Futura

In Conversation with Futura

CONVERSATIONYou've been traveling a lot and there's no signs of you slowing down. Are you used to this fast pace or has it just gotten more hectic recently? It's been more. My whole life, I think, I've been a nomad. But certainly on a professional level, like this last year, '19, it's been very accelerated with a lot of things happening. I'm here with you now, obviously. We're at the show here in Brooklyn. I'm headed to Morocco to pursue some opportunity there in a public arts space, in addition to a public art project for 2020, which I hope to bring some other artists along to as well.

Speaking of collaborations, you're kind of killing it this year with ACW, Off-White, New York Mets. Not only in fashion but also in the fine art sphere, too. So how are you approaching these collaborative issues? It's not all-encompassing, and everything is not just looked at in one specific way. The Mets thing was a miracle, in a way, how that came to be. I've been a Mets fan since I was a kid, so for that to happen was awesome. Meeting Virgil some five, six years ago, having that friendship arrive to where we are today, and the stuff we're doing and that's still about

to drop. Reconnecting with my Tokyo community. The year started off also doing the installation at Supreme's new store in the Bowery, so it's been a great year. But then again, I'm only revisiting friendships that I’ve had for a quarter century. With certain people, obviously— like personally with James—my relationship in Tokyo goes back that far also. I feel timing and this whole move coming back around. You know, everything comes in circles. And I’m just grateful to still be relevant and healthy. In the past I used to be a little more, “Yeah, it's cool. Let it all happen when it happens.” Now I am trying to help it happen. And it feels great. It's wonderful just to have the support from my community and the culture at large.

When you're talking about recommitting relationships, specifically in Tokyo, are you saying you're going to have that sort of homage exhibition? Yes.

I know one of those guys is Jun Takahashi. Can you tell us how you first met him? Yeah. Jun and I also go back probably... He's one of the first ten people from that kind of Harajuku

crew community. The NIGOs, the Hiroshis, the Juns. Everyone who was part of that initial Tokyo. So many years ago—specifically with Jun. Jun was different, even from the very beginning. I knew Jun was a real fashion designer. He wasn't just someone trying to do a company and or have these products and all of that.

Back in ’99, maybe 2000, we did a collection together that he had called “Generation, Fuck You.” And he did some remarkable pieces of mine that were…He made some umbrellas and some really wonderful pants and just really odd pieces. They weren't T-shirts and hoodies and whatever. It was not proper couture in the sense of high fashion. Even seeing Jun last season in one of his runway shows, he’s still using the garment bags that I designed 20 years ago in his exhibition events today. So we've had a long friendship.

Who do you consider your graffiti peers? Lee Quiones, and this show specifically; as far as my roots in New York, Eric Haze, Lee, Crash, Daze. I mean, I think that this show here at Beyond the Streets is really amazing in a historical context, right? Because we're celebrating what is considered

today a very much accepted art movement that lives all over the planet. We like to think we're the mecca [in New York] for this whole story: someone like Lee, who was painting trains in the mid-’70s; Crash, Daze, and work that can be seen through photography of Henry Chalfant and Martha Cooper with artists; Rammelzee's work is here, rest in peace. Dondi White, rest in peace, Stay High. So many of our lost graffiti alumni, not to mention the Jean-Michels and the Keith Harings. And the Andys. There's a lot of people who are gone who were also very much part of this whole story. Shoot to 2019, 2020, and here I am, you know, in my sixty-fourth year.

You're turning 64? Yeah, which sounds… I'm a November baby. I'm late in the year, so I try to ride out that youth as long as I can. It’s pretty amazing because I don't feel like that. Forty years ago, like 1981—oh my God! Nah, 1980— I sold a painting for $200. A small square painting. I remember going home later that night thinking, wow, that thing took me a couple of hours. That's a hundred bucks an hour. That's really good money. I thought, wow, maybe you can be successful as an artist, right?

Even though like in 1980 or ’81, I wasn't much of an artist. Yes, I had painted the famous break train, but still the crossing-over from this street world to a legitimized culture was very intimidating. And now I'm not so intimidated by someone's money or the facility or the venue. I remember I used to go into museums and be like, oh my God, so impressed with the structure. It seemed so exclusive. So high end. In reality, art is for the public, you know? And one shouldn't be intimidated by those structures.

Tell us about the creative parallel between you and your son, Tim. It's funny. In the very beginning, obviously, I told Timmy, hey, haters gonna hate. It's just the way of the world that people will look at you as, oh, you're Futura's son, blah, blah, blah. You know, this was all doors open because, well duh, what do you think a parent is going to do? They are always going to try to do the best they can.

But I didn't want my son being an artist. A child of someone famous is always going to be subject to a kind of legacy and like, “Oh, your parents have done something for you.” I was so pleased when Timmy pursued his own avenue of creativity. He's

probably got the worst penmanship in the world, but give him a camera or some tech and he's like a little genius. As a kind of first-generation IG guy, capturing the imagination of all these kids at the moment. I feel like he's very much a product of his time.

What's the difference between the old school and this new school? My school comes from a little bit of angst and rebellion. We were a part of a society that was not really happy with everything, and we wanted some change in life. That's how the graffiti thing happened. I think we really wanted to express ourselves. We were willing to break the law to do that.

Today, there's no climate for that. Everybody's settled in and just doing what they're doing, and they don't want to mess anything up. And that's it. And, of course, all the security measures… It's a different world. So it's not possible to be as wild and like, ah, yeah, fuck it, as we were. That's just the nature of it. I'm so happy. I've lived almost like a couple of lives— a couple of worlds, even.

Right now you're building a catalog, right?

The name of that is called the catalog Raisonné. And it's a very legitimate academic [effort.] And every artist of any stature has one. It’s basically every work that has been catalogued through. They have staff and whoever organizes an artist's catalog Raisonné. I've looked at other artists’ just as a reference. They're very extensive. I never thought I would have one for me, but it's nice. There's that much work out there. I was able to find income without selling paintings or relying on painting as a means to an end. I get bored. It's why I like painting and then characters, products. I just hate doing the same thing over and over.

When you talk about characters though, you’ve been carrying the Pointman throughout your whole career. Thank you. Giger. 1979 H.R. Giger.

Is that where it comes from? Without question. Even Charlie's rendition, this FL002, the whole pointed head figure, that's how it came to me. In the early ’90s, I don't know why people never were getting it, but I was always like, “Oh man, somebody's going to call me on the carpet.” But yeah, I mean Giger was my influence for that. But at the

same time, I was trying to do robots. Giger's characters were pretty anatomical or biological. They were more like creatures from real life rather than robots. And I had come from robots—like ’50s, ’60s sci-fi tech. Though 2001: A Space Odyssey is the movie that made me. It’s the movie that gave me direction in my life as far as a vision of something.

And that's how I became, in 1970, Futura 2000. Because it was like, “Well, it was clear I got something from that film, and I'm going to steal from it and at least a four-digit number.” And that's how I arrived at 2000.

Is retirement even a question for you?

I saw that and I liked that question because I laughed. I was like, when? I even have had that chat with myself. How am I going to do it? Because honestly, yeah, I'm the Beatles when I'm 64. Okay. Who cares? But I need another 30, okay. I need another 30 for sure. So maybe at 94.

“WHAT’S THE

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE OLD SCHOOL

AND THIS NEW SCHOOL?

MY SCHOOL COMES FROM

A LITTLE BIT OF ANGST AND

REBELLION.”