Yoko Ozawa
Practice of よはく yohaku 
2023

ink, sap, kofun (shell powder) on paper
series, four studies
42.0 x 59.5 cm (image & sheet) 
44.2 x 61.0 cm (framed)

Courtesy and copyright of the artist

On the side of the road
fallen leaves gaze at the high sky
recalling how close we were.

—Yoko Ozawa

An evocation of the Aki (秋) (Autumn or Waring as it’s known in Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung language) season here in Naarm (Melbourne), Yoko’s Practice of よはくyohaku continues her rumination on the seasons and search for deeper connectedness through yohaku no bi, the beauty of blank space. 

The style draws from her early training and deep appreciation of Japanese aesthetics and painting. In particular, the famed ink paintings of Hasegawa Tōhaku, such as Shōrin-zu byōbu, beloved for its perfection of the notion.

The pine trees depicted in the masterpiece are shrouded in mist, barely visible and yet in the absence of marks, there is profound beauty and potential for the viewer to fill in the gaps, to bring their own emotional self to life in the blank space. 

Yoko’s drawings share a similar feeling in the blank spaces she has created for the viewer’s mind to wander. Born from her deep regard for Nihon-ga (Japanese-style painting), they are nonetheless a remarkably unique, place-specific evocation of the season here on Wurundjeri Country, where she lives.

Viewed from left to write (or right to left as the viewer prefers), one can almost sense the passing of a Waring day. Fog, breeze, rain, light, shadow, trees, bird life, people, objects and things emerge to tell a story. 

Continue reading for one personal interpretation of the drawings. We invite you to write a haiku in response to the drawings. One poem will be selected for showcasing in our next newsletter. 

—Emma Thomson, correspondences

When I climb double step up 
a cool breeze blows below my ankles.
The fall is flying by.  

—Yoko Ozawa

Reflection

The canopies of tall gum trees gently shimmer in the distance, cloaked behind the heavy morning mist as I take my morning walk to the gallery in the crisp Autumn air.

The early morning passes, and so too does the mist, revealing in its wake dappled sunlight and flowering gums, heavy with flowers, that line my walk home for lunch, accompanied by birds and bees. 

In the afternoon, cloud cover returns, as is Waring's way. Heavy with condensation, the wind blows them slowly overhead. On the ground, the wind gathers strength, tugging at trees and Yoko's hat as she arrives at the gallery. 

In the evening, we talk and drink tea, and then she hops on her bike to head home. I lock the gallery door as darkness falls; rain comes quickly, urgently almost. Arriving home to a glimpse of light in my partner's study, I am reminded, I am not alone.  

—Emma Thomson, correspondences