Why I Practice Nihonga in Paris: Finding Connection to My Japanese Roots

I’m an artist practicing Nihonga, traditional Japanese painting in Paris. People often ask me why, especially other Japanese people.

It’s a fair question. In France, it would be far more convenient to work with acrylics, watercolors, or oils. Nihonga is a niche practice here, and even finding the materials can be difficult.

For me, the answer is tied to my identity as a Japanese person who has spent more than half my life outside Japan.

When I was living in the United States, something happened that I’ve never forgotten. After more than three years there, I returned to Japan for a holiday. My family welcomed me home as they always had, with a bath and dinner prepared by my grandmother.

But at the dinner table, something felt different. I struggled to follow what my family was saying, and I couldn’t express myself easily in Japanese. My native language no longer came naturally to me.

I had never imagined that could happen. It took about two weeks to feel comfortable speaking Japanese again. As I tried to communicate with my grandmother, she told me I had become American. That moment has stayed with me ever since.

When I returned to the United States, I felt a growing desire to learn more about Japanese culture. I was especially drawn to traditional motifs: dragons, chrysanthemums, koi, and the meanings behind them. I wanted to understand not just how they looked, but what they represented.

At the same time, I felt that an artistic practice rooted solely in Japan wouldn’t fully reflect my experience. My life has been shaped by more than one culture. I wanted to find a way to bring those influences together in a visual language that felt coherent and true to me.

Later, after moving to Paris, an art history assignment led me to discover Nihonga. I was encouraged to explore the technique, but the more I researched, the more I realized how much there was to learn.

For two years, I taught myself while working. Then I met a teacher who practiced Nihonga and studied under her guidance for a year. She helped me develop the technical foundation for the pigeons I paint today.

Looking back, I understand why I was so drawn to Nihonga. I was searching for a way to express my Japanese identity and stay connected to my roots. The memory of struggling to speak with my own family had shown me that this connection wasn’t something I could take for granted.

Practicing Nihonga is my way of nurturing that connection, while making room for everything else that has shaped who I am.