Ken Higaki
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Ken Higaki grew up in Japan and is now a self-taught painter in Los Angeles, working in the Venetian tradition of the old masters. He came to it partly out of practicality, its limited palette made it affordable to learn on his own, and partly out of obsession once he realized he could teach himself to paint like them. His figures often turn animal-like, hybrids he uses as symbols for instinct, hunger, and desire. He grew up with Shinto, which sees the natural world as full of spirits, and he treats his figures the same way. This August he opens a solo show, Tadpoles, at Diginner Gallery in Tokyo.
Q: You moved from Kagawa to Portland at nine, then made a spontaneous jump to LA. What did LA open up that led you to painting?
A: I was living in the small town of Eugene, Oregon before moving to Los Angeles, and the intensity and chaos of the city hit me hard. I found myself longing for the quiet forests and slower pace that had always brought me peace. Since I couldn't return to that landscape, I turned inward instead. Painting became a new kind of refuge, a way to process my surroundings and reconnect with myself. It reminded me of the therapeutic nature of making art.
Q: How does a self-taught painter end up working in something as old and demanding as the Venetian tradition?
A: That's a great question, and I don't think I have one clear answer. I've always loved drawing figures and inventing characters. As I naturally gravitated toward painting, I found myself creating people and stories. The more I studied classical painting, the more I realized that so many of its technical problems had already been solved centuries ago.
The knowledge is still there, waiting to be learned. It also relies on a relatively limited palette, which made it more affordable for me as a self-taught artist. At some point I realized that, with enough dedication, I could learn to paint like the old masters. That possibility became an obsession.
Q: Your figures often turn animal-like, half-human, half-something else. Where does that come from?
A: I've always felt a need to understand human behavior. We like to think of ourselves as rational, intelligent, and endlessly creative, but underneath it all we're still animals driven by instinct, hunger, fear, and desire. These hybrid creatures have become symbols of those instincts.
Through them, I explore not only myself, but also my relationships, politics, and the society around me.
Q: How does your Shinto background come into these figures?
A: Shinto is a spiritual tradition that sees the natural world as being inhabited by spirits. Those spirits help us give form to things we can't fully explain, allowing us to acknowledge mystery rather than conquer it.
In many ways, I approach painting the same way. My figures become vessels for emotions, questions, and parts of myself that I don't yet understand. Painting isn't about finding answers—it's about becoming comfortable with the unknown and giving it a form I can live with.
Q: Desire and violence are never far apart in your work. Why that pairing?
A: Well, it's a certain form of hunger. We crave it. We need it. Isn't that somewhat violent?
Q: Where do you want the work to go next?
A: My next solo exhibition, opening in August, is called Tadpoles at Diginner Gallery in Tokyo. Without realizing it at first, using animals as symbols to critique society gradually became a way of understanding myself. Tadpoles represent the in-between, they exhibit in a state of becoming, a life suspended between two forms. With this symbol, my collection represents my transition as an American, my transition from a boy to a man. I hope to continue using animals in future bodies of work, but less as metaphors for society and more as spiritual companions. They help me navigate questions about identity, memory, and transformation. My hope is that viewers can see parts of themselves in these creatures and discover their own meanings through them.
