“Home Is Something That Constantly Shifts Between Past and Present”

by Barbara Yakimchuk

“Home Is Something That Constantly Shifts Between Past and Present” — Meet Shingo Yamazaki

29 Jul 2025

What is home? Is it the place where you were born, where your parents come from, or perhaps where you live and create? Chances are, it is a question Shingo Yamazaki has asked himself more than a few times.

Born in Honolulu to Japanese-Korean roots and now based in Los Angeles, the artist has plenty to say about what “home” truly means. And, as you might expect, he doesn’t just express it in words — he tells his story through art.

Blending personal memories with family motifs, Yamazaki’s work invites us to reflect on the idea of home and identity through quiet, layered detail — the kind you only notice when you take the time to really look. With his solo exhibition "Mauka to Makai" now showing at Volery Gallery until September 1, we spoke with him about his creative path and the deeper meanings behind his pieces. His reflections are just below.

“Divine Intervention”, 2025

— Could you please introduce yourself and tell us how long you have been involved in the art world?

— My name is Shingo Yamazaki. I have been painting for just over a decade now, though I would say I have been working professionally — exhibiting and building a consistent practice — for the past three years or so.

I was born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii, and much of my work draws from that experience, particularly the cultural intersections and layered identities that are part of everyday life there. About seven years ago, I relocated to Los Angeles, where I am currently based and working out of my studio.

— What was your childhood like? Were you already interested in painting back then?

— I didn’t begin with painting — it started with drawing. As a child, I was really drawn to cartoons, comics, and anime. Dragon Ball was a big one, and I would spend hours sketching characters from shows, games, and graphic novels — anything that sparked my imagination: Nickelodeon characters, Spider-Man, Sonic the Hedgehog, Mario…

My mum was incredibly supportive — she would put my drawings up on the fridge, which made it feel like they mattered, even back then.

Ironically, I stepped away from drawing in secondary school. For a few years, it just wasn’t part of my life. But once I started studying art at university, something clicked back into place. I found myself drawing again constantly — and with a new sense of focus. That is when things really began to shift.

— I know you earned a Bachelor of Arts. What did your parents say when you decided to take that path?

— They weren’t exactly thrilled when I said I wanted to major in art. Like a lot of parents, they were hoping I would go for something a bit more traditional — business, economics — something with a clearer career path.

But I have always been a bit stubborn. I didn’t want to follow a route just because it was considered “safe” or “successful.” I wanted to do something that actually meant something to me — and for me, that was art.

Interestingly, I didn’t start out painting. I began with ceramics. Most of my time in the early years was spent in the studio throwing clay, sculpting, experimenting with forms. That was the heart of my college practice at first. But once I started painting, something clicked. It just felt right — and I knew that was the direction I wanted to take.

— I am curious — what was it actually like studying on the art programme?

— I think for people who studied more traditional subjects — like economics or international relations — the creative side of university can seem like a bit of a mystery. There is this idea that it is all dreamy and romantic, like you are just painting in the sun all day. But it wasn’t quite that idealised.

I studied at the University of Hawaii — it wasn’t a private art school with endless resources or top-tier facilities, but what it did offer was space to experiment. We worked across all kinds of mediums: photography, printmaking, papermaking, ceramics, painting, drawing… It was very hands-on.

The emphasis wasn’t just on perfecting a single skill — it was on exploring different materials and finding your own voice through that process. That freedom to test things out, to fail and try again, really helped me to understand what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. It was less about technical mastery, and more about learning how to think like an artist in a way that felt honest.

— Let’s talk about your art. I can see a lot of Asian influences in your work. How do those cultural elements come through in what you create?

— A lot of it stems from the environment I grew up in. Hawaii is incredibly rich in culture, with deep Asian and Polynesian influences woven into daily life. On top of that, my own background is Japanese and Korean, so there is a personal thread that naturally runs through the work.

The figures I paint are usually friends or family, but I keep their identities deliberately ambiguous. It is a way of both inviting the viewer in and holding something back — a quiet tension that mirrors how complex identity can be.

But it isn’t just about the faces. I am especially interested in the movement of objects — how they travel through time and across geographies, especially through migration, and how their meanings shift along the way. I often focus on objects that originated in places like Japan or Korea, and consider how they have transformed after arriving in Hawaii. That process — how something evolves in a new cultural context — is something I find really compelling.

In my paintings, I use these objects as a way to explore identity, often in a more abstract or indirect way. I am particularly drawn to domestic spaces, and the quiet, almost unnoticed way they hold memory and carry cultural weight.

— I know themes like "identity", "home", and "belonging" are central to your practice. How did those become the foundation of your work?

— Those themes have always been there, even before I was fully aware of them. When you grow up in a place like Hawaii — a place shaped by so many overlapping cultures — you naturally start thinking about identity. But it wasn’t until I moved away that I began to really question what “home” means. You don’t always notice the feeling of belonging — or the ache of homesickness — until you have left the place you once called home.

That sense of in-between-ness — of not quite belonging anywhere — is something I return to constantly. I grew up speaking Pidgin, a local Creole language in Hawaii that blends Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, Hawaiian, and English. That kind of cultural and linguistic layering made me aware early on that I didn’t fit neatly into one identity.

I have come to realise that I don’t have just one home. For me, it is a shifting idea — something that changes depending on context, time, or even mood. As someone who exists between multiple cultures, I have never felt fully rooted in a single place. It often feels like I am living in the overlaps, juggling different versions of myself depending on where I am.

Now that I am based in Los Angeles, far from where I grew up, I think even more about how “home” can be psychological — an emotional or imagined space, rather than a fixed location. In my work, I often bring together different environments — interior scenes, landscapes, domestic objects — as a way of expressing my own shifting sense of identity, memory, and belonging as someone from the diaspora.

— Since you see home as something fluid, shaped by many places and memories, could you describe the different “homes” you carry with you? Where are they, and what do they mean to you?

— That is a tricky question, because for me, home isn’t tied to one specific place — it is more of a layered feeling. But if I had to name a few…

Japan is definitely one. Part of my family is Japanese, and I speak the language, so there is a deep cultural and linguistic connection. It feels like home in terms of ancestry, communication, and heritage.

Then there is Hawaii, where I was born and raised. That is probably the most tangible version of home — it is where I learned about community, where I studied local history, like the Hawaiian monarchy, and where I first began to understand my relationship to place.

Korea is another part of me, though the connection there is more complex. Some of my Korean family lived in Japan, and much of that history — especially the more difficult parts — was never really talked about. So that link feels a bit unresolved. It is part of who I am, but still something I’m working to understand.

And finally, there is Los Angeles. It didn’t start as home, but it is where I live now, where I create, and where I have had to build a sense of belonging from scratch. So in its own way, it has become home too.

"Slammers", 2024

— Is there an object from your childhood — something physical — that holds deep meaning for you and still connects you to your past?

— Yes, there is. I have a pair of binoculars that belonged to my grandfather. I kept them after he passed away — almost instinctively — as something to hold on to.

He was originally from Korea and moved to Japan, and eventually to Hawaii. After he passed away, I remember looking at his old binoculars and imagining how he travelled — from Korea to Japan — almost as if he had been searching for a place to belong. That image really stayed with me: him, looking for a home through those binoculars.

I still have them. They are more than just an object — they carry memory, movement, and a bit of imagination. They have become a quiet link to him, and to that journey.

— Let’s talk about your art. One thing I noticed is that you rarely show faces in your paintings. Is that intentional?

— It is, yes. I keep faces obscured for a few reasons. One has to do with the experience of partial visibility, especially for people from diasporic backgrounds. There is often a sense of being seen, but not fully known — or of needing to stay under the radar, to keep your head down and remain invisible in certain spaces. By not revealing faces, I am reflecting that feeling of ambiguity and erasure.

Another reason is to shift the way the viewer engages with the work. When we see a face, we instinctively form assumptions — about who someone is, how they feel, where they might be from. By removing that, I am inviting viewers to look elsewhere for meaning — in posture, in objects, in the surrounding space. It encourages a slower, more open kind of looking, one that isn’t immediately shaped by personal bias.

— I also noticed you often use bright, saturated colours. Is that your signature palette, or is there something more behind it?

— A lot of those colour choices come from nature — especially plants and landscapes. I pull directly from real-life references: tropical flora, vibrant skies, geological formations I have come across on hikes or travels. Then I reinterpret them as environments or backdrops within the paintings.

I also tend to use gradients quite a lot — transitions from one colour to another. For me, that gradient represents something in flux, a kind of in-between space. It lifts the setting out of a fixed reality and places it somewhere more psychological or emotional. So while the colours are bold, they are also a way of exploring movement, transformation, and identity.

“In Transit”, 2023

— There is such a strong connection to nature in your work. Do you paint outdoors or in nature often? What does your studio setup look like?

— Most of the time, I work in a fairly standard studio — nothing particularly glamorous. Just walls, paint, canvases, and a fair bit of clutter. But for the series I am currently working on, I actually went back to Hawai‘i and spent time hiking. I visited specific sites, took photos, and used those as reference points for landscapes and rock formations in the work.

So while the painting itself happens indoors, the imagery often comes from direct experience with nature. That sort of fieldwork — if you can call it that — is definitely part of the creative process for me.

— How do you approach inspiration? Do you wait for it, or do you have specific ways to spark new ideas?

— I try to stay quite active in how I approach inspiration. Sometimes I go through old family photos — just flipping through them can bring back memories or suggest narratives I want to explore in my work. Other times, I will start with a theme or concept and do more focused research around it.

For example, I once became really interested in the Aloha shirt — the classic Hawaiian print shirt — and started looking into its history and cultural significance. That became a way into thinking about identity, tourism, and visual language, which I then embedded into my paintings as symbolic references.

And then there are times when it is more intuitive. I will go for a hike, something will catch my attention, and that becomes the spark. I often let nature guide the direction of the work.

“Front of House”, 2024

— On your website, your latest works are marked 2021, and there has been a clear evolution since then — not just in technique, but in style and concept. How would you describe that progression?

— It has been a combination of things — natural growth in terms of skill, of course, but also a shift in the kinds of ideas I have been exploring. I try to constantly challenge myself, to go beyond what I initially think is possible — whether that is in form, subject matter, or approach. That mindset has helped me grow not just technically, but conceptually as well. I want the way I handle paint to align with the themes I am working through, so the evolution has really happened on both levels.

"Remember to Forget", 2020

— And what does that actually mean to you — to challenge yourself, within painting?

— With this current series — the one now showing in Dubai — the challenge was to bring together two different visual worlds: domestic interiors and natural landscapes. That is something I hadn’t fully explored before. It started with a piece I made for a 2023 show that focused on rock formations. I became really drawn to the way they could be both tactile and abstract — physically solid, yet open to interpretation.

That piece opened up a new direction. I began experimenting with abstracted geological forms — mountains, rocks — and placing them within more narrative, indoor spaces, alongside human figures. But I didn’t want the compositions to feel forced or overly constructed.

That was the real challenge: how to bring together all these layered, symbolic elements — landscape, memory, domesticity — and still allow the painting to breathe. It took some time, but eventually, I found that balance.

“Kiriotoshi”, 2025

— Of all your works so far, is there one piece you consider your favorite? Something that feels especially meaningful or satisfying?

— I would say the diptych titled "All the Three Peaks" is probably my favorite. That piece really represents where I am at right now in terms of merging abstract form, narrative structure, and emotional atmosphere. It brought together so many ideas I had been working through — compositionally and conceptually — and it felt like a real step forward.

It layers of symbolism I was able to embed within it. It brought together personal, cultural, and historical elements that felt meaningful on multiple levels.

For example, on the table in the painting, there are Hanafuda cards — a traditional Japanese card game. They were used during a time when Japan banned foreign influence, so the cards don’t have numbers or letters, just beautifully illustrated images of flora and animals. That way, the game didn’t appear “foreign” and could still be played discreetly. I found that historical detail fascinating and felt it tied in well with themes of adaptation and coded identity.

Another key detail is a reproduction of a Georgia O’Keeffe painting placed in the right-hand corner. That specific work was actually commissioned by the Dole Pineapple Plantation. And that ties directly into Hawaii’s colonial history — Dole was one of the plantation owners involved in the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy. When my family first moved to Hawaii, their very first job was working at the Dole plantation. So for me, placing that image into the painting was a way to bring together the colonial narrative and my own family’s history — layered in the same space. That mixture of personal and political, of beauty and tension, really defines what I’m trying to do in my work.

"Three Peaks", 2025

— Let’s wrap up with a few final questions. Can you briefly introduce your exhibition "Mauka to Makai", currently on view in Dubai? What should visitors expect from this show?

— The exhibition is titled "Mauka to Makai" — a directional phrase we use in Hawaii. Mauka means “toward the mountains,” and Makai means “toward the ocean.” It is how we give directions locally, but for me, it also became a metaphor for navigating identity — moving between cultural landscapes, memories, and different phases of life.

The show is rooted in everyday scenes — quiet domestic moments, personal memories, and familiar interactions — layered with natural landscapes. You will see a lot of blending: mountains and interiors, figures and objects, the mundane alongside the symbolic. The people depicted are often friends or family, captured in still moments, and the settings reflect both my connection to Hawaii and my life now in Los Angeles.

At its core, the show is about how I understand home — not as a fixed location, but as something constantly shifting between past and present. It is an exploration of how memory, place, and personal history all come together to shape our sense of belonging.

by Barbara Yakimchuk