Twentieth century Seattle through the eyes of three Japanese-American painters

In a humble exhibit spanning only three rooms, the Wing Luke Museum brought to light the storied work of 20th century Japanese-American Seattle artists Kamekichi Tokita, Kenjiro Nomura, and Tukuichi Fujii. Although highly regarded in their time, their work has since fallen into relative obscurity. Their burgeoning careers were cut short and their lives shattered by the internment of Japanese-Americans during WWII, from which only Nomura recovered and rebuilt his artistic life. Although their work has reemerged in recent years, their stories remain ones of tragedy that will forever be incomplete. One cannot help but feel frustration at the injustice they faced, and the toll it took on their art. But, along with this lost potential, there is undoubtable beauty and historical significance that we must be grateful for. In a better world, each artist would have soared to greater heights, but in this one all we can do is appreciate what we are left with. 

After coming to the US during a major period of Japanese immigration, these three painters settled in Nihonmachi –or Japantown– during the peak of its artistic ethos. In this cultural microcosm, over 900 businesses operated, five Japanese newspapers were in print, and a vast world of theater, poetry, dance, and music flourished. Nomura and Tokita opened a sign-painting shop on the steep hillside of 6th Avenue, which grew from a small business to a studio and meeting place for local artists. Fujii also started a small business nearby, becoming a fish merchant with his family. The men would often meet one another on weekend sketching trips outside of Nihonmachi.

Even through the Great Depression, when Nomura and Tokita were forced to close the sign shop and Fujii lost his business, the three men built up their artistic careers from nothing, gaining considerable mainstream admiration. Their work was highly acclaimed in their community, spreading as far as galleries in DC and New York. 

Their styles, as well as their artistic philosophies, have many similarities. They lived and worked in the same place at the same time, and although they each pursued independent careers, their mutual experiences strongly influenced their creative output. At one point, all three of them were a part of The Group of Twelve, a Northwestern art collective which sought to use new ideas in painting to produce evocative and grand works. In their eloquent artistic statements, we see a strong point of overlap between each painter: simplicity. They each had a powerful desire to depict the world as it is, without the influence of other painters, the constrictions of Western rules of painting, or the pressure of conventional technique. Tokita says in the first line of his statement that he “realized the necessity for a greater simplification” in his painting. This parallels Nomura's opening line, in which he explains how he avoids the conventional rules of painting so he can “be free to paint and approach Nature creatively.”

This overlapping philosophy is reflected strongly in their work. We see landscapes undisturbed by ego or interpretation. Faithful and timeless glimpses of our home city in its youth. These images are familiar to any Northwesterner, but maintain an almost haunting atmosphere. Human activity is of little importance. We may see a few people going about their day, but they feel distant. You feel isolated in these empty streets, rendered in dreary yet almost pastel tones.   

In his statement, Fujii said “the most important element in painting is in its power to raise the observer above the everyday affairs of life into a higher plane of existence.” 

With such grandiose words, one might expect something more striking at first glance than the wonderfully mundane paintings he produced along with Nomura and Tokita. But there is unseen beauty in their work and the way it so honestly depicts the world around them. 

They drew inspiration from the urban infrastructure of 1920s and 30s Seattle, depicting mundane objects and places that we easily ignore. In broad brush strokes and dull colors, they bring to life familiar landscapes such as the crowded shipyards of Seattle’s harbour, or the seemingly banal alleyways and street corners of Japantown. Although banal, the subject matter strikes so close to home. No paintings have ever captured the distinct dullness of Seattle so vividly. On the surface, this city may appear gray or lacking in character, but it takes art like that of these three artists to remind me of the subtle beauty behind the grayness. 

Their paintings evoke a sense of belonging, of home. Which makes it all the harder to see the artists ripped away from theirs. After hearing of Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor, Tokita wrote “My diary begins today. I intend to continue writing until the day peace returns. I will keep writing until the day when Japan and the United States shake hands again. I keenly hope that day will come as soon as possible. As I envision the constant torment we will have to face, I see that we will need to be both extraordinarily courageous and patient. It will be a blessing if our family can somehow survive the grave difficulties that lie ahead. I put down my pen to reflect upon the situation. My heart is full to bursting. In a moment, we have lost all the value of our existence in this society. Not only have we lost our value, we're unwanted. It would be better if we didn't exist. The cold wind of December did not blow directly on me until yesterday. It's now blowing right through me. Even the wind doesn't approve of our existence. I feel cold, so cold."

Just months after Tokita wrote these tragic words, he, Nomura, Fujii, and their families were forcibly detained more than 30 miles south of their homes in the Puyallup “Assembly Center” on the Washington State fairgrounds under executive order 9066. After this, they were sent to the long-term Minidoka “Relocation Center” in Idaho, where they would stay detained until the end of the war. 
This marked a dark period in their lives. Nomura continued his artistic pursuits, creating sketches that now serve as valuable records of the Japanese-American experience during WW2. These paintings are haunting, depicting miles of barbed wire beneath blackened skies. After the end of the war, incarcerated Japanese-Americans were left to find their own way home. Fujii moved to Chicago, where his art was forgotten. Tokita and his family returned to Seattle, dying only three years later. Nomura struggled to restart his life, but after encouragement from friends, began painting again. Out of the three, he was the only one to regain some fragment of his former acclaim. 

Today, their work has gained attention, showing up more often in galleries and publications. They are now known nationwide, and their paintings are in demand by many museums. Evidently, their work has outlived them and carried their stories to an ending happier than the ones they got. If only they were here to see it.

Lead photo: Side by Side Opening. Photo credit: Wing Luke Museum.

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