The Soul Trembles: In Conversation with Chiharu Shiota

Born in Osaka, Japan, in 1972, Chiharu Shiota first studied painting in the Art Department of Kyoto Seika University before moving to Germany to continue her studies at Hochschule für Bildende Künste Hamburg, Hochschule für Bildende Künste Braunschweig, and Universität der Künste Berlin. During this time, she was encouraged to expand her art beyond the canvas and use her body as an artistic vessel. Quickly realizing that painting alone was too restrictive, Shiota began filling up spaces with her art. Little by little, and through experimenting with various mediums such as performance art, video, and photography, she developed her signature immersive artworks—instantly recognizable due to their peculiar material: yarn.

Chiharu Shiota (Artist), Berlin, 2024. Photo: Sunhi Mang

This yarn, often red, fills entire rooms, connecting different objects together, such as suitcases in ‘Accumulation: Searching for a Destination’ or calcined chairs and a piano in ‘In Silence’. These threads symbolise human relationships and the ties that link us all together. This concept is central to Shiota’s work, as she has spent much of her later career illustrating the emotions that accompany themes such as grief, provenance, and memory.

To understand Chiharu Shiota’s art is to experience it; it is not merely visual but appeals to all the senses. When visitors step into a room covered from floor to ceiling in yarn, the first sensation is warmth—the material retains heat, creating an almost cocoon-like effect. Depending on the color of the yarn, the room is bathed in a soft tint: red yarn casts a pink haze, while black creates a dark, almost foreboding aura. The final response, however, is unique to each visitor, shaped by their own past experiences, memories, and emotions. Shiota’s installations are not meant to be interpreted in a singular way; while they are borne from her personal experiences, she embraces the fact that they may evoke entirely different feelings in others.

Chiharu Shiota’s art and career are both complex and interdisciplinary, but above all, her work is immersive. Recognizing this, the Grand Palais in Paris became the first museum in Europe to host a 20-year retrospective of her career, in collaboration with the Mori Art Museum in Tokyo, which originally presented the exhibition in 2019 and has since organized its tour across Pacific Asia. Arranged chronologically across more than a dozen rooms, the exhibition takes visitors through Shiota’s artistic evolution, from her early works to her struggles with cancer and the global success of her installations. 

In a conversation with New Wave Magazine, she shared insights into her art and experiences.

View of the Exhibition Chiharu Shiota ; The Soul Trembles, Grand Palais, 2024. Photo by Didier Plowy.

When did you start thinking of human relationships as “links”? Was it a sudden epiphany or a gradual realisation over time?

Everyone is connected in society, whether through people or networks. I can’t remember exactly when I started thinking this way, but I don’t believe it began at any specific moment—it might have always been there.

Your art has helped many people feel seen when it comes to the complexity of anxiety, human relationships, and emotions. Do you think your desire to illustrate and materialise these feelings comes from the belief that they are often overlooked or considered taboo?

My art comes from my own feelings, primarily my personal emotions. I don’t create my work with other people’s emotions in mind; instead, I take my own small emotions and build on them. I’m not sure if others feel the same way, but I try to turn “I” into “we.” It’s a little different from your interpretation.

View of Uncertain Journey, Chiharu Shiota, 2016/2024, Grand Palais, Paris. Photo by Dider Plowy.

You’ve mentioned in interviews that you started using yarn as a medium because painting felt too restrictive. Do you think, as a society, we tend to limit ourselves too much?

With digitisation, more people than ever can communicate openly. It has always been difficult to see beyond what is directly in front of us—to imagine what isn’t there. No one knows the destination of their life; people have always struggled to see what is possible.

Yarn is a delicate material—it can be burned or cut. Do you think this reflects the fragility of human emotions and relationships?

Yes, I like this interpretation. It adds another emotional value to the thread because, like human relationships, the yarn can be cut, tangled, broken, or loosened. The material itself carries an emotional weight.

Have you ever considered creating an artwork with yarn that is meant to be destroyed?

Normally, after an exhibition, the artwork is always destroyed. I have to recreate it each time. But I like that people can remember my work—it exists in their memory. They will never forget it.

View of Accumulation - Searching for the Destination, Chiharu Shiota, 2014-2016, Grand Palais, Paris. Photo by Didier Plowy.

How do you choose the objects at the end of the yarn, such as suitcases or shoes? Are they personally significant, or do they hold a more universal symbolic meaning?

The suitcase holds a lot of memories for me. I once bought an old suitcase at a flea market in Berlin without knowing why—it just felt important. When I opened it at home, I found an old newspaper from the 1940s and a packing list. As I read the list, I realized it was very similar to mine when I travel, but from over 50 years ago. I love how these objects carry the memories of their past owners.

You’ve exhibited your work all over the world. Do you think that your artwork is received differently depending on which continent or culture it is exhibited in?

Yes, reactions vary depending on where my work is shown. For example, when I exhibited an installation with shoes in Kraków, people immediately associated it with Auschwitz. But when I showed the same work in Japan, no one made that connection. Cultural background plays a huge role in how people interpret the work.

What do you think about being called the “spider artist”?

I don’t really like being called a “spider artist” because, for me, I’m creating paintings in the air. My work fills an entire room with lines, which feels very different from a spider web. But people tend to make that connection anyway.

Your latest exhibition at the Grand Palais is your first retrospective in Europe. When you saw the works of your life assembled in one space, what did you feel? Did it feel like an accomplishment, or do you have any regrets?

This has been one of the most successful shows at the Grand Palais, but it was very difficult to create because it’s such an old, historic building. I had to adjust the exhibition to fit the space. The response, however, has been incredible, and I’m really happy with it. The last stop in China felt very centered in China, but in Paris, it feels more international, with visitors coming from all over Europe to see it.

What has been the biggest challenge of your artistic career?

The biggest challenge was working while being sick. I have had many surgeries—surviving, continuing to work, and facing death so often has been difficult.

In Asia, red yarn symbolises a link to one’s destiny. Do you believe it was your destiny to become a great artist?

I knew I wanted to be an artist when I was 12 years old. I didn’t want to be anything else. I don’t know if I’m great, but I knew I had to be an artist—I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

View of In Silence, Chiharu Shiota, 2002/2024, Grand Palais, Paris. Photo by Didier Plowy.

If you could give advice to your younger self or to young people in general, what would it be?

It’s important to put all your energy into what you do because if I put all my energy into it, it will lead to something greater.