65. Work 2000-Memory of 20th Century,
by Kimiyo Mishima, Art Factory Jonanjima, Tokyo

silkscreen on old firebricks. 20 x 11 metres, 9,000 pieces.

The metro from Hatagaya to Shinjuku, first, and even managing to score a seat, unheard of on this line, changing, looking for the JR Shonen line, found it, but only after being led to where we need to go, standing room only, and it's a fair hike to and through Shibuya, and now we're above ground, and all is momentarily leafy green outside, through Ebisu to Osaki, and out. Next, looking for the Rinkai line, Shin-Kiba direction, and it's not a long wait, through Oimache, the delightfully named Shinagawa Seaside, and having to change, again, at Tennozu Isle, and about to make the transfer to the monorail, and lordy, it's the airport train, everybody else seems to have multiple and massive pieces of luggage, and they lean into the curves along with the train, through Oi-Kelbajomae, and finally the Ryutsu Center. That's it for trains until the return journey. Here, but the map shows we have to walk up, and not exactly sure which which way up is, asking directions from a man in a guard house. That way. "Walking?" he asks, "long." So let the great walk to the Art Factory Jonanjima begin. And an hour later, including two bridges over wide rivers, lunch among the shipping containers, the thousands of lorries and trucks passing, learning that staircases do, in fact, spiral down from overhead freeways, just like they do in Murakami's IQ84, and there's jets leaving the airport that's not Narita straight overhead, and being on the verge of giving up, lost, walking past warehouse after factory after factory were employees on breaks practise baseball pitching and catching and volleyball spikes using the metal fence as the net, getting lost again, and almost accepting that we'd wasted an entire morning if not more. Asking a garage mechanic who sort of guessed where the address we had, 2-4-10 Jonanjima Ota-ku, might actually be, leading us to the second corner, then indicating left, arigatō, arigatō.

But it was good. It was brilliantly good.

Buying the catalogue to justify the hours spent getting there, the four trains, the monster walk. Even the card with the map they gave us on leaving would've been useless, but being shown by the desk chick exactly where the bus stop is, a block down, and yes, we're finally on the bus, the 316, like locals, sort of, and I think we may have been the first tourists, ever, on this bus line. To Omori station, one stop, to here, Oimachi, now waiting for the 14:53 to Shinjuku, and thinking this has been a bloody long day fer the sake of a totally magnificent mess of screenprinted bricks and a labyrinth of newspaper bundles by some installation artist I'd never previously heard of, Kimiyo Mishima, until reading a review in The Japan News, a few days ago.

It was so completely worth it.