Sculptor of the Wind: In Conversation with Pioneering Japanese Artist Susumu Shingu

Dubbed the “sculptor of the wind,” Japanese artist Susumu Shingu has spent a lifetime making invisible forces visible. Now, at the age of 87, Shingu is the subject of Elated!, his first solo institutional exhibition in the United States, presented by Japan Society in New York. Trained first as a painter and later working in shipbuilding and aerodynamics to better understand how materials move and respond to natural forces, over the years, Shingu has collaborated with the likes of architects Renzo Piano and I.M. Pei, fashion designer Issey Miyake, and choreographer Jiří Kylián, among others. His works are installed everywhere—from Paris and Tokyo to the Arctic—but it is the artist’s own Wind Museum, nestled in the leafy forests of Japan’s Hyogo Prefecture, which perhaps offers the purest and most personal expression of his philosophy. On the occasion of his landmark survey in New York, Shingu speaks with Something Curated’s Keshav Anand about movement as language, collaboration, and the revelations that still come after more than five decades of watching the wind.

Keshav Anand: Your early background and education was in oil painting. I’m curious to understand how and when you became interested in kinetic sculpture?

Susumu Shingu: I was a painter when I was in Rome from 1960 to 1966. However, I felt limited by two-dimensional paintings hung on walls, so I started creating three-dimensional works that only had shapes cut out. The sense of liberation when a work protruding from the wall suddenly begins to move freely, the joy of finally encountering my own world—I still cannot forget those feelings. I became captivated by the charm of invisible energies such as the atmosphere and gravity that surround us. 

KA: You’ve worked extensively with Teflon and steel—materials associated more with aerospace than fine art. How do you discover or select new materials?

SS: Material selection is never arbitrary for me. I choose based on the needs of the sculpture: it must be light, durable, and able to move in response to wind with grace and precision. Teflon-coated fabrics, for example, offer both strength and flexibility, while stainless steel provides the structure needed to support motion over long periods. I often explore materials used in engineering or architecture, testing how they interact with natural forces. What matters most is not what the material is used for traditionally, but whether it can help express the invisible energy of nature in visible form.

KA: Elated! marks your first solo institutional show in the United States. How did you approach selecting the works included in this landmark presentation?

SS: In preparing for Elated!, I worked closely with Dr. Michele Bambling, the Senior Director at Japan Society Gallery. Together, we envisioned an exhibition that would speak not only to the beauty of movement, but also to the deeper message of harmony between humanity and nature. We selected works that could best express this idea across different scales and materials—pieces that invite wonder, curiosity, and quiet reflection. The layout was designed to create a journey for visitors, offering moments of stillness and surprise. Our shared goal was to create an experience that resonates with audiences of all ages and backgrounds, using wind and motion to awaken a renewed appreciation for the planet we all share.

KA: In the past, you’ve described your work as “translating the messages of nature into visible movements.” And in line with this idea, Elated! places particular emphasis on your use of biomimicry, drawing from the forms and behaviours of the natural world. I wonder if you could expand on this?

SS: We live surrounded by invisible energies—wind, gravity, light—that shape our experience of the world, even if we don’t always perceive them. I try to make these forces visible, using movement as a kind of language. Biomimicry is a natural result of that process: insects, birds, leaves, clouds—these are all expressions of how nature moves. I observe their rhythms, their balance, their playfulness. Then, I translate those observations into forms that can respond to the same energies, not to imitate nature, but to harmonise with it.

KA: Over the course of your career, you’ve collaborated with figures such as Renzo Piano, Tadao Ando, and Issey Miyake. What makes a collaboration meaningful to you?

SS: I’ve never actively asked someone to collaborate with me. The most meaningful partnerships develop over time, through mutual respect and shared vision. My collaboration with Renzo Piano, for example, has lasted over 40 years. What keeps it alive is the ongoing joy of imagining and creating something new together. When a collaboration flows naturally, it becomes less about two separate creators and more about one continuous dialogue.

KA: The placement of your works in civic or infrastructural contexts, like Kansai Airport or subway stations, implies a belief in integrating art into daily life. Is this something that is important to you?

SS: Yes, I believe that art should not be confined to museums or galleries. When people encounter my sculptures in their everyday routines—in a train station, at an airport, in a public square—it becomes a part of their lived environment. I hope those moments encourage pause and reflection. If we can become more aware of the wind, of movement, of beauty, perhaps we also become a little more aware of each other. And in that awareness, maybe a little more kind.

KA: How do you see your practice within the lineage of Japanese aesthetics? Are there any ideas or movements that you feel particularly connected to?

SS: Living in Rome from the age of 23 to 29 made me more conscious of what it means to be Japanese. That distance gave me a heightened sensitivity to the aesthetic traditions I grew up with—especially the reverence for nature, simplicity, and impermanence. While I don’t align myself with a specific movement, I feel deeply connected to those values. In many ways, I think my sculptures echo ideas found in ma (negative space), wabi-sabi, and other subtle expressions of Japanese sensibility.

KA: You opened the Wind Museum in Hyogo Prefecture in 2014. What motivated you to create this space, and what role does it play in your broader vision?

SS: When I discovered this site—surrounded by forest and water in Arimafuji Park—I felt an immediate connection. It was as if the land itself was inviting my sculptures to live there. The Wind Museum is not just a place to show my work; it’s a space where people can feel the presence of wind and nature with their whole bodies. The sculptures span over 30 years of my practice, each with its own character, all moving together in response to the same invisible energy. It’s a place for contemplation, play, and joy.

KA: And after more than five decades of working with wind, does it still have the ability to surprise you?

SS: Absolutely. I continue to dream of creating a mechanism that can perfectly reflect the delicate and ever-changing rhythms of the wind. It’s a goal I’ve never fully reached—and that’s what makes it so compelling. Every day, I discover something new. There’s always a challenge, an unexpected movement, a moment of grace I hadn’t anticipated. That’s why I never tire of this work. The wind is never the same, and neither is the sculpture it animates.



Susumu Shingu: Elated! is on view at Japan Society Gallery, New York until 10 August 2025.



Feature image: Susumu Shingu, Meadow of Clouds, 1990. Installed at Sapporo Sculpture Garden, Japan. Photo © Shingu Atelier Co., Ltd.