The detritus of ordinary life prevails in Taiki Yokote’s work. From plastic bags and bicycle covers to rebar and rubble, the Tokyo-based artist attends to the things we discard or overlook once they are no longer of use. He gathers these derelict items like a curious archaeologist; then, with the dexterity of an engineer, transforms them into strange, kinetic installations that examine not only the affective values we assign to materials, but also the tender memories they hold.

Floating Rubble / Coco, Sen (2022), at first glance, appears to be a sprawling, jumbled heap of debris—the kind of waste one might come across while walking past a construction site or an abandoned building. It is a deceptively unassuming configuration, until subtle movements catch the eye: concrete slabs hover mid-air, weightless, rotating gently, almost autonomously. The gravity-defying phenomenon recurs throughout Yokote’s oeuvre, achieved through built-in magnets whose like poles repel each other. In Wriggling Blue - Tower (2022), a totem-like column is shrouded in blue tarp and secured with rope, rippling nonstop as hidden mechanical components squirm beneath, trying to break free. By animating inert scraps, Yokote presents forsaken objects as entities that exist in their own right, beyond our verdicts of expiration, carrying precious histories that will quietly outlast us.