In the vanguard of visual design, Awazu Kiyoshi (1929-2009) remains a tough specter. Jabbing elbows and knees into the outer membrane of commercial practice, spilling smugly into interstices of perception.
In an empire of thought where design has been concerned mainly with solving a set of communication problems, and art too often occupies itself with signifying/serving critical discourse or chasing a purity of gesture, Awazu was content to braid the hair of the sirens. First a moment of intimidating precision, next a flood of almost abjectly emotional concentra, always cleansed and emulsified with a Zen omnipresence. Jarring simplicity at times gives way to a scuba safari of layered zones populated with endless friendly and menacing details.
“Expectation means a holiday for our eyes and our spirits which are trying to see things.”
Right along with his blazing handwork, Awazu wielded typographic and layout precision with total dominance. One-two punch and a swan song.
This shit gives me chills. Every day I struggle with the circumstances that render me an autodidact; still Awazu stands as a far-out testament to something that ran on pure craft and impulse. No resignatory attempt at transcendence here: rather the forging of an incessant superreality in the face of the external. Jacob wrestling with the angel, middle finger to the zeitgeist.
