Tokyo-based artist Yukimasa IDA approaches painting as an encounter with time itself, where perception, memory, and the physical smolder and ignite. Earning a Master’s in Oil Painting at Tokyo University of the Arts, IDA has cultivated a practice that resists fixed categories, moving innately between figuration, material experimentation, and sculptural thinking. His canvases bear the heat of lived moments, emphasizing pure emotion and vivid transformation.
IDA’s work has been exhibited internationally, including presentations with Mariane Ibrahim Gallery in Chicago and Perrotin Gallery in Paris, placing his deeply personal investigations within a global contemporary discourse on human experience and impermanence.
The Influence of Ichi-go Ichi-e
Yukimasa IDA, “Self Portrait,” 2025, mixed media on canvas, 1940 × 1620 mm, courtesy of the artist and IDA Studio.
Yukimasa IDA, “Where the Wild Things Are,” 2024, oil on bronze, 425 × 200 × 210 mm, courtesy of the artist and IDA Studio.
WHITEWALL: Your practice is deeply connected to the Japanese concept of Ichi-go Ichi-e —the recognition of a moment as unrepeatable. How did this idea first emerge as a personal point of inspiration for you?
YUKIMASA IDA: It began during a trip to India in my early twenties. Witnessing the raw cycle of life and death in the slums and by the Ganges, seeing graffiti that read “Life is Short,” I was struck by the realization that the people I met there—and even the “me” of that exact moment—would never exist in the same way again.
For me, Ichi-go Ichi-e is not just about meeting people; it is about the intersection of time and existence. Life is constantly moving, and because it flows, visual “noise” or discrepancies occur between what we see and what remains in our memory. I paint to capture that fleeting “now” and to crystallize the encounter before it vanishes into the past.
“Everything is realism. I am not interested in creating a photographic copy.”
Yukimasa IDA
WW: Your paintings exist in a space where figuration feels on the verge of dissolution, while carrying the sense of something still forming or emerging. What draws you to this threshold, and how does working at that edge allow you to explore inner experience beyond realism or abstraction?
YI: I often say that for me, “everything is realism”. I am not interested in creating a photographic copy. When human beings perceive the world, we don’t see it as a frozen still image; we perceive it with temperature, smell, and the flow of time.
The dissolution you see is what I call “noise.” It represents the discrepancy between the visual surface and the impression left in one’s mind. By working on this threshold, I am trying to crystallize the wavering existence of the subject. The distortion is not an abstraction but the utmost reality of how a living, moving human being exists in my memory.
Yukimasa Ida on Painting as a Record of Time
Yukimasa IDA, “Horse,” 2025, oil on canvas, 1620 x 1940 mm, courtesy of the artist and IDA Studio.
WW: In bodies of work like “Flaming Memory,” paint itself appears to function as an archive of lived moments. How do you understand the material weight and physical buildup of paint as a way of holding time, experience, or presence within a work?
YI: For me, paint is a substance that embodies time. Just as our lives are formed by layers of past experiences, my paintings are formed by piling up layers of paint. I feel that by adding physical mass to the canvas, I am giving weight to invisible memories and time. Sometimes I use collage or thick impasto to leave a “scar” or a “trace” of existence that is tactile. The buildup of paint is the physical evidence of the energy and time I spent confronting the subject—a fossil of the “now” that has passed.
WW: Your use of color feels closely tied to sensation rather than description. How do you think about color as a carrier of psychological depth within your paintings?
YI: I choose colors not based on visual accuracy but on the emotional reality of that moment—the temperature, the scent, and the atmosphere I felt.
Often, I am drawn to red, which signifies blood, passion, and the core of life. If I feel a person’s sadness is blue or their passion is red, that is the reality for me. Color serves as a direct language to convey the “unseen information” of an encounter, transmitting the soul or “vibe” of the subject directly to the viewer’s senses.
WW: The works in shows like “Now is Gone” and “Here and Now” reflect an ongoing dialogue with time and existence. How has your understanding of temporality evolved over the course of your career?
YI: Earlier in my career, I was driven by a fear of loss—the feeling that End of Today meant time was slipping away, and I had to desperately capture it.
Now, my perspective has shifted to the concept of Panta Rhei (everything flows). I have come to accept that the world and I are constantly changing. The “me” of yesterday is different from the “me” of today. Instead of trying to stop time, I now see my work as a continuous flow. I feel I have moved from a personal fear of loss to a broader acceptance of how individual moments connect to form a larger history of humanity.
Between Painting and Sculpture
Yukimasa IDA, “A Man,” 2024, oil on canvas, 455 x 380 mm, courtesy of the artist and IDA Studio.
Yukimasa IDA, “Las Meninas,” 2024, oil on canvas, 2150 x 1870 mm, courtesy of the artist and IDA Studio.
WW: In addition to painting, you also work in sculpture. What challenges or possibilities arise when translating your ideas about immediacy and embodiment into three-dimensional form?
YI: My father was a sculptor, so three-dimensional thinking has always been part of my roots. The greatest possibility of sculpture is that it shares the same physical space and gravity as the viewer, unlike the illusion of a two-dimensional painting.
Translating the speed of my brushstrokes into clay is a physical struggle. It allows me to verify the existence of the subject tactually. While painting captures the “image” of a moment, sculpture captures the “presence” of it, allowing the viewer to experience the subject from 360 degrees.
“The painting is greater than the artist.”
Yukimasa IDA
WW: Your studio appears to function as both a working environment and a site of contemplation. What does a typical day in the studio look like for you, and how do rhythm and routine—or their absence—shape your way of working?
YI: The studio is a place of confrontation with myself. My routine is simple: I go to the studio, prepare, and face the canvas. It is a repetition of joy and struggle.
Ultimately, I feel that “the painting is greater than the artist.” I am just a medium. Even after I am gone, the paintings will remain. So, in the studio, I try to clear my ego and let the painting lead me. Whether the rhythm is explosive or contemplative, I surrender to the act of creation until the work finds its own life.
WW: As your work continues to reach wider audiences internationally, are there new questions you find yourself compelled to investigate next?
YI: I am currently focusing on a series called “Naked.” It explores the idea of stripping away social titles, clothes, and even cultural backgrounds to depict humans simply as existing beings.
Moving to London expanded my perspective from personal pain to broader social structures. I realized that whether we are rich or poor, or whatever our race, underneath we are all just naked human beings on this planet. I want to see if my personal exploration of “here and now” can resonate with the “universal humanity” that connects us all beyond borders. This is an attempt to turn personal memory into a collective one.
Yukimasa IDA, “Miniature Garden – Creative Allegory,” 2020, oil on panel, 3500 x 10920 mm, courtesy of the artist and IDA Studio.
