Naoshima Island is an Art Lover’s Paradise

Tadao Ando’s Naoshima New Museum of Art is the latest arrival on this Japanese isle of design and marvel.

It all starts – and ends – with a pumpkin. I spy it first while standing, windswept in the summer sun, on the top deck of the ferry from the mainland: a small scarlet speck on an island shore surrounded by blue sea and green hills. It grows as the boat gets closer, its red, round form slowly taking shape, until scattered polka dots shift into focus, confirming its identity as one of Japan’s most iconic artworks: the Red Pumpkin sculpture by pioneering Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama.

The sight sets an appropriately surreal tone for my arrival at Naoshima. The Japanese fishing island, tiny and far-flung, surrounded by the reflective waters of the Seto Inland Sea, is home to a constellation of world-class contemporary artworks. To the right, between rocks and water, is the Naoshima Pavilion, a white abstraction of angled steel mesh by celebrated architect Sou Fujimoto. Even the ferry terminal – minimalist, mirrored, light, with a flat steel roof on thin columns – by architects SANAA, seems to dissolve into its setting.

I’m here to see renowned architect Tadao Ando’s latest island project (his tenth), the Naoshima New Museum of Art, which opened in May. My trip (four hours of trains, buses and boats from Kyoto) has been arranged by local travel specialists Inside Japan Tours, experts with comprehensive knowledge and contacts across the country.

Naoshima’s extraordinary journey from sleepy fishing spot to creative landmark took root in the 1980s when Sōichirō Fukutake, head of educational publishing company Benesse Corporation, came up with the idea of revitalising the island – home to an ageing community in economic decline – through contemporary art and architecture. First came projects by Ando, including Benesse House, a hybrid hotel-museum. Now there are dozens of art sites across Naoshima (which spans a compact 800 hectares) and nearby islands, plus it’s home to major art festival Setouchi Triennale. There are few more soul-soothing spots in the world that blend art, architecture and nature.

I make a beeline for the new museum via a 10-minute cycle past hills, sea and farmland (electric bicycles are ideal for getting around and are best booked in advance). My entrance to the museum is met with a gentle sensory awakening. Climbing 96 concrete steps curving through trees, I inhale incense and hear tinkling wind chimes (an in-progress work by Thai artist Sanitas Pradittasnee). At the apex, a concrete path flows alongside black walls and expanses of pebbles, echoing village houses below. Then glass doors slide open to reveal Ando’s angular concrete interior, leading to the building’s heart: a staircase cutting down into the hillside, shafts of light entering through geometric skylights. The effect is dramatic yet calming, evoking an almost sacred church-like atmosphere.

Walking in the galleries, I look up at torpedo-clutching “angels” by Heri Dono, wander through Do Ho Suh’s bright fabric Hub, make out tiny characters in Takashi Murakami’s epic 13-metre Kyoto scenography and briefly lose myself in the frozen beauty of Cai Guo-Qiang’s Head On, 99 wolves leaping into a clear screen.

The Museum Cafe has a diverse menu of lunch dishes, from local miso-marinated chicken to a South Indian vegan plate (to accompany the artworks on the wall by Indian artist NS Harsha). After enjoying a restorative matcha latte, while soaking up paradise-like views of flowering mimosa trees and blue seas, the day passes on the island in a blur of encounters, moments, sights.

Cycling down narrow stone streets past obaasan (Japanese grandmothers) and visiting tourists, Honmura village feels like a breathing art museum, with abandoned wooden homes transformed into escapist artworks. The highlights include Kadoya: inside the dimly lit serenity of a centuries-old house are underwater digital counters by artist Tatsuo Miyajima. Nearby is Minamidera, a black Ando structure housing an artwork by James Turrell, which involves walking in sheer darkness before eyes (and brain) slowly adjust to the spatial emptiness. Opposite is another Ando-designed project, the Ando Museum, a traditional house containing the minimalist form of an angular concrete box, showcasing the architect’s work on the island. Close by is the forest-encircled Go’o Shrine, with its optical glass staircase descending into an underground chamber with stunning sea views via a portal, courtesy of artist Hiroshi Sugimoto.

I stop at a tiny house on the seafront displaying a tea sign. Swapping shoes for flowery slippers, I climb up the narrow staircase and find two women chatting in a cosy space with crocheted cushions and Moomin origami on the counter. Over tea, the pair burst into laughter when I ask about Naoshima Island’s art transformation. Retired teacher Noriko-san explains, “I live two minutes from the Red Pumpkin. I like practising my English with tourists so I’m happy.” Owner Mitsui-san adds, “Unique. The art definitely makes the island different, even if I don’t always understand it. I visited the new museum this morning. It was nice but busy.”

A progressive fusion of art museum and luxury hotel, the beautifully composed structure of Benesse House – a sturdy concrete complex scattered across the island, from beach to hillsides – reinforces the sensation of dissolving boundaries between real life and art. I drop my bags in my room, which is cleanly designed, sparse, each with its own artwork (mine is a monochrome photograph of a house by Bernd and Hilla Becher). From my balcony, I see Hiroshi Sugimoto’s Glass Tea House Mondrian floating beneath me, colourful sculptures scattered on the lawn. Beyond, on a pier jutting into the sea, is Kusama’s Yellow Pumpkin (a sister sculpture to Red Pumpkin that first greeted me at the ferry terminal) complete with a polite queue of pilgrims waiting to take selfies. The artwork was replaced after being swept from its perch by a typhoon in 2021, an incident which managed to only increase its cult fame. 

Dinner at Benesse House is an artistic experience in itself. I wander, completely alone, through austere corridors and courtyards with Sugimoto’s creations: from his pulse-slowing Seascapes photography series to spiralling sculptures on moss. The elegant restaurant, overlooking the water, taps further into creativity – reflected in the blurred shades of my Monet-inspired mocktail and the yellow polka dot Kusama-inspired sauce adorning my sea bream.

After a night of dream-filled sleep, I wake to see something perhaps even more special: not a single person at the pier. I enjoy a quick solitary dip, floating peacefully around the now familiar pumpkin, buoyed by the sensation of becoming part of the artwork itself. Later, on the return ferry, I realise this is the essence of Naoshima, a rare place that unconsciously blurs the edges of daily life, sparking freedom and joy through its mix of art, architecture and nature.

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