Through my study of ikebana, I came to understand the feeling of “seeing plants as three-dimensional forms.” The art of arranging flowers is not simply about looking beautiful from the front — it must be beautiful from every angle, a full 360 degrees. That was the philosophy I encountered.

This teaching resonated deeply with me, as I had previously worked as a glass artist creating vessels. When making a vessel, you always think in three dimensions, as a solid form. I believe it was precisely because that habit of mind had become second nature that I was immediately able to embrace the philosophy of ikebana.

And yet, the act of drawing is the process of translating a three-dimensional solid into a two-dimensional plane. In order to create a work in which the viewer can imagine even the back side of a petal or leaf, the artist must have a deep understanding of the structure and texture of that hidden side. In many cases, when a painting makes petals look somehow flat, the cause is that the artist has not truly grasped the structure of the flower.

So, what is the answer?

The first step is to research the plant you wish to paint as thoroughly as possible. Today, an astonishing amount of information is available through online searches. But do not stop there — wherever possible, go and touch the plant itself.

Touch — Feel the texture with your hands
Sight — Take it apart to understand its structure
Smell — Breathe in its fragrance
Taste — If the fruit is edible, taste it
Hearing — Listen for the sound of leaves and stems brushing together, or raindrops falling on them
Presence — If possible, visit the place where it grows in the wild, and simply be there

I strongly encourage painting only after absorbing information about the plant through every sense available to us as human beings.

Every single plant on display at a flower shop has its own story. Which continent does it originate from? What kind of climate does it grow in? Who gave it its name? I believe that knowing even just one piece of that background before you begin to paint is an important process — one that adds depth to your expression.

Each and every flower is, in a sense, like a sphere. Rather than seeing it as simply “round,” imagine what world lies on its other side.

To paint a picture in which you can see the “other side” of the sphere. That, I feel, is close to the very essence of translating three dimensions into two. And it is the vision of botanical art that I strive towards.

ⓒKayoko Miyazawa

The online shop has been relaunched under the name
“FRAGR•ART BOTANICA · KAYOKO MIYAZAWA”

“FRAGR•ART” denotes a fusion of Fragrance and Art.

Whilst rendering the form of plants with precision, attention is also given to texture, subtle fragrance, and the presence that resides within—
extending beyond the visible to create work that resonates quietly with the senses.

The shop presents giclée prints that faithfully convey the spirit of the original works,
alongside newly introduced postcard sets.

Delivery is available both within domestic and internationally.
The newly refined space awaits.

ENTER ONLINE SHOP

The Resonance Within a Line

Composition is an evolving journey. Sometimes it strikes me in a heartbeat; other times, it requires hours of deliberate refinement to mirror the image in my mind. Even when an inspiration feels perfect, I must cross-reference it with botanical accuracy. I often find myself smiling in a solitary debate with the paper: “No, a leaf shouldn’t grow from this angle.”

I once spent three days agonizing over the layout for a Lycoris (Red Spider Lily) painting, only to stop halfway through because it didn’t feel “right.” In those moments, I have to clear my mind and start fresh. That is the weight I place on composition.

Weaving Flowers, Painting the Breeze

In the wild, plants reach toward the sun in a beautiful, chaotic tangle. You cannot simply transplant that raw state into the rectangular frame of a drawing sheet.

Think of it as working with a fashion model. A model only becomes the subject of a masterpiece once they are styled, dressed, and posed. No matter how naturally beautiful they are, art requires preparation. Flowers are no different; even a single cut flower has a “face.” The curve of a stem can shift the entire mood of a piece, and when multiple elements are involved, every pencil stroke carries immense responsibility. A single degree of change in a line can create a completely different world.

Memories of Ikebana and the Nuances of a Line

This philosophy is deeply rooted in my past experience with Ikebana. During my years as a glass artist, I studied the Sogetsu school of floral arrangement to better understand the relationship between a vessel and its contents. I learned that neither the vase nor the flower is the protagonist alone—art is born when they harmonize to bring out the best in each other.

While botanical art is often defined as “painting what you see,” I strive for something more. I want to capture the intangible: the air, the breeze, the subtle swaying of a stem, and even the scent.

Whether I am walking my dog or observing roadside weeds, I am constantly searching for the perfect “pose” for each plant. I believe that when we refuse to compromise on a single line—when the placement, the leaves, and the flowers finally merge into one cohesive vision—that is where true originality resides.

©Kayoko Miyazawa

— Japanese vs. Western Holly : The Differences and the Secret of the Thorns

In Japan, when people hear the word “Hiiragi” (Holly), they tend to lump English Holly and Western Holly together as the same thing. However, Japanese Hiiragi and Western Holly are actually entirely different plants.

The so-called Japanese Hiiragi belongs to the Oleaceae (Olive) family, the same as the fragrant olive (Kinmokusei), and it bears blackish berries. On the other hand, Western Holly (such as English Holly) belongs to the Aquifoliaceae family. They differ even at the family level and are completely distinct species.

In Japan, it has long been believed that planting Hiiragi in the front “demon’s gate” (the northeast) and Nanten (Sacred Bamboo) in the back “demon’s gate” (the southwest) of a house brings good luck. This is known as Kimon-yoke, or protection against evil spirits. There is also a custom seen nationwide called “Hiiragi Iwashi,” where a sardine head is stuck onto a branch of Hiiragi and displayed at the entrance on the night of Setsubun (the day before the beginning of spring). The proverb “Even the head of a sardine can be a god if you have faith” (meaning belief is everything) comes from this tradition.

To be honest, I actually encountered this sight at an apartment where I lived when I was a student. A dried-up fish impaled on a branch of Hiiragi was attached to the front staircase. Every time I saw it, I was genuinely scared… I assumed it was some strange cult or black magic, and I unconsciously avoided the people living in that unit. It wasn’t until much later that I learned the meaning of this custom. Thinking back now, I realized I had been very rude to my neighbor.

Botanically, the method of distinguishing them is actually quite clear. Japanese Hiiragi leaves grow “opposite” (in pairs), whereas Western Holly leaves grow “alternate” (staggered). You can identify them just by this difference alone.

When we think of English Holly, those sharp, jagged leaves make a strong impression; it is a truly beautiful plant. However, in Japan—or at least in Tokyo—we rarely see that typical variety. I wonder if they exist in Hokkaido, where the latitude is closer to Europe… I’m a little curious.

Most of the holly available in the Tokyo area is Western Holly, but the leaves tend to be rounder with more modest spines.

The holly I drew this time is also Western Holly. While observing it, I noticed something: the leaves near the bottom have many thorns, but the higher up the plant you go, the rounder the leaves become, with fewer thorns. When I looked it up, I learned that the lower leaves develop thorns as a defense mechanism because they are easily eaten by insects, while the upper leaves, which are harder for insects to reach, tend not to grow thorns.

What a fascinating phenomenon. Plants have evolved in this way, adapting to their environment.

The more I learn, the more attractive plants become as subjects to draw.

©Kayoko Miyazawa

Thrilled to Announce My Fellowship with The Society of Botanical Artists (SBA)!

I am absolutely delighted to share that I have been granted Fellowship with The Society of Botanical Artists (SBA), and my diploma has now arrived from London.

Following the submission and assessment of five of my artworks, I am deeply honoured to have received this prestigious recognition.

My sincere gratitude goes out to everyone who has supported me on this journey.

As a Fellow of the SBA, I am eager to continue depicting the beauty of the botanical world with dedication and to expand the scope of my artistic activities.