The Wonderful And Vibrant World of Chiyoko Kana

Step into Chocotopia, and you’re not just looking at a painting, you’re visiting somewhere. It’s the inner world Chiyoko Kana has been building for years, home to recurring characters like Yayoi-chan and rendered in candy-bright color. Her path back to painting wasn’t easy, but she kept going anyway. For her solo show with us, she turned to the carnival: that festive, slightly unusual space where everyday life becomes something else.

Thinking about your Solo Show with us; what was the starting point for this body of work, and how has the idea evolved as you developed the show?

The starting point for the show was the carnival theme, which I really enjoyed when I participated in the January show at Poetic Tiger Gallery. I have always loved festive things — festivals, parties, ceremonies, all those slightly unusual moments when everyday life becomes something different. But I had never really realized that I had a particular fascination with the idea of a carnival.

Once I decided on the theme, I started looking through the images I already had in my mind, collecting them from Chocotopia, my inner world. Many of them were already there as images, almost like scenes waiting to be painted.

Carnival Voyage, the main piece of the show, was actually the last one I had to find. I spent days looking into Chocotopia, trying to see if anything was happening there that could become the painting. Luckily, Yayoi-chan, one of the regular residents of my inner world and my paintings, decided to go to the ocean — which is quite unusual for her. Other residents joined her, and somehow the whole scene came together.

Since Chocotopia is my inner world, it is inevitably influenced by things I see and think about in the real world. But I don’t really control what happens there. I can only observe it. So, in a way, I have to say I was very lucky that Yayoi-chan decided to go to the sea.

What started you on your journey into art professionally?

I got my very first paid illustration job when I was 16. At the time, I thought that might be my chance to become a professional artist, but my journey turned out to be a much more complicated one.

My twenties were particularly difficult. I was dealing with a congenital nerve condition related to syndactyly, while Japan was also going through a difficult period in its job market. I moved from one temporary job to another, while continuing to enter competitions and visit publishers with my portfolio, trying to find my way back into art.

After moving back to my hometown of Yamaguchi, I worked in two very different fields—as a television commentator and as an English teacher for the Japan Air Self-Defense Force. Eventually, I lost both sources of income, while at almost exactly the same time, my hand condition improved enough for me to draw properly again.
But there was one more unexpected detour. A local gallery owner told me quite bluntly that I had no talent and that pursuing painting was pointless. Since it was the only gallery in my area, I began working more seriously with textile and three-dimensional pieces instead. I won awards for two of my textile works, but eventually realized that painting was still what I needed to pursue.

Then I remembered something a mentor in the international art community had told me: “Your talent is in painting.”

Those words stayed with me. So I started painting again.
It was a strange moment. On paper, I had lost most of my income and had fewer options than before. But emotionally, I felt almost the opposite.

I got my hand back.

To date, I have worked at 25 different workplaces. I survived. And somehow, I felt excited—almost as if I had finally been given the chance to set off on a voyage into a vast, open ocean.

What is the last piece of art (by someone else) that genuinely stopped you in your tracks, and how did it make you feel?

“Carousel” by Juliana Kolesova.

Literally, I froze and forgot to breathe. I was almost overwhelmed with gratitude that I had discovered such a striking piece of art. It felt as if it had reached out and grabbed my heart.

A carousel is the ultimate fun ride, and I think most people have some kind of sweet memory attached to one. But there is also something true about the innocent cruelty of children. Children can kill insects or dismantle their dolls without really understanding the cruelty of what they are doing.

This piece didn’t need a single word. It contained innocence and beauty, but also the cruelty and darkness that we all somehow know exist alongside them.

That is what I love and want to see in artwork: light and shadow. Beauty cannot exist without shadow and darkness.

And finally, if you could prescribe one thing to everyone on the planet to bring a little more joy, what would it be?

I would prescribe imagination — and the ability to think before we act on our instincts.

I guess cruelty may be one of the instincts humans possess, but I believe reason gives us the ability to choose what we do with it. I don’t think we need to eliminate the darker parts of human nature. In fact, those parts can sometimes become the source of stories, art, and imagination.

What matters is what we choose to do with them.

If someone is angry, jealous, or frustrated, they can channel those feelings into running, working out, making art, writing a story, playing music, or simply making something strange and beautiful. Or they can use those feelings to hurt someone weaker.

I would much rather live in a world where people turn their darker instincts into something creative rather than something destructive.

Maybe that’s what imagination is for: not pretending that darkness doesn’t exist, but finding somewhere better for it to go.

And I think that would make the world a little more interesting — and probably a little more joyful, too.