Mizuki Nishiyama Reflects on Human Identity and Her Kaleidoscopic Roots

Mizuki Nishiyama is a mixed-Japanese artist who explores the themes of human fragility, intimacy, and identity in her vivid, multifaceted paintings. Growing up with six languages and having lived in Hong Kong, New York, and London, Nishiyama is naturally drawn to the concept of mixed cultural identity. Weaving together Eastern and Western references, Nishiyama investigates her kaleidoscopic roots and dimensional identity in abstract figurative compositions. Her work navigates what it means to be a woman artist of mixed heritage, and sheds light on socio-political issues such as racial marginalisation and cultural reclamation. Raw and sensual, erotic and emotive, Nishiyama’s paintings are rooted in deeply personal experiences. Fusing self-exploration with references from poetry, literature, music, flamenco, and ballet, her work contemplates the fragmented nature of the human experience. Painting serves as a meditative experience for the artist, who translates trauma and vulnerability into works that are powerfully self-aware and voluptuously alive.

Nishiyama holds a Masters of Fine Arts degree from Central Saint Martins, and a Bachelors of Fine Arts degree from Parsons School of Design. Her work has been exhibited internationally, with solo exhibitions at Whitestone Gallery in Hong Kong (2020), Tenri Cultural Institute of New York (2020), and Greenpoint Gallery in New York (2019). Her work is currently part of the exhibition ‘Through the Prism’ on view at Gillian Jason Gallery, London.

What brought you into the art world? Do you have any memories from your childhood that drove you to become an artist?

I’m really grateful to come from a family of artists. My mother is an abstract oil painter, my grandmother is a Japanese Nihonga Painter, my grand-uncle was a watercolorist, my great-grandfather was part of the Japanese national theatre as a Flautist and a Buyo Dancer, and my father is in Fashion but is also a Flamenco Guitarist.

I never saw their practices as separate entities from who they were as humans. Looking back, many of my fragmented childhood memories were extremely tactile and sensory driven. I recall my mother’s stained fingers, my grandmother’s spilled minerals from mixing Gofun with deerskin glue, the strong turpentine odour, the heavy nails hitting each note of a Farruca piece on my father’s guitar, the echoes of my grandmother’s Koto strings…the list is endless. Each has had an impact—whether it is how I approach my materials, memories, experiences, or simply life itself.

What motivates you to create?

For me, creating is like vomiting. There is an impulse, a grave desire, an urge to reveal—to throw up everything that is within me. You could say that it’s therapeutic, but honestly, it lies somewhere between healing and being somewhat destructive. Painting simply makes me feel human. It is a practice that reassures me that I am alive– that right now, I am here.

Can you describe your creative process?

My process is rough, raw, and experimental. I have noticed two sides to my process. On one hand, it’s instinctual. I have this intense urge to throw up everything–all that has been oppressed inside of me. On the other hand, my work is very academic. I love researching literature, poetry and philosophy, and exploring how they can put modern life in perspective. My father specialised in French Philosophy and Literature, which definitely conjured a lot of interest in me growing up.

I don’t usually create drafts for my work. When I create drawings, they are individual pieces of work. Medium specificity is something that is always on my mind. For example, when working with oils, there is a stickiness, heaviness, and sexiness that is ingrained within the pigment. Charcoal on the other hand, has a different vibe. Their loose molecules have been compressed into something sharp and linear, allowing me to directly hold onto the tool, which adheres to the movement of my hand to create dense lines. The specific moment, material, state of mind, and concept all need to have a fight or conversation with one another.

So delighted that you created ‘In Perpetual Spring’ (2022) for the show Through the Prism I curated for Gillian Jason Gallery. What does this painting mean to you?

‘In Perpetual Spring’ was inspired by Amy Gerstler’s poem bearing the same title. The poem explores ideas of rebirth, new beginnings, peace, and hope. Recently, I’ve been exploring more natural motifs, inspired by my Japanese grandfather’s religion: Shintoism. Shinto follows animism, a religion that heavily focuses on nature. Spring itself is a motif I have dissected in past series. ‘Shunga,’ a series from 2020, was a contemporary take on ancient Japanese erotic woodblock prints. The word Shunga 春画 translates to ‘Spring Pictures’ in English. Spring holds heavy connotations for fertility, sex, and abundance in Japanese culture. In conjunction, looking back on the last 3 years, which was dominated by the global pandemic, I feel like I was subconsciously affected by the hardships and turmoils we collectively endured as humans. ‘In Perpetual Spring’ is a gateway to allow ourselves to shed our skin, forgive, heal, and grow.

While you were in Japan earlier this year, you started working with Japanese ink on paper, and I was enthralled to include these jewel-like drawings in Through the Prism. What inspired you to experiment with this medium?

Japan will always be a complex territory for me. As a mixed Japanese woman who was brought up abroad by parents who also left Asia at a young age, I feel a strong urge to unravel history, and better understand my “Japaneseness” as a woman.

The last trip I took back to Japan was extremely soulful. I decided to learn more about traditional Japanese arts. Previously, I have attempted to combine my grandmother’s Nihonga materials with oils, but I’ve always been a little turned off by the delicacy of minerals. Nevertheless, this time around, I have discovered that the viscosity and boldness of Japanese ink happened to respond very well to my touch and feelings. I took the opportunity to do figurative explorations, as well as observatory drawings with that medium.

Installation view, Mizuki Nishiyama’s works on paper for *Through the Prism*; Gillian Jason Gallery, London.

How has your mixed heritage shaped you as an artist?

Growing up with six languages, and not resonating with any of the individual cultures I encountered was quite distressful. I don’t belong anywhere, except to myself. My father left Japan for France at a young age, and subsequently resided in Italy with my mother. I was raised in Hong Kong, where I had the flexibility to break apart different pieces of culture and make them my own. It’s difficult to put into words, but each culture and language has its own flavour. I’ve learned to concoct my own approach, whether it's on my canvases or through my writings, there are elements of Japanese, Chinese, Italian, or even New York culture, after spending 5 years in the States. I would say that my practice is a complex battle and conversation between all of my heritages.

Your deeply emotive paintings often present the female figure as both beautiful and grotesque. What would you like to convey about the female experience through your work?

Women have been portrayed as both beautiful and grotesque for thousands of years, perhaps because of how much we deviate from the ideal white male. Female artists in particular have been reclaiming injustices, as well as the complex psyche that goes congruently with this comparison. We like it because it is stimulating, invasive, intriguing and seductive. Whether we are exploring carnal desire or disgust, there is something monstrous and transgressive when we put ‘pure’ femininity next to something intoxicating. This is how the femme fatale character was born.

My sex and heritage as a Japanese woman are two things that boldly identify me. I often incorporate menstrual motifs in my art, because as a young girl, it was one of the first things that brought my attention to the dichotomy between the beautiful and the grotesque. Blood is an impurity in my culture, yet as a woman with hormonal sensitivities, my fertility and femininity are things that are constantly shoved in my face. I strive to explore the ideas of femininity, strength, and value in my abstracted figurations through repeated imagery of spreading, twisting, and contorting. I am obsessed with this phenomenon because I get to reclaim, distort and mould reality–embracing both provocation and vulnerability at the same time. To me, this is what it means to be human.

Are there any artists who have especially inspired you?

Fuyuko Matsui’s work holds a special place in my heart. Matsui is a Japanese female painter who uses Japanese minerals to depict violence, trauma, and femininity in her work. I see her practice as the perfect blend of my grandmother’s, my mother’s, and my own work. Matsui’s materials mirrored those of my Japanese grandmother. Her painting style is stimulating and invigorating like my mother’s, and her socially radical concepts are congruent to ones I hold close to my heart. I find her artwork to be striking, innovative, and greatly expressive.

Aside from being an artist, you have a great appreciation for music and poetry. Who are your favourite poets and musicians, and how have they influenced your art?

I wanted to be a poet growing up, as well as a violinist. I still practice both but more as a way to balance myself out.

Violin was too rigid for me–I felt I wasn’t able to confidently innovate. I pretty much exclusively play Bach and Tchaikovsky on violin, but I’m also a massive Jazz and Soul fan. Artists like Miles Davis, Nina Simone, Sonny Rollins, Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, Sidney Bechet, or Thelonious Monk touch my soul.

Poetry was too direct for me. Perhaps it was because I couldn’t control my tools, such as syntax and rhythm. But I have a soft spot for confessional poetry such as writings by Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, or Emily Dickenson. I have recently been dissecting two poems: ‘Looking at Medieval Art’ by Richie Hoffmann, and ‘The Otter’ by Seamus Heaney. Overall, I appreciate the female voice on paper, especially from those who confronted weighty moments.

As an artist, I translate all of these mediums and feelings into something visually tactile. My art presents a constant conversation between painting and everything else.

What are you working on next?

I’m currently working on a series called ‘Kusozu.’ A concept traditionally from the 13th century in Japan, ‘Kusozu’ refers to the 9 human decomposition stages which ends with our retrieval back into nature. I’ve taken my own contemporary approach with charcoal on hemp paper, and am hoping to depict the beauty and fragility of being alive.