The matcha latte I encountered in a Singapore café looked quite different from the ones typically served in Japan. At the bottom of the glass were berries and syrup, in the middle sat a layer of milk, and finally, a thick layer of matcha was poured on top, forming a striking green gradient. Stirring it would destroy the layers, but before doing so, the visual pleasure was undeniable. This “layered drink” aesthetic comes largely from Taiwanese tea culture, which has exported this playful form across Asia.
In Japan, however, this style of matcha latte is rarely seen. There, matcha is often framed as the symbol of “Japanese tradition,” usually paired with wagashi sweets and performed within the carefully structured ritual of tea. Sitting in that café in Singapore, I could not help but ask myself: Whose matcha is this, really?

Origins and Etymology of Matcha

The word “matcha” literally means “powdered tea”—matsu (to grind) and cha (tea). The practice of grinding tea leaves into powder and whisking them into hot water originated in Song-dynasty China. In the late 12th century, the Zen monk Eisai brought this method to Japan, introducing it first within temples and rituals.
In other words, matcha was never a purely “native” Japanese product. It was imported, translated, and eventually reshaped. Over time, this powdered tea became inseparable from Japanese aesthetics, but its roots remain unmistakably transnational. What we now call “Japanese matcha” is the outcome of cultural translation rather than an exclusive invention.

The Tea Ceremony as the Art of Form

By the time of Sen no Rikyū in the 16th century, matcha had transformed from a beverage into a cultural performance: the Japanese tea ceremony.
Rikyū’s innovation was not in altering the taste of the tea but in formalizing the entire experience—codifying the selection of utensils, the architecture of the tearoom, and the choreography of gestures. Imported Chinese and Southeast Asian utensils were not simply adopted; they were reinterpreted under the Japanese aesthetic principle of wabi-sabi. In short, the tea ceremony was an act of translation: taking an external practice and rendering it into a uniquely Japanese style.
Thus, tea in Japan has long been less about the drink itself than about the form of the encounter—a carefully staged moment in which host, guest, and environment converge.

Contemporary Beverage Cultures

Fast forward to today, and tea culture in Asia has developed along quite different lines. Taiwan’s tea scene, exemplified by bubble tea, emphasizes playfulness, visual layering, and customization. Drinks are spectacles in themselves: sweet syrups, colorful fruit, chewy tapioca, and strong tea flavors all coexist within a single cup.
On the other side of the Pacific, Starbucks popularized the “matcha latte” in the 1990s, framing it as a superfood. Yet the result—often sugary, syrup-laden, and far removed from the austere bitterness of traditional matcha—resembles more of a dessert than a ritual.
Curiously, Japan itself has been relatively slow to innovate in this area. While cafés in Japan focus on atmosphere and space, they rarely experiment with the drinks themselves in the same playful, layered way that Taiwanese or American chains have. In effect, matcha-based drinks are now being “re-imported” to Japan from abroad—an irony, but perhaps also an inevitability of global cultural flows.

Toward a New Form

So what does this tell us? Matcha certainly represents “Japanese culture,” but it was never born solely within Japan. Its history shows us that Japan’s strength lies not in inventing ex nihilo but in translating and formalizing—taking external influences and transforming them into refined styles.
Seen from a postcolonial perspective, the layered matcha latte in Singapore is itself a hybrid object, belonging to no single culture but emerging in-between. It reflects the layered nature of global identity itself.
If Japan today laments its lack of a distinctive “beverage culture,” perhaps the solution does not lie in competing drink by drink, but in rediscovering its capacity to invent forms of experience. Just as tea ceremony once turned imported powdered tea into a total aesthetic practice, Japanese café culture could reimagine the act of drinking itself as a designed encounter—an interplay of space, gesture, and taste.
The gradient of a matcha latte is more than just pretty; it is a cultural metaphor. Each layer represents translation, reinterpretation, and potential reinvention. Perhaps the next tea ceremony is not hidden in a tearoom but is already being prototyped in cafés around the world.

Read in Japanese → Correspondences：美しさと痛み、そのあいだで

I visited the exhibition “Correspondences,” currently being held at the Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo. The collaborative works by Soundwalk Collective and Patti Smith weave together poetry, sound, and video, quietly traveling back and forth through memory, nature, and death. Forests affected by nuclear disaster, scorched trees, breath-like soundscapes. What I found was not a story, but a presence—a subtle trace.

At the core of the exhibition lies a decade-long journey of field recordings. But this isn’t just nature captured on tape. There is a sense of place within. The rustling of wind, footsteps, faint reverberations—each sound resonated not merely as a scene, but as a trace that something once was there.

I was reminded of a film I once made. I tried layering ambient sounds of everyday life to depict a dystopia, but strangely, it sounded pastoral. I ended up rebuilding it entirely with artificial sounds. That experience made me realize how everyday sounds can inadvertently speak of “happiness.” There was a quiet ache and gratitude in that realization—one that resonated with this exhibition.

At the same time, I couldn’t ignore the fact that this experience was occurring within the institutional setting of a museum. Observing “loss” or “pain” within a white cube space, surrounded by guests carrying brand-name bags, felt oddly detached—like a privileged vantage point. The admission fee is 1,800 yen—a relatively high barrier. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of frustration, knowing that those without financial ease might never be able to encounter this exhibition.

To be fair, Japan does offer discounted or free access to exhibitions for people with disabilities and seniors. At this museum, eligible visitors can view the exhibit for free.

Still, there remains an invisible gap between those who can and those who cannot visit such spaces. Many young people today are barely surviving—overwhelmed by tuition, rent, part-time jobs, and future anxieties. An 1,800 yen ticket is no small hurdle. And often it’s not just about money—it’s about not having the emotional bandwidth to care.

Access to this exhibition varied greatly depending on the country. At kurimanzutto gallery in New York, entry was free. Anyone could drop in. In contrast, the Athens exhibition charged 50 euros, but also offered reduced pricing (5–7 euros) for the unemployed, people with disabilities, and local residents. The curators clearly understood the responsibility that comes with showcasing pain and social commentary, making intentional efforts to ensure fair access.

This tension has surfaced in critiques of the show. The idea of wealthy audiences paying high prices to view politically or emotionally charged works in pristine gallery spaces has drawn suspicion. We’ve seen similar critiques before—like when a retrospective on 1970s punk was staged as a luxury event, sparking backlash: “You can't gallery-ize punk without killing its spirit.”

Here too, some question whether tragedy and crisis have been rendered too consumable, too beautiful. The exhibition uses clips from films by Pier Paolo Pasolini and Tarkovsky, interwoven with poetic narration—creating a deeply aesthetic and immersive experience. But this very beauty may dilute the urgency of its themes. As Flash Art Magazine noted, the Pompidou Center labeled the Paris edition as a “spectacular” show—highlighting the tension between critique and spectacle.

Patti Smith is an icon of punk, after all. There’s an inherent friction between her raw spirit and the polished presentation of this exhibition. Yet, I couldn’t dismiss the show. In fact, it was precisely the discomfort I felt in that well-crafted space that felt like a response to the exhibition’s own questions. Art doesn’t merely present—it unsettles, stirs, and invites us to feel.

Correspondences—a call and response. Perhaps our act of responding—whether to a distant poem or the rustle of a forest—is itself the most honest dialogue we can offer today.

Exhibition Details

Title: Correspondences
Dates: April 26 – June 29, 2025
Venue: Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo (3rd Floor Exhibition Room)
Hours: 10:00–18:00 (Last admission 30 minutes before closing)
Closed: Mondays (or the following day if Monday is a national holiday)
Admission:

• ¥1,800 (General)

• ¥1,200 (University students / Vocational students / Seniors)

• ¥600 (Middle & high school students)

• Free (Children under 12, disability ID holders + 2 companions)

https://www.mot-art-museum.jp

References:

• Hyperallergic: “When Punk Meets the Gallery”

• Brooklyn Rail: “Patti Smith and Soundwalk Collective: Correspondences”

• Flash Art Magazine: “Evidence and the Spectacle of Memory”