Kyoko Imazu, still from Wonder, 2023, Shadow puppetry, dimension variable, photo by Oleksandr Pogorilyi

Kyoko Imazu explored her lifelong fascination with Yōkai by shaping a new shadow puppet performance titled “Wonder,” inspired by a gentle poem that magnifies the natural world.

The world of Yōkai has been a constant, thrilling presence in my life since childhood. These Japanese supernatural beings—monsters, shape-shifting animals, animated old tools, ghosts, or even minor gods—have populated our culture for centuries. Growing up in the late ’80s, I was immersed in their depictions through popular media like the comic series GeGeGe no Kitaro. They were terrifying, mischievous, funny, and sometimes malevolent. As a child, I felt their presence everywhere: the faces appearing on the dark wooden ceiling as I lay in bed, the strange creaks of the house as the temperature shifted, or the sense of something lurking just out of sight when walking home after dusk. This fascination persisted even after I moved to Australia as a young adult, leading me to continuously read, draw, and interpret my new surroundings through the lens of potential Yōkai hidden around every corner.

In 2023, I was given the opportunity to bring this passion to the stage. I was commissioned to create a light and shadow show for the Campbelltown Arts Centre’s Fisher’s Kids festival, which takes place at dusk as part of the wider Fisher’s Ghost celebrations. The engagement team granted me the freedom to develop a storytelling and puppetry component for the event. The venue itself was perfect: the Tea House within the Centre’s Japanese Garden, a tranquil space gifted by Campbelltown’s Sister City, Koshigaya. This location, complete with its atmospheric backdrop of ponds holding large, vibrant Koi fish in shades of red, orange, gold, and inky black, created the ideal setting for a performance at the liminal hour.

I initially wrote three scripts for this shadow performance. The first two drew heavily from classic Japanese folklore and mythology. One was a retelling of the “Hyakki Yagyo” legend—the Night Parade of One Hundred Yokai that swarmed the streets of Kyoto after dark. The second explored Ōmagatoki, or “the hour of meeting spirits”—that liminal twilight time between sunset and night, which is neither quite day nor quite dark. Both of these pieces referenced well-known narratives and powerful, sometimes playful and unsettling, figures.

The third piece took a decidedly different direction. It was directly inspired by the poem “Wonder” from my favourite poet, Misuzu Kaneko. Born in 1903 in Yamaguchi, Japan, Kaneko wrote almost 500 gentle, deeply empathetic poems for children during her brief life before her tragic death at age 26. Her poems were nearly forgotten for half a century until the 1980s. Then I discovered her work in a Japanese primary school textbook in the mid-90s. Her words quietly magnify the smallest details of the natural world—the lives of flowers, tiny sardines, or common sparrows. I vividly recall reading her words as a child; a quiet, expansive “click” went off. This encounter with her empathy stayed with me, eventually growing into the foundational inspiration for my creative practice.

We ultimately chose a shadow performance for this third script, also titled “Wonder,” which I built around her poem. The story follows the curious giant, Daidarabotchi, as he strolls after sunset, discovering the sheer wonder found in the world’s smallest details.

In legends and folklore, Daidarabotch is a giant in various parts of Japan. He (my choice of the male pronoun reflects one of Daidarabotchi’s many alternate names, Dandan Bōshi—Bōshi meaning “Buddhist monk” or “priest,” which likely refers to the figure’s bald, mountain-like head) is said to have created lakes and mountain ranges such as Lake Biwa and Mount Fuji. He is a legendary creator of the Japanese landscape as we know it!

I was interested in exploring this giant who, seemingly unaware of his immense presence in the world, is curious about small things that no one pays much attention to.

I wanted my Daidarabotchi to be as relatable as any audience member.

The first thing I did in creating the show was to design Daidarabotchi himself. Plenty of historical and contemporary images of him exist, including the widely recognised towering Forest Spirit in Studio Ghibli’s Princess Mononoke, but I wanted my Daidarabotchi to be as relatable as any audience member. Though my initial paper puppets were blobby and slightly grotesque, echoing historical images, my Daidarabotchi eventually evolved into a simple, human-shaped boy. Most scenes featured non-specific locations, focusing instead on universal senses like touch, smell, sight, and hearing—with the exception of the Tawny Frogmouth, a creature I included as a nod to the iconic nocturnal Australian bird.

The story was performed entirely on an old school overhead projector. It’s one of my favourite devices for shadow play because of its bright bulb and ability to create crisp shadows. However, its downside is the limited working area—I only had a 28 x 28cm square to tell the entire story. Thinking through the mechanism of the puppet and each scene was a fun and rewarding challenge, and it was important to keep the staging simple, as the performance was played live by me with only one other person assisting.

Sound was the crucial final aspect. After a discussion with sound designer Darius Kedros, we decided I had to narrate the story—a challenge I never thought I would face, as listening to my own recorded voice is a difficult experience. However, the voice of the little boy in the story was professionally performed by Felix, my dear friend’s son, and Darius’s thoughtful sound design truly added life and depth to the tale.

I’ll leave this story of my show with the poem that continues to bring me back to the source of my creativity, helping me think of the stories I want to tell.

Kyoko Imazu, still from Wonder, 2023, Shadow puppetry, dimension variable, photo by Oleksandr Pogorilyi

Wonder, Misuzu Kaneko  

I wonder why
the rain that falls from black clouds
shines like silver.

I wonder why
the silkworm that eats green mulberry leaves
is so white.

I wonder why
the moonflower that no one tends
blooms on its own.

I wonder why
everyone I ask about these things
laughs and says, “That’s just how it is.”

From Sample Poems | Misuzukaneko.com

不思議
私は不思議でたまらない、
黒い雲からふる雨が、
銀にひかっていることが。

私は不思議でたまらない、
青い桑の葉たべている、
蚕が白くなることが。

私は不思議でたまらない、
だれもいじらぬ夕顔が、
ひとりでぱらりと開くのが。

私は不思議でたまらない、
誰にきいても笑ってて、
あたりまえだ、ということが

Ábout Kyoko Imazu

Kyoko Imazu is a Melbourne-based artist working across a diverse range of mediums, including printmaking, papercut, shadow puppetry, ceramics, and installation. Her work invites viewers to look closely at the plants, insects, fungi, and pebbles of our daily lives, revealing the unique stories held within each leaf, wing, and petal. Through an imaginative lens, she explores themes of life, death, and regeneration, weaving personal memories with the unseen lives of these creatures. Beyond the studio, Kyoko is a dedicated environmental advocate, having founded Friends of Hillcroft Park, a community group dedicated to fostering a stronger bond between people and their local ecosystem. She is currently preparing for her 2026 exhibition and a new theatre work with Things of Foam and Wood, which will explore shadow, light, Japanese folklore, and the modern parenting struggle. Visit kyokoimazu.com and follow @kyokoimazu

Tags

animation | G41 | insects | Japan | Melbourne | papercut | puppetry