tribute by an artist-filmmaker son to his amateur-filmmaker father.
The scratched and faded – and at times almost abstracted – home movies that pass through the projector in Tetsuya Maruyama's "Shashin no Ma" simultaneously welcome and resist nostalgia, in what is both a meditation on the physical nature of the analogue film strip and the ghosts that reside within it as well as a poignant tribute by an artist-filmmaker son to his amateur-filmmaker father.