Kongamaluno 1962

Hiroyuki Tajima made Kongamaluno as a print, and it is almost entirely blue. A deep, enveloping blue, like the sky just before night. Imagine Tajima at work, layering ink, pressing the paper, each layer a subtle shift. The central square shimmers with a slightly lighter hue, a constellation of tiny, reflective dots scattered across its surface, like stars. It makes me think about Agnes Martin and her subtle use of colour and form. The texture looks smooth, almost velvety, inviting you to touch it, and I wonder if Tajima was thinking about the cosmos. It feels like you could fall into it, a space of contemplation and quiet wonder. Artists are always talking to each other across time and space. It’s a silent conversation of marks, colours, and ideas, each inspiring the next. Tajima's blue whispers to Rothko’s dark canvases and Reinhardt's nearly black paintings, and it reminds us that painting is about feeling. It is a way to find meaning in the world.