Graffiti is an urban underground culture rooted in the street. VIEW is a figure who has been shaped by that culture, inherited it, and continues to embody it today. Throw-ups and tags left on street corners may appear simple at first glance, but behind them lies years of practice — writers constantly refining their style and building it over long stretches of time.

Drawn deeply to that context, VIEW now presents Escape From The Evil Planet, a solo exhibition at BEAMS T, created in collaboration with the apparel brand MAINTAIN. From foundations built on the street, to where he stands now, and the perspective he carries toward the next generation — here, VIEW speaks about it all plainly, without unnecessary embellishment.

──Do you remember what first got you into culture, or your early childhood?

I got really into punk around junior high. But I grew up in the countryside, so the only way to get information I liked was basically through bookstores. There were no cell phones back then. I used to read a magazine called STREET ROCK FILE, published by Takarajima, and all the punk guys in it were covered in tattoos. That’s when I first became interested in tattooing. When I was in high school, a book came out that featured tattoos by punk artists, with sketches and designs in it, and that helped me slowly understand how drawings were put together. My mom also told me that when I was in elementary school I used to draw things like Fujin and Raijin all the time. I don’t really remember that myself, though. At that point, I wasn’t really thinking about graffiti or even doodling much.

──When did you first become aware of graffiti?

After I finished high school and moved to Tokyo. I wanted to be in a band, so I was just drifting around, working part-time jobs. One day, at a meeting for a new job I’d started, there was this guy there who was really into graffiti. He was into punk too, lived nearby, and we just clicked. That was KUDARA. From there, I started becoming more aware of graffiti. Late at night, when everyone was drinking, there were moments when he’d suddenly disappear. I got curious and followed him, and that’s when I saw him bombing, sneaking around and writing. I remember thinking, “This is so fucking cool.”

──Is that how you started connecting with crews in Tokyo?

I’d been doing graffiti seriously for about ten years when I ended up meeting 246 through the flow of things. We’re not connected anymore, though. In the beginning, it was really just play. I didn’t even have a fixed tag — I had friends come up with names for me, and I’d just write around casually. When I started thinking seriously about developing my own style, I ended up getting into trouble with KUDARA. That became one of the reasons we stopped talking much. Losing the person who taught me was frustrating, but by then I was already completely addicted. So I kept going on my own. I’d wander around with just a pen, and little by little I started chasing the essence of it, getting fully obsessed.

──You used to put up a lot of illustrated stickers too. You can still see some around the city.

Around the time things settled down after some trouble, I was making a ton of stickers. The illustrations for the roller-applied stickers were all hand-drawn by me. Everything was hand-printed with silkscreen. In the end, silkscreen lasts the longest — it doesn’t really deteriorate. It’s not like I had proper know-how or anything. It was more just the punk DIY mindset. I was using things like T-shirt-kun, figuring it out as I went. Drawing it myself and printing it myself felt totally natural. I used to see punk fanzines at record shops too, and later realized that graffiti has a strong zine culture as well. That’s when it clicked for me — it’s all connected.

──Do you have any particular approach to choosing where you write?

After playing around in the streets for a while, I started getting this feeling of “I want to fit it right here.” At first I wasn’t thinking much about locations, but as I saw more box-style spots and different urban structures, I naturally started studying placement and style. Thinking about things like, “If I write here, it’ll look right,” or “If it fits here, it’ll connect to that over there.” At that point, graffiti starts to feel like a puzzle or a game. When you get into that mindset, the number naturally increases. But now it’s the opposite — I choose spots really carefully. I only want to write in places that feel interesting, so sometimes I’ll go out and not write anything at all. I also think about how it’ll look in photos now. A spot that really fits gives me way more energy than just a dirty wall. These days, it’s not about quantity anymore. It’s all about the place and the quality.

──What kind of thoughts are behind your exhibition “Escape From The Evil Planet” at BEAMS T?

Society’s full of swamps, you know. People pulling each other down, constant trouble. That’s where the title comes from — it’s about getting out of that swamp. I’m sure there are people who don’t like writers doing exhibitions, but that includes the haters too. For me, this was a choice to get out of that mess.

──You seem just as proactive about exhibitions as you are in the streets.

Graffiti doesn’t really need anyone’s permission. If you’ve got the will, you can just go outside and write. But even if it feels right to you, there are definitely people who wish you wouldn’t. At first I wasn’t thinking about that at all, but the longer I kept going, the more people started supporting me or accepting what I do. This exhibition wasn’t something I planned myself — BEAMS reached out to me, and that meant a lot. Something I’d been doing indiscriminately, without permission, suddenly got proper approval from someone. That felt really fresh, and honestly, it made me happy. Doing graffiti while connecting with people — I started to feel like that might actually be a good thing. Some people like it, some people don’t, but taking all of that in and still moving forward is probably what living is about. Getting this exhibition offer was a kind of success for me, and I want to turn that into the next form, whatever that may be.

──Is there a big difference between street work and exhibitions?

The first time I ever showed work was in a group show in Osaka. That was when I first made pieces specifically for an exhibition. Even using the same throw-up, writing in the street and painting on canvas are completely different things. Exhibitions are made with the assumption that people will come and look, so you can’t rely on your own will alone. Bombing is like, “This is the best,” and you just throw it into the street based on your own feeling. But with artwork, if it doesn’t sell, there’s no next step. That’s why I started listening to advice and taking other people’s opinions seriously. I realized that if you don’t think about how others feel, you can’t make good work. Graffiti and bombing need a kind of stubbornness at their core, but when it comes to making pieces, I try to be more open. I pull inspiration from other cultures too — punk record jackets, posters, things like that. Honestly, making artwork is way harder than bombing. It takes more time, more effort, and you have to think about where it’ll end up, whose house it might hang in. But just like fitting something into the street, exhibitions are about finding a different kind of fit.

──You’re collaborating with the apparel brand MAINTAIN for this exhibition. Can you tell us about that relationship?

I’m always drawing when I’m at home, and a friend who found it interesting said, “Why don’t you print this on clothes?” I’ve always had this feeling that something looks best when it works with clothing. So every now and then I draw with that in mind and provide designs to MAINTAIN. Clothing is really direct — wearing someone you know’s clothes carries a lot of weight on the street, and that’s also what makes it interesting. A graffiti writer making clothes feels like a natural extension of what we do. If someone sees something in the street and ends up buying a T-shirt because of it, that’s a kind of bomb to me. It doesn’t matter if they can explain why it’s good — if it hits them somewhere, that’s enough.

──As you continue exhibiting, how do you think about graffiti these days?

At first it was all raw impulse, just throwing myself into it. Then it became fun figuring out how to fit things into the street. At the same time, I started feeling a responsibility to connect the culture forward. Graffiti is still a super small culture in Japan, but the writers I’ve been involved with are all incredibly interesting people. If I can pass even one thing I’ve felt or experienced on to a younger generation, then that feels like what I should be doing. If that keeps getting passed down, from one generation to the next, and grows into something bigger, that would be amazing. Seeing graffiti writers become almost pop-star figures in Japan, like in New York — that would be cool too. But for that to happen, someone has to do the connecting. That’s why I want to reach outside the graffiti world, using clothes, magazines, different kinds of media. Graffiti culture tends to stay closed among writers, and people who are just curious or fans often get left behind. I want to open that up more. There’s already plenty of hard-to-understand coolness, so I choose to step forward and make things clearer. Doing interviews is part of that. I’ve seen cultures I love fade away because they weren’t passed on between generations, and I don’t want that to happen with graffiti. A drunk graffiti guy holding an exhibition in the middle of Harajuku is already culture in itself. If even one person stops and thinks, “What is this?” then that’s a connection. No need to explain — just see it, feel it, and that’s enough.

──How do you feel about people taking photos of graffiti and posting them on social media?

I’m totally fine with it — honestly, I’m grateful. Globally, that’s just how it is. People photograph the city and post it without thinking twice. In Japan, there’s more hesitation around it, but if you really think about it, they’re just taking pictures of what’s already there in the street. I paint in the city, someone else photographs it, and they post it on their own account. To me, that’s basically the same thing. When the audience posts photos, it feels like we’re building the culture together. And honestly, those photos reach way more people than anything I post myself.

At the end of the day, painting in the street means you want someone to see it. If you don’t want anyone to see it, then you should just draw at home. So whether people say it’s good or say it’s bad, it’s still a reaction — and that’s all positive to me. Some people say, “I don’t need evaluation, I’m just doing my own thing,” but I don’t really agree. The moment you paint in the street, there’s definitely a desire to be recognized by someone. I don’t think that’s something you should deny.

For me personally, I’ve moved past the phase of just wanting approval. Now I’m thinking about what I can offer when people ask for something. Doing exhibitions, connecting with people — it’s a different game than just painting in the street. That’s why these days, it’s not only about graffiti anymore. How you act as a person really matters. Being wanted also means you can be consumed, and that’s something you have to be aware of.

──There are also negative opinions about graffiti being turned into products or being consumed.

To me, graffiti is just doodling. I started because I liked it — that’s it. So ideas like “being consumed” or “becoming a product” feel like they exist on a completely different level. If someone says they want to turn my work into a product, I’m just grateful. I mean, it’s doodles, right? If someone finds value in that and is willing to pay for it, at this point that alone is more than enough.

I don’t think it makes sense to reject something before it even happens. You can think about it after it actually does. How you feel once it’s out in the world — you won’t know until that moment comes. I didn’t go to art school. I haven’t studied anything formally. I’ve just been drawing and making things as hard as I can. If someone sees that and wants to support it, that already feels like more than I deserve right now.

Instead of rejecting things in your head, you try first. Then you understand. That, to me, is the most core, basic part of graffiti.

──Are there any graffiti writers who have influenced you?

KUDARA, who taught me graffiti, and SLOW. I’ve also always been into MQ. Of course, 246 as well. Just seeing their names written changes the atmosphere of a place. That’s how powerful they are. I don’t think there are many people like that in Japan. The film INFAMY also hit me hard. Lately, I’ve been traveling overseas more often, and just being in different cities, feeling the air and the energy there, has been a big influence too.

──Are there any painters or artists you like?

Sugi, who does hardcore flyers in Osaka. The density of his stippling work is unforgettable. I went to a hardcore flyer exhibition at B GALLERY before, and seeing the original drawings was completely different from seeing them printed. It really hit me. Some things look better in photos, but works like that are always strongest when you see them in person. I think graffiti is the same in that sense.

──Have there been any overseas graffiti scenes that influenced you?

When I went to Taiwan, I stayed at a local studio in Taipei, then headed to Taichung. We were bombing with more than ten people from night until around 9 a.m. The energy from the younger kids was insane. Taiwan is a small island, but the graffiti scene is incredibly intense. Everyone speaks English too, and it really felt like the next wave. New York right now is on a completely different level. Painting vertically from the tops of skyscrapers using ropes has basically become the norm. Bombing styles keep evolving, so actually moving around and seeing things with your own eyes is what makes it fun.

──People in graffiti culture often carry huge energy, which can sometimes lead to conflict. What’s the most important thing you want to tell the younger generation?

Every culture has its painful parts. There are always troubles, and people get hurt. But honestly, I haven’t really had those “hell-like” experiences you hear about so often. I think that’s because I’ve always had this idea of wanting to be like The Blue Hearts. Not doing anything sneaky. Not bending yourself. Just staying straight and giving it everything you’ve got. I’ve lived like that, so I haven’t really been in situations where I wanted to run away. That’s why I think, before trying to be clever, it’s more important to be reckless and put everything into it. When you’re young, it’s easy to think about shortcuts or how to gain something quickly. But being honest, straightforward, and driven by pure passion—like The Blue Hearts—that’s what actually takes you farther in the long run. Passion has the power to push away bad energy, unnecessary trouble, and toxic connections.

──Do you have any goals you want to accomplish in the future?

You wake up, eat, work, brush your teeth, and go to sleep. Life is actually really simple. People just make it complicated with relationships. In the end, it’s about doing what you love and giving it everything. I also think having a physical place—a kind of home base—is absolutely necessary. Even with social media, culture can’t grow without real spaces where people gather. I want to have a place like that someday. Everyone’s living on the edge, so even buying one T-shirt or a single pin helps connect things to the next step. I want players and the audience to feel like we’re on the same team, preserving this culture together. It took years just to shape one throw-up into what it is now, and I’ll keep sharpening my skills and evolving from here.