AYAKO ROKKAKU
in Conversation with Curator Guillermo Solana

© Photo by Hélène Desplechin, edited by KÖNIG GALERIE

GS: In your paintings we find little girls with big eyes—girls that are sometimes happy, sometimes sad or angry—floating among clouds. The clouds are multicoloured, like rainbows. I have read somewhere that “Chocolate-chip cookies are Rokkaku’s favourite food; her favourite occupation is daydreaming.” To what extent is there in your work a desire to recover the world of childhood, the child’s gaze?

AR: I think I have a strong desire to always maintain the world of childhood and the child’s gaze. Returning to the pure feelings we had as children, no matter the circumstances, serves as a positive guiding light for us as we navigate the various choices we face in our daily lives. It reminds us to trust our instincts and embrace a sense of freedom in our decisions. When I stand in front of a painting, I want to feel that way. By the way, this isn’t a big problem, but I remember that interview I did a long time ago, and what they wrote was “chocolate-chip cookies”, but it was actually a mistake; I only said “chocolate”. And now that I’m older, I prefer wagashi, Japanese sweets.

© Photo by Hélène Desplechin, edited by KÖNIG GALERIE

GS: Your work has been characterised as a grafting of the tradition of abstract expressionism onto the Japanese "kawaii" aesthetic. Would you agree with this characterisation?

AR: I think it’s more accurate to say that rather than grafting, I’ve been more interested in freely hybridising things. I enjoy abstract-expressionist painting, but I can’t help but want to include creatures within it. I often feel the urge to add elements that look like eyes, ears, or horns. I also love the Japanese kawaii aesthetic, but I don’t want to take an overly literal approach. More than focusing on what’s depicted, I want people to feel the energy of the work. Depending on the period, the figures may become clearer, or the abstraction may become stronger, but the way I hybridise them changes depending on the moment.

GS: Let’s talk first about the abstract-expressionist component. Pollock is often cited as an antecedent, but in Japan there was also a group that cultivated abstract painting as a form of action, the Gutai group. What do you think of their work? Has it influenced you?

AR: In my early twenties, when I had just started painting, I went on a solo trip to New York. It was there that I was deeply moved by seeing the large works of Jackson Pollock and Cy Twombly in real life. Standing in front of such massive paintings, I experienced the incredible power of feeling the art directly. As for the Gutai group, I actually discovered them a little later. I wouldn’t say they had such a great influence on me. While I like the works of individual artists like Kazuo Shiraga, keywords such as “group”, “movement”, and the concept of “creating something never seen before” are perhaps too strong for me. Instead, I believe I’ve been influenced more by works that evoke lights and colours, such as those of Claude Monet and the impressionists.

GS: Let’s move on to the other component of your painting. What is "kawaii" for you? How have Japanese anime and manga inspired your work?

AR: To people outside of Japan, my artwork may seem reminiscent of anime or manga, but as a Japanese person, I don’t see it as particularly manga-like or anime-like. While manga and anime are wonderful Japanese culture, they haven’t had so much influence on my work. Rather, growing up in Japan, I was surrounded by a constant presence of cute characters in everyday life—from shop signs and adverts to even the smallest stationery items. Everywhere you look, objects are often anthropomorphised, turned into characters with faces and personalities. This culture of cuteness permeates daily life. This attention to detail and cuteness helps draw focus, makes the presence of things known, and makes it easier to embrace imperfections, mysteries, and diversity. Additionally, I think Japanese people enjoy finding ways to make daily life more peaceful, fun, and filled with humour. I believe these aspects have influenced me. For me, kawaii is about embracing imperfection, contradiction, anxiety, frustration, mystery—all of these kinds of various facets—and about actively and peacefully helping us to enjoy these aspects of life.

© Photo by Hélène Desplechin, edited by KÖNIG GALERIE

GS: Your big-eyed creatures float among clouds. Clouds seem to have a significant presence in Japanese literature and art. In the paintings made for "The Tale of Genji" in the Edo period, each scene appears framed by golden clouds.

AR: Clouds are one of the natural elements that influence me. They have a form, yet they are always shifting and changing. I believe that Japanese people find beauty in things spark the imagination.

GS: Another reference to Japanese tradition: some of your horizontal paintings are divided into panels, which remind me of the screens that are used as supports in classical Japanese painting.

AR: Most of my works feature a single main figure (or sometimes twins) on one canvas, but I started creating series, where several panels are combined to form one painting. This way, the figures appear to be independent on each canvas, yet share the same world, which I find interesting. While I have never consciously drawn inspiration from traditional Japanese painting, I do enjoy working with wide formats, as they allow me to depict the flow of clouds more expansively.

Ayako Rokkaku, UNTITLED, 2024
acrylic on canvas, triptych
160 x 390 cm; 63 x 153 1/2 in
unique

GS: Your approach to painting is improvised, without sketches, even without an idea of the colour palette you are going to use. Is this always so?

AR: In most cases, I don’t start with a detailed sketch. Even if I have a rough idea in mind, the process of painting changes it gradually, and even when I do sketch, the final result rarely follows it exactly. I begin by layering abstract colour flows, and from there, I improvise with the next colour and shape. The inspiration for the next layer often comes from the accidental shapes and colour overlaps, and I find it fascinating to see how the painting moves in unexpected directions. When I started painting, I also began to engage in live painting and experimented with various approaches that were improvised in order to discover what I found interesting intuitively; and I think I cannot change this way of creating. Moreover, rather than simply transferring a sketch onto the canvas, I find comfort in knowing that the entire process of trial and error is embedded within the painting itself.

GS: You have your own technique: applying the acrylic paint with your fingers rather than with a brush. The direct manipulation of paint has a tradition that goes back to prehistoric times, and some antecedents in the 20th century. I am thinking of Joan Miró, Jackson Pollock and especially Cy Twombly, who—beginning in 1961—turned his hands, his fingers, into his main tools of pictorial creation. Wouldn’t painting with your fingers be another way of evoking childhood?

AR: The sensation of touch is an important source of inspiration for me. If I don’t directly touch the paint or feel the surface of the cardboard or canvas, I somehow struggle to imagine the next line, shape, or colour, and I can’t naturally progress through the process. Painting with my hands and fingers is another way of evoking childhood, when I used to enjoy purely painting, and also I am able to create with a more primal impulse to leave something behind for the future. I believe this approach brings a more raw and visceral energy into the artwork.

© Photo by Francis Tsang, Museo Thyssen

GS: You are known for creating some of your paintings live, and we are going to enjoy one of your painting performances at the Thyssen. What do you get out of making your paintings live? What is the difference between painting in front of an audience and working alone in your studio?

AR: I started doing live performances around the age of 20, when I first began painting. I believe that the process of creating art—using the primitive method of painting by hand, the impulse to express, and the way the painting is born and grows—is just as important as the finished piece, and I wanted to share that experience. Sometimes people say that watching my live painting feels like a meditation. Perhaps it’s because there are no intense performances, since I focus on the act of painting with calm concentration. For me, painting itself has a meditative quality, so I’m happy if viewers feel the same way. In the studio alone, I have more time to devote to each step of the process, and I can experiment as much as I like. But live painting—usually with very limited time and in various different places—captures the rawness of the moment more directly. Both experiences are equally important to me.

GS: The earliest works included in this exhibition date from 2001–2006. How has your work evolved from then until now?

AR: During the period from 2001 to 2006, with my cardboard works, I believe I was simply following the initial impulse of wanting to express something and trying to find my own way of living. Around 2011, when I moved from Japan to Berlin, I began to experiment with various works, stepping away a bit from the style of the girl figures that had gradually become more defined. By using pencils and crayons, trying out childlike lines, I became more interested in the emotions of childhood. From there, I gradually shifted to explore the movement of colourful clouds and the balance between the concrete and abstract. The abstract backgrounds became more prominent, with the main figure at the forefront, and then I began layering abstract colours and shapes both in front of and behind the figure, resulting in more layers overall.

© Photo by Francis Tsang, Museo Thyssen

GS: Although you are mostly known as a painter, in recent years you have also made sculptures, some of which are included in this exhibition. How did you come to sculpture?

AR: While my main focus has always been on paintings, I also explored different materials such as wool yarn and clay, as a way to unwind and refresh, using them more as a hobby. Around 2019 and 2020, I had the opportunity to create works where I painted on wooden vases that I had designed by myself in Japan. These works involved painting on the surface of wood, but the process of thinking about the three-dimensional form of wood was something new to me, and it sparked a desire to create the form itself. This led me to experiment with bronze. Unlike painting, I faced the challenge of how to clearly express ambiguous shapes, how to transfer the concepts I had been exploring in the background of my paintings into three-dimensional form, and how to achieve an organic and energetic presence, as well as a sense of kawaii. It took about two years to complete my first bronze sculpture, as I had to acquire basic technical skills and engage in trial-and-error to develop my own style. For three-dimensional works, as well as paintings, the tactile sensation is important for me. When working with clay to model figures or creating pieces with yarn and fabric, I find that I need to touch and feel the materials as much as possible. I also incorporate accidental shapes that arise in the process, which helps guide the development of the image.

© Photo by Hélène Desplechin, edited by KÖNIG GALERIE

GS: One of your works included in this exhibition is a tribute to the large painting by Tintoretto that hangs in the entrance hall of our museum. What other artists from the Thyssen collection have interested you?

AR: It was an interesting challenge to create a work based on another artwork for the first time. I wanted to preserve the dynamic movement of the clouds and the powerful celebratory atmosphere of Tintoretto’s Paradise, and tried to express my own paradise where various creatures share the same moment. When I visited the museum, I felt comfortable in the collection’s rooms of early 20th-century avant-garde, which includes works like Edvard Munch’s Geese in an Orchard, Georges Braque’s paintings and Robert Delaunay’s Portuguese Woman (The Large Portuguese). It was also interesting to see Georgia O’Keeffe’s works, beyond her famous flower motifs.