Intricate worlds only seem small

Like Joseph Cornell’s boxes, each of Kusumoto’s is a world unto itself, an object of reverie. Unlike Cornell, interactivity is crucial to Kusumoto. Many of her pieces are toys or games. “Ryounkaku (Department Store)’’ is a 27-inch-tall nine-story tower and shopping mall game, based on a Tokyo building constructed in 1890 and destroyed in a 1923 earthquake. Kusumoto has provided a die and four small game pieces: a man, a woman, a boy, and a girl, all meticulously fashioned in metal. The aim is to ascend the tower, shop by shop.

Each shop — on most levels, there are three — is its own feast of delights. There’s an art gallery with, among other masterpieces, the Mona Lisa and Marcel Duchamp’s “Bicycle Wheel.’’ Bright blue waves borrowed from the legendary Japanese printmaker Hokusai lap at the tile walls of a restroom or bath. There’s a wig shop and an aviary. Every item, some smaller than the tip of my finger, has its own delicate and certain details. And that’s just on the inside of the box. The outside shows windows and balconies, all filled with people gazing out, each person different.

Kusumoto grew up in a temple in Japan, the daughter of a Buddhist priest, and the brass she favors is reminiscent of the metal ornaments she polished there as a child. “Hinamatsuri (Doll Festival),’’ was directly inspired by an old set of dolls the artist found at her family’s temple. Hinamatsuri is an annual celebration in Japan, marked with doll displays on platforms. Kusumoto has made a storage chest with five steps, topped with depictions of the Japanese emperor and empress. On the other steps, she has placed offerings — trays of food, flowers, a seahorse — and, of course, tiny chests that open to reveal more small finds.