Open Field — James Turrell

Open Field — James Turrell

Chichu Art Museum · Benesse Art Site, Naoshima

James Turrell is an artist who has been working not with form, but with light for over fifty years. He studied perceptual psychology and mathematics, and his art is not about creating objects, but experiences. In his work, light does not illuminate the artwork — it is the artwork. Turrell invites the viewer to slow down, to look attentively, and to notice how much of what we see depends on our presence, on time, and on the decision to step forward.

Open Field is one of those works that doesn’t impose itself immediately. First, you notice the light. A rectangular, intensely blue space. Stairs. A frame. And silence.

This piece instantly made me think of the contemporary world — a world where almost everything exists on screens and is filtered through images: fast, attractive, promising emotion. We are used to looking. To scrolling. To staying on this side.

Here, everything begins with the first step.
And suddenly, you have to stop.
To breathe.

The guide invites us to move forward. I step first — there is no fear in me, only curiosity. I cross the frame of light and, in that moment, it feels as if I have stepped through the screen itself. As if the boundary of cinema, projection, television has been crossed. I am inside the image.

When I turn around, I can clearly see the people standing on the stairs — still “in front of the screen.” The contrast is striking. Two worlds exist at once: those who observe, and those who have decided to enter.

This work brings cinema to mind — our attachment to images and to the emotions that can pull us in completely. The blue form is like a projection: pure light, the same substance films are made of. The stairs lead toward it, as if inviting us to cross a threshold — into a world radically different from the darkness surrounding it. This is not just something to look at. It is something to move toward.

Open Field is not a work meant to be viewed from a distance. It demands a decision. Will you remain on the stairs, looking at the light as just another image? Or will you take a step forward?

For me, it was a quiet, intense, deeply physical experience. Not spectacular. Not loud. But one that stays with you — like the moment when you stop merely looking and begin to be.

And then the questions appear — the kind that linger.

What is truth, and what is performance?
What is authentic, and what is carefully staged — for others’ eyes, for the algorithm, for effect?
Is what we show the world still us — or only the image we want others to see?

Where does experience end and marketing begin?
And are we still standing on the stairs — or have we already stepped into a world that is only a projection?