Keita Morimoto Creates Cinematic Urban Scenes Illuminated by the Rhythms of Contemporary Life

At once cinematic and restrained, the paintings of Keita Morimoto transform ordinary urban scenes into quietly charged psychological spaces. Born in Osaka in 1990 and now based in Tokyo, Morimoto draws from Baroque lighting, early 20th-century American Realism, and pre-modern genre painting to construct images that feel suspended between eras—familiar yet subtly dislocated. Streets glow with artificial light, figures recede into their environments, and time appears elastic, folding multiple moments into a single frame. After formative years in Canada, Morimoto’s return to Japan in 2021 sharpened his sensitivity to the accelerated rhythms and visual intensity of Tokyo. 

That tension between speed and stillness resonates strongly as his practice enters a new chapter, marked by two significant museum exhibitions: “Quiet Light” at Kunsthal n in Copenhagen (August 27, 2025–January 15, 2026) and “Aperto 19: what has escaped us” at the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa (May 20–October 5, 2025). In the conversation that follows, Keita Morimoto reflects on process, presence, and the emotional charge of ambiguity.

The Poetry of Urban Time

WHITEWALL: When you begin a new painting, what usually comes first for you—the light, the setting, or a specific feeling you’re trying to capture?

KEITA MORIMOTO: I usually begin with a vague emotional tone and a rough, abstract image in my mind. Once that feeling becomes clear enough, I go out to gather references that match the atmosphere or setting I’m imagining.

WW: Your recent exhibitions have all explored urban spaces that feel familiar yet strangely suspended in time. What draws you back to these in-between moments, and how has that focus evolved over the last few years?

KM: I’m drawn to subjects that feel touched by the passage of time—places defined by anonymity, banality, or slight detachment. They hold emotion more quietly and allow imagination to fill the gaps. Even though painting is a flat medium, I try to convey the sense of time passing by merging different times of day into one scene, or by using diptychs and triptychs to introduce subtle shifts and movements across images.

Light as Attraction and Illusion by Keita Morimoto

WW: Since returning to Japan and working from Tokyo again, has your relationship to the city—or the way you observe it—changed in your studio practice?

KM: Definitely. Tokyo moves at a pace that feels twice as fast as what I was used to in Toronto, and that energy has made me far more productive. At the same time, I’ve had to intentionally slow myself down to preserve the breathing room my work needs to grow.

“That shift, away from spiritual symbolism and toward commercial allure, really interests me,”

-Keita Morimoto.

WW: Light in your work often feels symbolic as much as visual. How conscious are you of its emotional or narrative role while you’re painting, versus discovering it later in the process?

KM: Historically, light symbolized divinity, but in today’s consumer-driven culture, it often functions to draw people toward shops, restaurants, or vending machines. That shift, away from spiritual symbolism and toward commercial allure, really interests me. Both speak to our attraction to fiction and storytelling. I’m aware of these layers, but I don’t impose a fixed narrative; instead, I try to present scenes that can evoke a wide range of emotions and stories in the viewer’s mind.

WW: Your paintings often minimize overt storytelling, yet they feel deeply cinematic. How do you balance leaving space for the viewer while still guiding the emotional experience of the work?

KM: My foundation is quite classical, so I design the composition to guide the viewer’s eye in a deliberate way. Within that framework, I leave small moments of tension, awkwardness, or intrigue to trigger emotional responses. Those responses vary person to person—and even day to day. I’m trying to capture those in-between, ambivalent states that can feel both positive and negative at once.

Presence Through Absence

WW: Can you describe what your studio is like right now—and what a typical day there looks like, from arriving to putting down the brush?

KM: My day is almost like a 9–5. I wake up around 7:30, walk my dog, work out, have coffee, and then head downstairs to my home studio around 9. I listen to audiobooks or random YouTube videos to slip into a slightly distracted flow state, which keeps the pressure off. I paint until lunch, then work through the afternoon until around 6 or 7, sometimes later if things are going well. At night, I either meet friends or go out to gather references. Working three days straight and then taking one day off has become the ideal rhythm for me.

WW: Across recent bodies of work, figures sometimes feel anonymous or secondary to their environments. What interests you about that shift, and how do you decide when a figure is necessary?

KM: Figures still interest me, but I’ve become equally drawn to the idea of human presence being suggested through nonhuman elements—vending machines, buildings, cars, and so on. There’s a Japanese concept called “rusumoyō,” where the main subject isn’t shown directly but implied through surrounding objects. That subtlety really resonates with me, and it’s shaped how I think about presence in my work.

“Working in three dimensions lets me combine found objects with entirely invented elements,”

-Keita Morimoto.

WW: Looking ahead, what are you currently working toward—conceptually or materially—and what do you hope viewers will carry with them after spending time with your next body of work?

KM: I’m exploring installation work to emphasize the fictional quality of my images—worlds that resemble reality but sit slightly apart from it, almost like afterimages or parallel versions of our everyday environment. Working in three dimensions lets me combine found objects with entirely invented elements, which opens up new possibilities. I’m still at the beginning of this direction, but I hope viewers feel that sense of existing right at the border between the familiar and something just beyond it.