I recently found myself thinking about Yoshitoshi Kanemaki in the same mental space I reserve for animation legend Satoshi Kon, which probably says more about my own sensibilities as it does about either artist. The works of both appear rooted in Japanese tradition, but are unmistakably modern; both are nuanced in their forms of expression and trust viewers to draw their own conclusions. Having written about Kon recently, Kanemaki’s work struck me as a kind of sculptural counterpart: similarly introspective and undeniable original.

At first glance, Kanemaki’s figures appear classically grounded, carved primarily from camphor wood using techniques that echo Buddhist sculpture. But that stability quickly gives way to something more uncanny: limbs elongate unnaturally, bodies stretch or compress, surfaces interrupt themselves with seams or abrupt shifts in volume. There’s a distinct sense of glitching at play, as if the human form were caught mid-render or momentarily desynchronized from itself. The visible tool marks and unfinished passages reinforce this effect, making the works feel less like static objects and more like paused transformations.

What I like most is how this quiet surrealism maintains a degree of restraint. The result is sculpture that feels unstable but in a relatable way; figures that seem to exist between states, thoughts and/or versions of themselves. In a medium associated with permanence, Kanemaki’s sculptural work feels “temporal”, as if it might continue changing as soon as we look away.