Naomi Nakazato
screenprint on seaweed, pigment transfer on kozo, polyurethane, acrylic on plexiglass, aluminum, corrugated polypropylene, blood 20.75 x 16.75 x 1.375 in
MW : Can you tell us a little bit about who you are and what you do?
NN : I am a multidisciplinary artist, archivist, and arts worker, focused on creating landscapes that describe the convergence of identity, authenticity, and translation. My work reflects the experience of being biracial, delving into the tensions between different cultural and personal narratives formed by non-fluency and inexperience. By merging material objects and images, I engage with both the politics of space and the fluidity of representation, using a combination of traditional and digital tools to navigate how these realms can be both fragmented and whole. My practice spans a variety of methods, including printmaking, sculpture, archiving, and mapmaking, with each piece shaped by my identity as a biracial person raised in the U.S., while also drawing from more recent experiences in Japan. These landscapes serve as a means of exploring the complexities of belonging and the constant rupture of an insider v. outsider mentality. The work engages with the fluidity of language and representation, much like a space in constant flux—an archive of symbols, fragments, and material compositions that resist singular readings. Each piece functions as a waypoint, a moment of contact, between different cultural understandings and personal memories. The act of making becomes an attempt to articulate shifting boundaries—those points of contact where meaning is not fixed but continuously in negotiation.
MW : How did your interest in art begin?
NN : Early on, I had a mixed education of design, painting, and music, and had found a nice landing
somewhere between design and drawing classes.
This is the time in which I became aware of my propensity for arranging space, not simply to
communicate, but to construct meaning from environments. In the realm of branding and
semiotics, design often functions by manipulating and refining symbols to influence perception
and understanding. I began questioning: how can these visual archives of signs articulate the
experience of being othered, of inhabiting liminal spaces? How can design’s structural grammar
expose the fragility of translation, where meaning constantly fractures? These questions led me
to explore how an economy of space and material could create a language that resists perfect
coherence and clarity, much like the process of gardening or tending to something
fragile—careful, intentional, but always in a state of becoming.
screenprint and aluminum leaf on canvas panel in artist's frame
23.25 x 17.25 x 2.5 in
MW : Can you talk a bit about your practice of assembling material objects and images?
NN : The practice of assembling material objects and images forms the core of my practice, where
fragments of both the digital and physical worlds are collected, manipulated, and reconfigured.
The materials I use that are not easily categorized—like thermoplastics, seaweed, or carbon
copy receipt paper—because their instability and mutability align with the themes I’m exploring
and their interactions often give way to unexpected results. In the same spirit as my materials,
the sources I pull from are also obscured, speaking to the scrutiny of what is authentic, what is
derived, and whether this distinction even matters. These fragments are often stripped of their
original context or function, only to be translated back into the work through various forms. Each
layer is meant to be both a connection and a rupture, each choice a negotiation between
preservation and redefinition.
21.1 x 17 x 1.5 in
MW : How do you select the materials you work with, and how do their residual qualities
influence the final piece?
NN : The selection of materials is tied to their inherent qualities and their capacity to evoke ideas of a
place, real or otherwise. I’m drawn to substrates that speak to vastness and possibility, whether
they’re fields or screens, with each surface offering a framework for spatial desire. The materials
I choose often resist easy categorization, aligning with my exploration of the inefficiencies
inherent in translation. These materials, in their mutability and instability, become integral to the
narrative. The process of their degradation or transformation becomes a point of tension, where
form and meaning are constantly in flux.
I’m particularly invested in the material of cast objects because of their ability to reproduce fine
detail while also capturing loss and imperfection. This interplay between preservation and decay
informs the final piece, where the landscape I create is not simply a matter of artistic discretion,
but a reflection of the tension between these opposing forces. The act of disruption is central to
my process, often pulling away from traditional metrics of authenticity and allowing the work to
breathe and shift with each layer or moment of change.
In this way, the residual qualities of the materials—whether their decay, mutability, or failure to
retain their original form—become their own cross between landscape and language.
screenprint on canvas mounted on panel, seaweed on panel, hydrocal
44.7 x 28.2 x 4.7 in
MW : You describe your work as enacting a "faulty kind of translation." Can you elaborate
on what draws you to the idea of mistranslation and how it shapes your process?
NN : The notion of faulty translation surfaced with the introduction of printmaking, conveniently
coinciding with the time I began using Google Translate for projects. Printmaking, particularly
screen printing with its reticulated process of transference, mirrors my efforts to express the
complexity of identity and the frustrations inherent in navigating a racial binary. Within this
context, a faulty intermediary becomes a generative force—where code-switching and imperfect
transfers are seen as reflections of both the desire to relay meaning and the acceptance of what
is inevitably lost in the process.
Like a draftsperson or printmaker who prizes fluency and precision, I work through a biased and
imperfect channel—from the eye to the hand, to the machine, and back to the eye. My use of
mechanical and digital intermediaries, such as Google Translate and screens, reflects my
complicated relationship with translation engines as I navigate and articulate my identity,
especially when visiting Japan. Through methods like screenprinting, cyanotype, and solvent
transfers, I am able to engage with the fluidity and loss inherent in translation, where the act of
making becomes both a desire to communicate and an embrace of what is lost in the process.
My use of digital and mechanical tools mirrors my complex relationship with translation engines,
particularly in navigating Japan’s linguistic and cultural landscape. Through processes like
screenprinting, cyanotype, and solvent transfers, I embrace the gaps where meaning slips,
reflecting the fluidity of translation.
solvent transfers on kozo, screenprint on aluminum leaf on panel 60 x 48 x 2.75 in
MW : You mention glitches and uncooperative mark-making as integral to your process.
How do you cultivate these moments of disruption, and what do they reveal to you?
NN : Just as experiences of mistranslation are central to my work, glitches act as disruptive moments
inherently woven into the process, revealing the limits of control. These ruptures—whether
through misregistration in printing, digital errors, or unpredictable material reactions—are not
viewed as blunders, but as catalysts of becoming.
While I engage in processes that require meticulousness and follow the initial syntax I’ve
defined, the focus is less on intentionally creating errant marks and more on recognizing the
potential of their inclusion. These imperfections serve as signifiers, deconstructing expectations,
perfection, and boundaries to provide a place for identities to merge.
Whether physical or conceptual, these remnants guide the work toward an outcome that is both
a product of intentional choice and the unpredictable outcome of a material’s nature. The friction
between these opposing forces, both the calculated and the random, creates a tension that
propels the work forward, allowing it to evolve beyond my original design.
Pillow Chant 2023,
graphite and acrylic on canvas, fiberglass, aluminum leaf, salt 36 x 24 x 9 in
graphite and acrylic on canvas, fiberglass, aluminum leaf, salt 36 x 24 x 9 in
MW : Your work seems to engage with both language and landscapes as fluid, shifting
systems. Do you see these as metaphors for your own experience, or are they more
directly linked to your process?
NN : My practice combines technical perspectives found within the mediums of painting, sculpture,
and video games, exploring both the language of what is represented and the process of
navigating through space. In this way, engaging with spaces that reflect this in-between identity
becomes the landscape. The act of describing these landscapes then evolves into its own
language.
MW : Can you expand on your use of maps and representations of nature? Are there
particular historical or cultural references that inform your approach to dismantling
spatial politics?
NN : From both mapmaking and depicting nature, I’ve found an opportunity for worldbuilding that
reflects my belonging to a third space, while scrutinizing the spatial politics and power structures
that have potentially shaped it. The space I create is composed of nonsensical maps and field
studies of voids, interrupting rigid boundaries while simultaneously describing blips of
non-fluency. By avoiding fixed perspectives and including multiple points of reference, I
challenge orientation within the work, guiding the viewer through an intimate connection with the
materials themselves—material wayfinding that allows for personal navigation of space.
This approach to perspective is informed by traditional East Asian spatial representations, and a
collection of video games, where perspective is structured around vertical orientation rather than
horizontal, with distance indicated by elevation rather than depth (contrasting with Western
perspectives, which prioritize a fixed horizon line and linear depth). This influence was also
shaped by Hito Steyerl’s critique of verticality and surveillance, which links contemporary aerial
technologies—such as drones and Google Maps—to both power and control. The desire to
navigate landscapes through tools like Google Street View carries personal, even sentimental
value; yet, it remains fraught with the implications of surveillance and power dynamics both.
aluminum leaf on polyethylene, aquaresin, screenprint on plexiglass, acrylic, salt, seaweed, polyurethane, chrysanthemums 29.5 x 25 x 22 in
MW : Your description of your work suggests an interest in instability and inefficiency as
generative forces. Do you see your practice as a form of resistance to rigid structures
of meaning, and if so, how?
NN :
My work seems to constantly resist being packaged in a way that allows for a singular, fixed
description, to the point where I struggle to write about it, panicking that I’m emphasizing an
aspect of my practice that could shift the next time I describe it. However, I once received the
critique that my work is “mercurial,” as if the unfixed nature of my descriptions would somehow
alter the viewer’s experience. Even now, I’m not entirely sure how that was meant to be a
criticism. The use of shifty materials and the inefficiency of description allows the work to remain
open-ended, embracing messy readings that resist the linear, structured process of
interpretation that so often dominates contemporary art spaces. In the same way I find
belonging through a convoluted process, I hope the viewer can find that same sense of
belonging through its in-between description.
MW : Acts of orientation and observation seem central to your process. How do material based methods like layering, printing, or arrangement function as tools for wayfinding or
disorientation in your work?
NN : Layering, printing, and arrangement serve as tools for both orientation and disorientation in my
practice. These methods allow for the creation of depth and complexity within the work—inviting
viewers to navigate the layers, both visible and hidden. Simultaneously, they introduce moments
of disorientation, where marks become misaligned, where images seem to fracture and reform,
refusing a clear path forward. These processes function as wayfinding methods, guiding the
viewer through a landscape of shifting meanings, while also unsettling the viewer's sense of
certainty. The act of observing and navigating these fragmented spaces mirrors the process of
orienting oneself within a shifting cultural or personal context, where clarity is always in
question.
solvent transfer on mulberry, polyurethane, and hydrocal in artist's frame 28.25 x 17.5 x 2.5 in