If an artisan's touch can venerate obscene materials to the level of art, then perhaps
Azuma Hideo and
Aoyama Yuki will integrate loli-con aesthetics into the public sphere—or at least keep the censors off their backs for a little while longer. Azuma Hideo, recovering alcoholic and pioneer of the
erotic-cute style of manga popularized in the late 70's, recently met with photographer Aoyama Yuki, best known for his tantalizing collections featuring schoolgirls in surreal poses, to discuss their collaboration on a new omnibus of Azuma's works.
On Aoyama Yuki
Azuma:
His photos manage to be erotic without showing the girl's face—that impressed me most. He leads your eye to the minutia, the wrinkles in a shirt, the ratio of fabric to flesh. He focuses on the parts you want to stare at on the train, but can't in fear of being arrested. There's something wholesome about that.
Aoyama:
A
photo book is a collection of one panel manga. Each photograph is
self-contained. There's no grand narrative, no connectivity, so a single
frame needs to tell an entire story.
Disconnectivity
is the core of my work. Typically at fashion shoots, the photographer
tries to build up a rapport with the girl—“Yes yes, give me more!” But
I want to remain removed without creating a relationship. I don't personally know the subject, so I can't ask them to act a certain way. I get more
natural poses when I resign myself to their nature.
Likewise,
I maintain a disconnect between the subject and viewer with barriers. A
chair leg, a window frame, a wall of foreground defocus. Anything to put a
visual element between you and the girl.
On Azuma Hideo
Azuma: Everything is ad-libbed while following the classic 4-act structure of beginning-rising action-twist- conclusion. I start with a main theme, then connect each panel with gags to serve as a part of the larger whole. The narrative needs to loop back on itself. It can't be nonsense. The punchline should be logical, even if the logic is self-contained—we're talking science fiction, after all.
Some of my characters have developed a life of their own. Like Nanako and Mia from Scrap Gakuen. They're still tumbling around inside my head, waiting for their roll call.
Learning how to draw girls is an ongoing study. Aoyama's books are a great reference for how skirts fold and shirts crease. My style has changed more times than I like to admit since the 70's, but the fundamentals are the same—a young face with a big chest and fat ankles.
Aoyama:
Puberty introduces boys to girls as an object of sexual desire without providing
a way to connect with them. That's why us men are always stealing looks,
peaking over our shoulders. Azuma's work contains that same cocktail of
sexual frustration and daydream innocence. His drawings manage to be
cute and pure despite the grotesque motifs—bugs, poop, violence. His
simple lines are purposeful and kinetic, ready to jump off the page.
On their Trademark Design Element:
Azuma:
The juxtaposition of slender limbs poking out of baggy clothing. Like cardigans or puffy blouses that scrunch up at the sleeve.
Aoyama:
Most of my models are backlit to create a crisp silouette and posed to create depth—for example, partially showing the other leg obstructed by the foreground leg prevents the image from looking flat.
On Following Trends:
Azuma:
There used to be more classically trained artists drawing comics. These days, everyone is simply a manga artist. Manga artists aren't draughtsmen—they can't draw anatomically accurate human forms.
We copy from other manga artists. Me, from Tezuka and Ishinomori Shotaro. People copied Otomo when he was big, then Takahashi Rumiko when she was big. Our drawing style shifts with trends because we have no core integrity.
Aoyama:
The same thing happens in the photography world. When Ninagawa Miki made her break, suddenly everyone rediscovered primary colors.
On Keeping It Real
Azuma:
A certain level of abstraction shields my manga from the censors. Setting nude characters against surreal backgrounds or omitting the man during sex scenes helps diffuse the smut potential.
It would be short-sighted to say that my work didn't have any effect on society. But that doesn't mean that I should limit my imagination and creativity because of that.
Aoyama:
You can photograph a young girl eating candy, so long as it doesn't have a stick. Lollipops and suckers are off the table. But what if you wanted to shoot her simply enjoying the treat? I think it all boils down to intent. Is the artist trying to create something lewd, or does the viewer pervert it in thier mind?
We live in the real world ruled by lawsuits so we must think pragmatically. Intent is open to interpretation, so it's the editor's call to decide what is fit to print. Take the recent AKB48 “hand bra” debacle. The photographer and models were just doing their jobs. It was the editor who was asleep at the wheel.
On What's Erotic
Azuma:
I'm taking a community college life drawing class. They sit you down to draw a naked woman, but it doesn't do anything for me. The girl needs to be clothed to get my juices going.
Another thing—girls that ooze sex from their pores aren't interesting either. They leave nothing to the imagination. But take a modest girl. You know she's as dirty as the rest of them behind closed doors. That's where it's at.
Aoyama:
Acting as my own editor, I don't allow panty shots to creep into my work. Spandex shorts only. Think of it like a doughnut. The middle is hollow—no obviously erotic elements at the center—but the outside ring is delicious.
Azuma and Aoyama have overlapping themes and visuals despite differences in their personal perversions and the generation gap. The phrase "loli-con" elicits a gag reflex in many, but strip away the sexual politics and you're left with a pleasingly soft aesthetic scented with the sweet smell of nostalgia. Even Freud had to admit that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. How long before the public accepts that sometimes, a lollipop is just a lollipop?
