Conversation with enamel artist Toshiko Tanaka on her experience as an atomic bomb survivor and the stories behind her artwork

When did your passion for art begin?
 
I have enjoyed drawing since I was a child, perhaps around five years old. In elementary school and junior high school, we didn’t have access to illustrations or cartoons, so my classmates who were not good at drawing would gather around me and request pictures of dolls and such.  My friend remembers it well and said that my math notebook was full of drawings.
 
I wanted to enter art school, but during the war it was impossible. A week before the atomic bombing, my family was told to move around 2 kilometers away from the hypocenter. We moved to a relative’s house and had to leave all our belongings. My father left for the war and then the atomic bomb fell. We were left with no money, no possessions, nothing. There was no luxury or time to go to school and study. My parents had to make ends meet, and my mother learned how to mend clothes that were damaged in the dry cleaners. We kids would pick up the clothes from the dry cleaners after school, and after my mother finished her mending, we would take our father’s bicycle to distribute them.
 
Later, after graduating high school, with the money I had saved up I enrolled in the Bunka Fashion College in Shinjuku, Tokyo to study design. However, after earning my college degree I had no savings left and felt miserable, so I returned to Hiroshima.

There weren’t any design jobs in Hiroshima at the time, so I got married instead. My mother-in-law was quick to understand my passion for art, and found a three-month enamel art course and told me she would look after my second newborn baby if I enrolled. After completing the course, I studied under Keiichi Saito, a graduate from the Tokyo University of the Arts and an enamel artist, immersing myself in the craft of enameling. To further my studies, I applied for a course at the Tokyo University of the Arts that was held for one month during the summer break. At the time, I also had an art piece that was accepted by the Japan Fine Arts Exhibition.
 
At times I was unsure about my design capability, but I would keep in touch with my mentor Keiichi Saito and slowly gained more confidence. 30 years later, I received a box out of the blue from him filled with his treasured paints and tools. He left a letter saying, "You were my best student. I will leave these to you." He passed away a few months later. He was always watching over me.

In addition to your work as an artist, you have traveled the globe to share your experience and personal story while also raising awareness about global issues and the environment. Is it correct that you started sharing your experience as an A-bomb survivor beginning in 2008 when you boarded the Peace Boat?
 
I actually first boarded the Peace Boat in 2007, but after learning more about the program I applied once again in 2008 for a voyage to Venezuela in South America. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to share my story since there were many other hibakusha (A-bomb survivors) on board. However, during the trip, the main engine broke down and we became stranded in Turkey. Since preparations had already been made for our visit to South America, three other members and I were chosen to fly out to Venezuela.
 
At first, I was hesitant to speak about my experience, since I felt my classmates and those who died in war resented us survivors. It was only after we reached Venezuela and through conversations with people there that I was convinced that it was my obligation to convey what I had experienced out of a sense of responsibility to the atomic bomb victims. It felt important to share their stories so they could be remembered, to have some kind of memorial, and to honor them properly. That's why, at 70 years old, I decided to start sharing my own experiences and have been doing so ever since.
 
At the same time, although a lot of my artwork stems from my memories of experiencing the nuclear disaster, I am also concerned about other issues like global warming and rising levels of CO₂, and this is subconsciously incorporated into my art. When I think about the disasters that could cause the extinction of life, I can’t help but wonder if I can raise awareness, and that is why I share my stories across the globe.

We are here today for the art exhibition “Echoed Tranquility,” where you are showcasing three artworks and participating in a dialogue event. This is also your first time visiting Southeast Asia to share your experience as an A-bomb survivor and introduce your art. Could you tell us how you are feeling right now?
 
I’m very excited. Out of all places, I never thought that my work would be recognized in Southeast Asia. I am beyond grateful and am determined to do my best during my stay here.
I believe that there many challenges involved in carrying out this project, including transporting my paintings from Japan to Thailand. Although I don’t really have much to lose anymore, everyone is working extremely hard to protect the artwork, and this is a joy that I have never known before at the age of 85. I am incredibly grateful to the people at the Sasakawa Peace Foundation.

The main theme of this exhibition explores how the global community can realize a peaceful society without the use of force and violence. How does art function as an important tool for recovery from conflict?
 
It is difficult to give concrete example of how art can be useful for recovery from conflict, but we do use it in many different aspects. Soldiers sang war songs to give themselves strength and energy to march into war and sacrifice their lives. The opposite is also true in the sense that the Bells of Nagasaki were built to comfort people’s hearts after the war. These art forms of songs and music were used both for war and recovery. It’s very inspiring. Art is an abstract tool has the power to move something inside of you.
 
Personally, there is no way I could directly express my experience within my art that easily, so instead I do it in a slightly evasive, abstract way with a symbol of some kind to convey my feelings. Until recently, I didn't know if that would accurately convey my message, but some of the trauma I felt subsided. The trauma I have experienced feels less heavy and it’s a form of consolation for myself. I continued to make more artworks because with each piece my heart feels lighter than before. It’s as if I am shedding old skin each time. I used to be very sensitive and sad when I was younger, but now I can say I have grown into a happier person.

Do you think it is important to have both artists who have experienced conflict firsthand and those who work with imagination to collaborate and create art together?
 
Well, that is certainly a new take, but I agree. After all, people with different experiences do not have the same perspectives. By looking at things from different angles we may find some answers, but it is important to know that there is no “right” answer. The same is true of war. From the enemy's point of view, their way is right, and from our point of view, our way is right. There is no middle ground. However, I think art can explore both and all possibilities. I believe that all of us have a unique talent that we are to discover, and by channeling our strengths we can share our various perspectives. This might even have a positive impact on the world.
 
What message do you want the audience to take back from your work?
 
Being an A-bomb survivor, it is impossible for humankind to live with nuclear weapons on this earth. Although I made these enamel paintings 30 or 40 years ago, my mind hasn’t changed. I no longer want to look back on the tragedies of war. I am too old to continue enduring it. Conflict continues and we humans are not progressing, but I still have hope. We still come together and hold events like this art exhibition. When I see young people support and participate, it makes me so happy I could cry. Young people have this energy within them that can awaken change.