Yuree Kensaku

Thailand-born and of Thai and Japanese descent, multidisciplinary artist Yuree Kensaku is known for her candy-colored, surrealist and cartoon-like murals layered with dark humor, sarcasm, and pop-culture symbolism. At first glance her paintings are inviting, exuberant, and deceptively simple but bubbling beneath the surface is bold social commentary, personal introspection, and allegory. In 2020, at the second Bangkok Art Biennale, she presented the painting Bleu Blanc Rouge (2020) and sculpture Broken Victoria (2020), both works that could be read as critical of Thailand’s monarchy and in support of protestors calling for revolution and political reform.

For HT22 two large-scale murals on canvas from Kensaku’s immersive installation Atmosfear (2017) can be seen at the Honolulu Museum of Art. First presented at 100 Tonson Gallery in Bangkok in 2017, the project is inspired by the popular 1980s Japanese TV show Space Sheriff Gavan. The protagonist, an officer in the Galactic Union Police, is charged with the responsibility of protecting Earth from the invading Makuu Empire, an evil dimension created and ruled by its leader, Don Horror, who seeks total domination of the universe. The term ‘Makuu Space’ has become a colloquial Thai term that refers to uncomfortable and intense situations. Kensaku builds on the cross-cultural duality of the word makuu by creating her portmanteau ‘atmosfear’.

The resulting mural is an eruption of anxiety, both personal and universal. Kensaku depicts some of the many crises we face today on a global level—climate change, natural disaster, political turmoil, and forced displacement, to name a few. Her compositions spew out in a stream-of-conscious-like sequence. Avoiding a critical lens on these issues, Kensaku presents them spontaneously.

In the panel Haphazard Animals, Kensaku depicts animals people are commonly afraid of in an innocuous and cute manner—sharks, jellyfish, snakes, large cats, and alligators play in a seaside landscape—while skulls, crossbones, and other symbols of danger remind viewers of their potential harm. In Land of the Mermaid, the second panel on exhibition, Kensaku portrays the mythical half-woman, half-fish creatures as happy and carefree. They live amid the pollution and detritus of cans, propane tanks, beer bottles, and plastic bags—presumably discarded by careless humans. One mermaid appears to be deep-fried like the shrimp tempura tangled in her hair. Viewers are caught in a riptide of bright colors and sinister figures, which ultimately makes one feel makuu—uncomfortable.