How did you discover your love for illustration and develop your skills? My love for illustration started when I was small. I was fascinated by all sorts of pictures around me such as the pictures in various children’s books, spot illustrations in the newspapers and magazines my parents were reading, instructive illustrations on a medicine box, illustrative road signs and choreography drawings in ballet school. It was before even discovering paintings and woodblock prints by old masters in school.

I remember making my own series of children’s books for my younger brother and sister when I was seven, and I made a secret love story comic (in a long, embarrassing series) in B8-sized (roughly 2⅜ × 3½ inches) minibooklets only to share with my best friend at that time when I was nine. I loved making visual explanations in narrative, and I still do.

Skills are learned and developed mostly by practicing and playing with materials repeatedly. Better technical skills and knowledge makes it easier and faster to produce the visions in my head into actual pieces.

As an illustrator who works primarily with ink, what attracts you to this medium? I use ink mostly for its organic movement and strong colors constructed by their pigments. I’m obsessed with trying to control the ink’s appearance within the uncontrollable nature of ink itself. It can be soft, bold, textured, flat, transparent and opaque. It can capture the speed of movement, and it can feel both intentionally accidental and truly accidental. Frequent inky accidents are frustrating sometimes, especially for commissioned pieces, because they can get in the way of the one clear final vision I have in my head. But, I have learned to let it go as they often lead me to beautiful surprises, which I appreciate.

What personal experiences or circumstances led you to creating your colorful, dreamy style? This is only one of many assumptions I have: I have been trained to play French horn since I was nine, and I have a habit of associating individual sounds, timbres, harmonies and rhythms with colors and shapes in my mind. The visions are quite logical, like musical notes, but they are also kind of expressive and hypnotizing. I guess these visions are woven into my pictures consciously and unconsciously, which led my style to appear dreamy.

As a response to the pandemic, you created illustrations for the children’s book The Great Realization with words by Tomos Roberts, published in 2020. What was this experience like for you? The world had a heavy grey atmosphere during the pandemic in 2020, and my experience illustrating this book was exactly like a strong urge to add hopeful colors and music to it! Of course, to accompany Tom’s beautiful poem about the way life was changing at the time, I did not need to erase the darkness completely but add colors to ascend together with his story. Contrary to what was happening in the world, staying home without meeting people outside and listening to dark news, I found uplifting moments when illustrating The Great Realization.

You worked again with Roberts on the book The World Awaits, published in 2022. How did you convey the themes of this book through your illustrations? Compared to The Great Realization, The World Awaits has more charming story with a much lighter, heartwarming tone. I tried to make the pictures friendly and welcoming throughout the book using refreshing colors and playful line drawings to show light touches.

Are there any special considerations you have to take when illustrating for children’s books that feel different from creating other work? Being more inclusive and more enthusiastic, drawing small details to provide fun discoveries for little readers.

Besides The Great Realization, what have been some of your favorite commissioned works you have worked on? My favorite commission experiences have come from standalone book projects and the satisfaction of making a whole book, as well as illustrations for fashion brands. In the latter, I find more freedom and playfulness in the projects and briefs.

I love classic illustration projects like illustrating a complete book, from creating the cover to weaving internal, black-and-white ink line drawings throughout the text—for example, The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly by Seon-mi Hwang, published by Penguin Books, and One Day I Will Save Myself by Elvira Sastre, published by AritaBooks. Reading the book while imagining the illustrations’ outcome peaks my curiosity, especially when I’m captivated by the story itself. It always reassures me how much I enjoy drawing in response to reading a story.

Sometimes, I have projects where I can discover new materials, which are always a joy. I once did a campaign with Apple called Start Something New, where I drew a series of pictures using my fingers on an iPad. It was so different to my usual method that I remember the experience as totally refreshing, like playing with a new toy.

Additionally, you recently exhibited your work in Through the Window, an exhibition at Pocko Gallery in London. What was the theme of this exhibition? Through The Window focused on the expression of the trees seen from my window. The entire show was constructed from 90 new drawings.

Last year, I moved back to London, and moving to the suburban greenery of London from the busy, bright setting of central Tokyo exposed me to a life with trees. Being surrounded by trees and birds chirping all day forced me to relax, and I felt like I was becoming a different person. That made me think I was going mad! But, it was also kind of wonderful, almost like proper healing. So, I wanted to respond to it through the show by trying to harmonize with trees, to merge into them, to be one of them and to disappear completely.

I went in search of trees with the aim of this merging: their layers, rhythms, movements, tales, system of organization and gathering. I was most impressed by blob-looking trees that created a view like a large fluffy carpet. Through the Window is the record of this procedure.

What do you enjoy about showing your work in galleries? Exhibitions permit me to go forward fully with my daily obsessions—such as trees, patterns and thoughts, among others—until I get bored with the subjects. The process happens almost solely in my head with influences from my literal physical surroundings. Thus, for exhibitions, my mind works quite differently from the process for commissioned works, which often provides existing topics to illustrate. Creating pieces for exhibitions is stressful but an extremely meditative procedure.

When showing my pieces in galleries, I enjoy the idea of transforming the space into one picture box. My mind wants to work more with 3-D visions, and the opportunity to share my original drawings on paper can hopefully give the audience a more raw, intimate experience.

How do you balance taking on commissioned work with personal work? I try to make personal works in my spare time, even when I’m occupied with commissions. My pieces for commissioned projects are visually based on my personal work, but my commissioned work and briefs influence my personal pieces to a great extent. I need to unite them for my peace of mind.

At one point, I was so occupied with commissioned work that I ended up solely working on those. This led my personal and commissioned projects to start moving further apart, and they began to battle each other. My ideas became repetitive without challenges, and I started to play safe, which was not enjoyable for me. I could see this becoming apparent in my work—to me, at least.

Now, I try to find regular times to work on personal work even when I’m busy for whatever reason. Then, both types of work will happily link each to other in a natural, stable way.

Do you have any advice for illustrators just beginning their careers? This is more what I tell myself when I’m stuck in darkness: I have to remember not to fall into give-up-pessimistic-anxious-lazy-mode, but rather to just draw one dot or one line or go journaling in a different environment—to do whatever to keep myself moving forward. An even more helpful method is to pretend and trick myself into believing that it is not a big deal at all to be struggling or stuck. I have learned that, even if I don’t know what I’m doing at that moment of uncertainty, it will make sense in the future. ca