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Thursday, August 4: Teshima
This second day is dedicated to Teshima. Teshima is a bit like Naoshima was 10–15 years ago—larger and hillier. Sadly known in the 1980s for being a dumping ground for toxic waste, it now houses another Benesse museum, the Teshima Art Museum, a few other permanent artworks, the Shima Kitchen restaurant (www.shimakitchen.com/en/) designed by Ryo Abe, and, of course, the Triennale. Less known to the general public, it attracts far fewer tourists, mostly Japanese. The crowd is discreet and respectful.
Following advice we read online, we rent electric bikes this time. This choice might raise a few smiles, but these things are truly magical: on flat roads, they’re just like normal bikes, but as soon as the road climbs, the electric motor kicks in, so all you have to do is keep pedaling at a steady pace without much effort. Try one, and you’ll be sold.
Wanting to repeat the trick from the day before, we head straight for the Teshima Art Museum.
We make a quick stop at “Tom Na H-iu” (benesse-artsite.jp/en/art/tom-na-h-iu.html) by Mariko Mori. The artwork is hidden in the middle of the forest. The path to get there is muddy, so pristine white boots are provided to spare our shoes. Very Japanese.

Photos aren’t normally allowed, but I think I bent the rules a little.
The piece is connected to the neutrino detector at the Kamioka Observatory and lights up every time a neutrino is detected. Given how hard it is to catch a neutrino, we weren’t surprised that our brief visit didn’t let us see it light up.
Ouch! Upon arriving at the Teshima Art Museum, we find it’s already full. But as is typical in Japan, everything is well organized—tourists don’t cluster in long, chaotic lines waiting for space to open up. Instead, entry slots are scheduled every 15 minutes, and a hostess gives each visitor a ticket with the time they need to return to buy their ticket and enter. (If only museums in Paris could take a page from their book.) Our turn is in half an hour, so we decide to wait nearby in the shade rather than rush back and forth in the heat to another installation.
The Teshima Art Museum is a museum-work taken to its ultimate form: designed by Ryue Nishizawa and Rei Nato, the museum is essentially one massive artwork. **SPOILER ALERT**—I’d advise readers planning to visit to skip the next few lines to keep the surprise intact. It’s actually an enormous, curved hall with two roughly elliptical skylights. Everything is white, even the hostesses who manage entry. Again, you have to take off your shoes to enter. People sit directly on the floor. Talking is prohibited. Thanks to a clever system and a hydrophobic coating, water droplets meander across the floor, forming intricate networks. The whole experience has a slightly mystical vibe. Described like this, it might not sound particularly exciting, but in person, it’s really something.
Another great experience. “The Japanese just don’t quit!” What I love about them—among a thousand other things—is that when they set out to do something, they go all in. Here, the goal is to make modern art accessible to as many people as possible, and they’ve created a one-of-a-kind museum-work in the middle of nowhere.
