We are thrilled to share the softly glowing world of Ulala Imai, a Japanese oil painter whose work is currently on display at Karma Gallery in New York City from January 16 to February 22, 2025. In her current exhibition, CALM, familiar characters bask in the comforts of domestic life and venture into unfamiliar territories. Read our interview with the artist below, and be sure to visit the exhibition.

Ulala Imai was born in Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, and graduated from Tama Art University in 2004 with a degree in oil painting. She completed a doctoral program at the university’s graduate school in 2009. Born with severely impaired hearing, Imai developed an affinity for the visual arts. While her childhood was limited auditorily, she grew up in a creatively rich household, surrounded by a wealth of visual stimuli. A third-generation artist, and the daughter of Shingo Imai, a painter of the Yōga (Western-style painting) tradition, Ulala ventured into the art world at a young age.

Imai’s artistic influences include Diego Velázquez’s delicate textures, Jan van Eyck’s portrayal of light and transparency, Édouard Manet’s sparing yet accurate brushstrokes — specifically in his 1880 image of “deliciously-painted” white asparagus, Botte d'asperges. These artists influence Imai to imbue her own subjects with a gentle, vibrant life force. She’s always been interested in the real stories of real objects, opting for history books over her sisters’ preferred fantasy and fairytales — an inclination she attributes partially to her poor hearing; “I can only accept what’s real in front of me,” she said in a 2018 interview with Bunshun Magazine.

An expert in oil painting, Imai paints with the unique ability to communicate the rich histories and inner thoughts of quotidian objects. Through deft brushstrokes, she portrays lifelike forms while allowing breathing room for inner essences to glow through. Imai paints quickly as if capturing a fleeting daydream; she gently cradles her subjects, carrying them from reality to canvas, careful not to disrupt the natural rhythm of their breath. Like a wildlife photographer, she waits quietly for the right tender moment.

As Imai notes in a 2023 interview with Aspen Art Museum, “When I put [Charlie Brown and Lucy van Pelt] side by side and let them sit on the branches of the trees, they gazed into the distance. Sometimes they looked positive, sometimes they looked lost in reminiscence.” When the subjects are in position, and her lens focuses just right, Imai’s snapshot animates the playful spirits hidden within multicolored plastic shells and furry fabric bodies.

Imai’s relationship with pictures is loving, essential, and tenderly symbiotic. Growing up hearing impaired in a world full of chatter, Imai was struck with a powerful realization in junior high school: “I only have pictures.” Her subjects depend on Imai’s sensitive, precise hand to reveal their unspoken thoughts, and in turn, she depends on these loyal companions to share their stories.

“The accidental actions of everyday life with nature and family support my creative process.” - Ulala Imai

As a wife and mother of three whose studio doubles as the family living room, Imai reflects the theme of daily life into her work. Amid the chaos of domestic life, the artist’s painting process becomes meditative. She removes her hearing aids, entering a soundless world where she can focus intently on her subjects. She tells the stories of everyday objects — domestic items, foodstuffs, toys, knickknacks, and souvenirs from both her and her grandmother’s collections. Each well-loved and carefully arranged object carries a sense of familiarity and care, interpreted by Imai’s hand. If you look closely, you can almost hear the quiet hum of TV static, the murmur of adults talking and children giggling in the next room, the soft clatters of pots and pans, and the howl of winter gusts.

We had the special chance to interview Ulala Imai, and take a peek into her own inner world. Read on to learn more about the concrete intentions and inspiring coincidences that shape her painting process, the special feeling of capturing the quotidian amidst the unyielding passage of time, and other intimate insights.

Your paintings often infuse toys with a range of interpersonal emotions, from playfulness to melancholy. Do these emotions reflect real-life relationships, or are they explorations of private, imagined worlds of play?

I choose motifs that match the background and stage. I place emphasis on painterly aspects such as the overall composition, the depth of the motif, and color balance. The story will come naturally later. The motifs sometimes look like actors. If you set a bear wearing a bathrobe with a desolate landscape in the background, melancholy is born. When I set Lovers on the branches of the tree where the mottled light, their own romantic world is created.

You’ve previously mentioned your process of scene preparation, where stories emerge once the composition feels just right. How do you determine when you've captured the perfect moment to paint?

For me, the most important thing is to present Works in the exhibition. I am conscious of the space and season in which I exhibit, I look for motifs in my daily life and try to compose my works according to the size of the canvas. At KARMA, the main space with columns felt like a temple to me, I was thinking of working on composition and motifs with masterpieces that would envelop the audience. When I have a hard time deciding on a composition or a motif to paint, sometimes nature or coincidence helps me.

The moment. The westering sun in the kitchen. Drafts blow and plants sway. When light shines through a gap in the clouds. The remains of a banana left by a child, or the remains of a toy scattered by my dog. The accidental actions of everyday life with nature and family support my creative process.

In CALM, your characters navigate between unfamiliar landscapes and domestic comforts. Do their repeated appearances suggest a continuing narrative, or are they intended as a series of individual vignettes?

I usually paint mainly everyday life around me. Sometimes I go on small trips with my family, and when I go on a trip, I take my motifs with me. When I travel, I encounter landscapes that make me want to paint them.However, it is difficult for me to paint an unfamiliar landscape out of the blue. There is an awkwardness in looking at images in tourist attraction brochures and painting them as if I have seen them before.

Familiar stuffed animals serve as intermediaries to connect me with the unfamiliar landscape. They are as if they are my own reflection gazing into the external landscape. For many years I have. Like cooking with ingredients I buy at the local supermarket, I paint the same motifs over and over again without getting tired of it.

Unlike me who grows old and my children who grow up, stuffed animals, like a long-lived cartoon show, do not change over the course of several seasons. This sense of discomfort gives birth to sentimental feelings.

I am happy if my exhibit looks like an ongoing story, I would be happy if my exhibit looks like a continuing narrative, and I would be happy if the viewers could imagine the story freely.

Special thanks to Katie Wisniewski, Ulala Imai, and Keiko.