Although they're eloquent and descriptive, I think they underplay the influence of traditional Japanese art and overplay the pop influence in Machida's work in order to position him for the market. For starters, Sush Machida appends "Gaikotsu," the Japanese honorific meaning "artist," to his name. In spite of attending school in the U.S., Machida has remained very much an artist in the Japanese tradition—his goal is "visual pleasure," and his credo is "appeal first and foremost to the eye." He's leery of attempts to interpret his images and give them a meaning where none exists. In truth, the paintings are gorgeous; no explanation is necessary to enjoy them. But I think a greater appreciation can be gained by putting them in perspective.
Machida's motifs—cats, fish, rats, butterflies and dragons—have been the motifs of Japanese art for centuries. His style goes from the traditional and decorative to the contemporary and cartoonish. In "Au for Cat," all the motifs are traditionally rendered—flowers, silhouetted black rats and cloud-like decorative flourishes. (I should mention that decoration is not a lesser element in Japanese art, but an integral part of their tradition.) In the mural-size painting "Underground Café Pink," the giant fish have childlike flowers for eyes, and there are splatters of M M candies throughout. The childlike colors and playfulness are also traditionally Japanese. (Remember, while the majority of American animated productions are aimed at children, Japanese animated films are for everyone.)
The colors have been described by one reviewer as "bionic," implying something futuristic, but as a little girl I swooned over pictures of Japanese dolls because the colors knocked my socks off—a pink kimono with an orange obi layered over another in emerald green and royal purple. If Machida grew up surrounded by such objects, it's no surprise he can combine colors with wild abandon. In the long tradition of Western painting only Matisse's cut-outs are comparable in use of color.
Another reviewer explains his narrative or slice-of-life paintings as derived from animation cels, completely ignoring the tradition of storytelling in Japanese art. "Mee the PRZ76 Ultra Heavy" is a fish tale that involves a cat, a mouse and a fishing line. It's a direct descendent of the many depictions in Japanese art of cats catching and toying with mice. I asked Machida what the title meant, and he put me off before reluctantly telling me it's "the longest fishing pole allowable, 7 feet, 6 inches."
I think he doesn't like to explain his titles because he composes them like a poet; sound may be more important than meaning. Say them aloud. "Mee the PRZ76 Ultra Heavy" is seven and five syllables, the first two lines of haiku. The title "Rock Drug Hollywood" is five syllables, but the painting's decorative pattern is made up of seven egg-like shapes which parallel the undulating curve of a dragon. Machida's sensitivity to the rhythm and cadence of poetry extends to music. His antennae are so finely tuned he chooses different composers to accompany different activities: Wagner for driving, Chopin and Bach for reading and Debussy and Miles Davis for painting.
Other reviewers have made much of Machida's relationship to digital imagery and cartoons; the reviewers place Machida in a contemporary global context, underplaying the degree to which he's influenced by traditional Japanese art. Machida agrees with them and sees contemporary art as global—"no borders." True enough, the marketing of art has become a global enterprise, but the nexus of power is still in the U.S.; no artist wants to be marginalized as regional. But Machida's achievement, reconciling the grace of Japanese tradition with the slick, hard-edged cool of contemporary pop, has won him fans all over the world. He has nothing to fear.