ART REVIEWS : Expressionism Influences ‘Tokyo Illustration Now’

In the minds of most Westerners the prototypical Japanese artwork is the famous ukiyo-e . These 19th-Century woodblock prints of Tokyo’s “floating world” of courtesans, theater folk and the daily life of the demimonde had huge influence on European artists like Toulouse-Lautrec.

Positioned precisely on the border between fine art and graphic design, the prints embody a Japanese aesthetic that avoids silly distinctions made in the West. The woodblocks were probably ancestors of Pop art. No wonder the Japanese remain outstanding makers of that form of visual entertainment we denigrate as commercial art. No wonder it’s worth having a look at “Tokyo Illustration Now” at the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center in Little Tokyo.

It presents recent works by 117 members of the Tokyo Illustrators Society; such exhibitions became an annual event at the JACCC in 1987. According to gallery director Robert Hori, Japan remains one of the world’s great centers of graphic design. In contrast to the shrinkage of print media here, the island nation publishes some 5,000 magazines a week. There is time to read while traveling the country’s mobbed public transportation system, which is also a perfect showcase for all manner of posters.

Japanese illustrators can’t keep up with the demand but they also tend to belong to the strata of society that thinks their culture is a bit too tradition-bound. They try to ease the social strictures by doing what Japanese artists have always done--absorb aspects of other art into their own.

One of the most surprising influences here is that of German Expressionism. Toshiaki Ono’s nightscape tips its hat to Edvard Munch. Kyozo Hayashi’s portrait of a man mulls on Teutonic artists like Max Beckmann. It seems downright paradoxical that an art famous for restraint should be magnetized to one renowned for excess.

Well, maybe not, opposites being universally attractive. The German connection, however, causes us to see a kind of psychic formula for much of this work. When cute, it raises the saccharine content to diabetic levels. Look at the image of a peasant doll by Taku Tashiro. When grungy, it delights in the flatulence of a Magritte-like image of a woman with goblet breasts by Mitsuru Gotsuji. When sexy, it dares more than its Western sources. A drawing by Arika Uno begins with a Caravagesque image of St. John’s decapitated head. Salome kisses it, her face emerging from her lower abdomen.

We do a mental double-take at such imagery but it’s never remotely offensive. Its charge is tamed by traditional exercise of exquisite craftsmanship and formal good manners.

* Japanese American Cultural and Community Center, Dozaki Gallery, 244 S. San Pedro St., Little Tokyo; through Dec. 19, closed Mondays . (213) 628-2725.

10 Vegas Visions: From the look of it, Peter Alexander had a hellish time bringing off the 18 paintings, pastels that make up his “Las Vegas” series at James Corcoran Gallery. It is not easy art. It has the horrific edge of the early Francis Bacon. It is to be reckoned with.

The glittering gambling center’s weird combination of religious rectitude and greedy opulence is enough to take the fun out of sin. The amusement kindled by its colossal vulgarity curdles in the spectacle of neon acres gobbling energy in an orgy of waste. The town resists artistic interpretation like a marble statue in a bullet-proof vest.

Alexander got at it by approaching the whole boring purgatory like an intelligent and cultivated loser with too many substances in his veins, wandering outside the casinos at 4 a.m. He fixated on reproductions of classical statuary. Flashy colored lights turn “Winged Victory” into a scarlet harlot harpy. In “Spades” a white Venus melts into rubbery ectoplasm glowing with extraterrestrial halations. Caesar commands the scene gesturing in illumination as green as money.

In some ways, Alexander has made a career of transforming scorned substances like plastic and black velvet into art of classical lyricism or enchanted mystery. Las Vegas sucked him into a space that is at once quagmire and vortex. Intensely personal, the paintings nonetheless pose tough questions about what this culture has done to art and the people who make it. The work doesn’t sermonize or scold. It wonders in a state edged with terror.

The bottom line here is written by a technical achievement I’ve never seen before. Using just paint, Alexander creates the convincing and discomfiting sensation of staring into the headlights of an oncoming car. It’s the move that makes the images work both as painting and as expression. It’s the light that blinds, the light that binds. It may be lethal.

Also on view are two small newcomers’ exhibitions. Shelagh Keeley shows drawings based on vintage prints of anatomical parts and human mutants. Melissa Jones’ work echoes combinations of Fernando Botero and Jose Luis Cuevas. Because neither of these promising artists has quite yet defined herself it’s impossible to say anything definitive about them.

* James Corcoran Gallery, 1327 5th St., Santa Monica; through Dec. 31, closed Sunday and Monday. (310) 451-4666.