During a summer trip to Stoneleaf Retreat in the Hudson Valley, NeueHouse members got to meet Moko Fukuyama, a Japanese-American artist who can turn a fallen tree into a sculpture that feels both ancient and futuristic. Her work, which draws on everything from fishing lures to political divides, manages to reflect the strangeness of living between worlds—culturally, environmentally, and personally. In her conversation with NeueJournal, Fukuyama opens up about her process, the odd beauty of reclaimed materials, and what she’s working on next.
Name: Moko Fukuyama
Hometown: Chiba, Japan
Currently residing in: Brooklyn, New York
Much of your work takes into account location and places you’ve lived. How do you view your relationship to place as an artist? How has living and making art in New York specifically affected your practice?
The places and people around me truly inspire my work. Growing up in Japan, I was captivated by the United State’s influence on global culture and politics, which led me to move to the U.S. in my early twenties to pursue my own version of the “American Dream.” Living in various locales—from Ames, IA, to Memphis, TN, to Boston, MA, and New York City—has given me a deeper understanding of the political and cultural divides we face today. Art is my way of addressing social issues that impact both my life and the broader American experience, like the shrinking middle class, disappearing forests, and our polarized political landscape. My work blends my Japanese heritage with my emerging American identity, shining a light on our shared struggles and resilience through dialogue-driven experimental art. Each project I take on reflects current themes—whether it’s environmental issues, human rights, or economic inequality. I develop different sets of artistic strategies – whether they be the material choice, the form, or the process – that are unique to my inquiries, striving to capture both the big picture and the finer details—seeing both the “forest and the trees.” New York City feels like both a forest and a tree: elusive and dynamic, always requiring me to be prepared for change—whether for better or worse. There’s no time to be nostalgic, and honestly, I find that refreshing.
You frequently use fallen trees, salvaged trees, reclaimed timber, etc. in your sculptures—including in your piece Ashes to Ashes (2022) currently on display at Stoneleaf Retreat. What appeals to you about using found materials?
I’m drawn to reclaimed timber because it’s so abundant. I look for trees that have either fallen naturally or been removed by people. It’s interesting how we celebrate trees while they’re standing tall, but once they fall, they often just become obstacles—unless they’re destined for the lumber industry. Nature can be viewed as an asset, a burden, or even a punitive force.
In my recent sculptures, like Ashes to Ashes (2022), I craft each piece from the ground up—both literally and figuratively. I embark on a sort of “hunt” for these fallen trees, tapping into a wide network to find them. Once I bring them to my studio, I mill and/or shape them into their final forms. This process feels similar to fishing or preparing food; there’s something deeply intimate about it. The wood tells its own story, shaped by sun, rain, wind, and time, often affected by pests and pathogens. I love how it reveals its character through its rings, grain, knots, and burls. Some parts of the wood are more valuable, much like toro in tuna or filet mignon in beef. The tree shifts from being unwanted to desired, all because of what lies within. Working with fallen trees has really helped me appreciate their imperfections and the uniqueness of each piece. There’s a spiritual and primal essence in my sculptures that makes them feel raw and deeply connected to nature. I often transform them into objects that evoke a sense of amphibious existence, reflecting our evolution and devolution—hinting at a possible future return to water as a result of climate change.
Aesthetically, you often combine natural forms and shapes with futuristic or surrealistic colors and positioning—like painting flames on a fishing lure made of fallen timber or placing a tree roots-up and painting it with urethane. What draws you toward putting this type of aesthetic contrast on display in your work?
I have a passion for fishing and cars, and I love exploring the culture and industry surrounding both. There’s something fascinating about themes like speed, mobility, and functionality, but at the end of the day, looks are just as important. Right now, I’m diving into the idea of “allure” by examining aerodynamic and hydrodynamic principles to see how shapes, colors, and patterns attract us—much like how fish are drawn to lures.
When you think about it, elements like roots, burls, and branches, are all shaped by air and water. The contours of trees naturally possess these aerodynamic and hydrodynamic qualities from their environments. I alter and preserve these features to create new figures. I partially cover the wood with a tactile, highly synthetic paint that’s reminiscent of sports cars like Lamborghini. It’s like “nature” encased within an artificial world. This playful approach highlights consumer desires and ownership while questioning what we really mean by “nature” or “natural”.
Many of your sculpture pieces are displayed outdoors. Is this something you pursue intentionally? How do you think displaying a piece in an outdoor environment changes how it is perceived?
I definitely enjoy creating works for outdoor display, particularly in the form of public art that has a degree of site specificity. But that’s not always the case. All of these sculptures are versatile; they can be displayed both indoors and outdoors.
Your recent sculpture See the Forest for the Sea (2024), a larger-than-life 3D tackle box, is currently on display at Silver Eel Cove on Fishers Island in New York. Fishing and tackles are a recurring theme in your work, and you also do some fishing yourself. What have you learned from fishing itself and from creating artwork along that theme?
Back in 2019, I started a series of wooden sculptures that use fish—our evolutionary vertebrate ancestors—and the act of fishing as a way to explore the deep connections between land and water, as well as between nature and humanity. My journey into recreational fishing actually began several years before that. I quickly learned that lure fishing is all about capturing fish in their natural habitats through a bit of clever manipulation. Lures come in all shapes, colors, and scents, appealing to a fish’s sensitivity to changes in water temperature, light, and pressure. Each material has its own perks when it comes to buoyancy, flexibility, and appearance. Honestly, lures are like art in their own right. A lot of artists play with ideas of camouflage and mimicry, and I’m definitely one of them.
The angler’s gamble hinges on those enticing lures, making the craftsmanship behind them psychological. Fishing lures are more than just tools; they symbolize manipulation, attraction, and betrayal. They reflect our complex—and sometimes morally ambiguous—relationship with nature, prompting us to consider what goes on in the minds of the creatures we’re trying to catch (do they have minds? Must a mind be human to suffer?). Through my work, I aim to challenge our perceptions of the ecosystem and question what and who we constitute prey.
As for the verticality of my sculptures, I wanted to challenge the script on phallic symbolism. It’s funny how carving a sculpture from a log can often look like male genitalia, which is one reason my earlier wooden pieces were more horizontal. I spent a lot of time figuring out how to create vertical works without leaning into masculinity, which led me to build the tackle box as a sculptural intervention. The final piece feels almost like a menagerie—a structure that holds living things captive for public display. While my sculptures don’t exactly resemble specific animals, they suggest an amphibious quality, embodying that blend between land and water. Ultimately, I use fish and fishing to dig into the complex relationships between these realms and humanity.
You just returned from Stoneleaf Retreat as part of the Upstate Art Fair, where you were also a resident in 2022. Who and what inspired you while you were there?
First of all, Stoneleaf Retreat is nestled in Upstate New York, and as someone who explores the deep connections between land and water, nature and humanity, as well as our diverse socioeconomic realities, there’s so much to take away from this experience. It’s fascinating to see how different life can be just two hours north of NYC, particularly regarding the conversations happening between urban and rural spaces—both politically and within art communities.
I’m definitely a people person. My studio in Brooklyn is my happy place, but I feel even more fulfilled when I’m with friends and colleagues—especially when we’re outside our usual urban environment. I really thrive on the chance to live and work alongside other artists in residence, sharing and learning from each other’s experiences. For me, those casual moments—whether it’s over coffee, cocktails, washing dishes, hiking, or just hanging around a campfire—are way more enriching than anything you’d hear from a podium. That’s why I truly embrace the opportunity to share space with fellow artists during a residency.
Stoneleaf Retreat is perfect for that—so intimate and safe. During my first stay in 2022, I had the pleasure of being alongside Sonia Louise Davis and Priscilla Aleman. This time, I was lucky to be living with Adrienne Elise Tarver and Joiri Minaya. Connecting with these amazing artists and sharing our personal stories about navigating the complexities of society and the art world has been such a joy. And I have to give a special shoutout to Helen Toomer and her husband Eric Romano, the founders of Stoneleaf Retreat. They are incredible allies for the arts, always providing us with so much support and care. I truly appreciate them!
What projects are you working on next?
Right now, I’m focused on a large-scale sculpture set to be installed in front of the Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum for a year, opening on November 16. Shortly after that, I’ll shift gears to start a new commission for the Public Art Fund, which is set to debut at Rockaway Beach next summer. Stay tuned!
