Review by Graham Johnstone
Yayoi Kusama is a phenomenon, with a massive social media following, queues round the block for her multimedia exhibitions, and a prestigious museum in her native Japan.
Simon Elliott’s earlier titles were published by an illustrated book imprint, and fit that form as large illustrations with inset details, moved from aspect-to-aspect, rather than moment-to-moment. Typical comics devices, like panel grids, speech balloons, and hand-lettering, were largely absent. Kusama: Polka Dot Queen is more like a graphic novel as Elliott expands his narrative approach, retaining documentary-style captions, but adding ‘biopic’-style dramatised scenes with dialogue. Some large blocks of narration may have been better woven through panels, but they enable compressed narration, so freeing space to properly stage key moments. The dialogue is often large mouthfuls, or sounding more like narration than characters speaking. However, across captions and speech balloons (mostly monologues), Kusama’s personal experience is vividly captured, and powerful enough to outweigh, such technicalities of style.
A poetic opening teases Kusama’s worldview, and hooks the reader into a chronological account, from her 1929 “tough” birth to the elderly artist, 96 at publication, contemplating death. Her mental health issues are introduced early, and poetically, including her conversing with pumpkins, later recurring motifs in her work, and her art is ‘framed’ as a way of coping. This adds to the poignance of Kusama’s parents blocking her vocation, and the boldness of her escape to America. A starving artist story gains fresh details, like the shock of the New York cold, and scavenging for fish heads. Her semi-romantic relationship with reclusive artist Joseph Cornell is charming and candidly handled, and her return to Japan and eventual acclaim suitably conclude a fascinating, indeed, unique, life.
Some elements, though, are unclear, like what made Japanese art-form Nihonga, and not others, suitable for a wife-in-training? Her burning her artwork before leaving for America is a powerful image, but we’re left guessing why. Sources based on Kusama’s own accounts may be unreliable, like how exactly did she see her father in flagrante whilst away from home? Still, truth, spin, or invention, it’s all part of the Kusama story, and well told here.
A late starter prompted by Covid-19 Lockdown and part-time artist, Elliott’s pages are simple but effective. A move from technical pens to brushes better reflects Kusama’s work, foregrounding the imperfections of the human hand. When the storytelling shifts mode between documentary (e.g. historical context) and Kusama’s expressive subjectivity, the inking style ensures continuity. The art is mostly black and white, while uses of colour initially seem random, then emphasise the shifts from prosaic reality into creative release. This progressively pays off, with Kusama’s signature polka dots bursting colourfully into the pages. Elliott increases in confidence over the book, with montage effects evoking a turbulent state of mind, and interpretations of her film and installation art, particular highlights.
Graphic biographies of artists are now a significant genre. Laudable moves to find marketable subjects other than Dead-White-Males have resulted in rival volumes on more diverse artists (see recommendations). Kusama, herself is already subject of a graphic biography by Elisa Macellari, indeed a genre highlight. Key events are inevitably duplicated, if rendered somewhat differently. Kusama fans picking this up will find a fascinating story, engagingly told, and owners of the Macellari volume, may still enjoy Elliott’s charming account.
