Under the dim streetlights and shy moon in Niigata, Japan, the world Izumi Yokoyama knew by day disappeared into twilight. Walking along the Chestnut River in the eerie stillness, she heard fish thrashing in the black water beside her. Her curiosity propelled her through the darkness, overcoming fear. Everything – the houses, factories, cars, trees and street posts – blurred into hazy Sumi ink art. Fear is right behind curiosity, she said, and vice versa.
The tension between fear and curiosity, between stepping into the darkness and discovering something in the unknown, became the foundation of Realm of Wonder, Yokoyama’s upcoming exhibition. Through Sumi ink scroll drawings, paper clay, string and cherry blossoms, the Japanese-born, Taos-based artist explores wonder alongside darkness, beauty and the impermanent yet precious nature of our very existence. The immersive mixed-media exhibition will be held at Denver Botanic Gardens from Oct. 3, 2026, through Feb. 7, 2027.
“Wonder is my favorite part of living,” said the mother, artist and teacher. “Curiosity leads to desire and to the experience you are meant to have in this lifetime.”
That curiosity isn’t meant to be experienced passively. Realm of Wonder invites viewers to explore the darkness and ponder it themselves.
“The visitor is the wanderer in the space,” Yokoyama said.
Realm of Wonder will include extravagant pieces like “Night River,” a 33-foot Sumi ink drawing resembling the flow of a river from afar or the twinkle of stars in the night sky when viewed closely. Composed of thousands of tiny circles, the process of creating it, Yokoyama said, was meditative yet painstaking. The rough texture of the rice paper constantly wore down the fine tips of her pens, forcing her to go through many.
In the dimly lit room, the exhibition becomes soft and ghostly. The gentle sound of water accentuates the exhibition’s central tension between the eternal and the impermanent.
“From a human time perspective,” Yokoyama said, “the cosmic world full of stars millions or trillions of years away feels never-ending. Meanwhile, snowflakes melting in a second, autumn leaves, or spring cherry blossom petals falling feel very short. I am attracted to both ideas. Night River symbolizes the eternal, while Mononoaware is inspired by nature’s ephemerality on earth. The water in the background connects the space with the idea of constant flow.”
Another piece, “Mononoaware,” comes from a Japanese term referring to the “exquisite pathos of impermanence.” Sitting in the center of the oval gallery, its white clay petals float in opposition to the surrounding darkness. The fleeting presence of cherry blossoms captures nature’s subtle yet profound influence on human perception.
“The peak of Somei Yoshino cherry blossoms lasts only for several days,” Yokoyama said. “After strong winds or heavy rain, you find the faint pink carpet on the path along the river. I feel overwhelmed by the scene and how beautiful this ending looks. It is incredibly beautiful and sad at the same time. Something you wish to last longer falls, and you realize you weren’t ready for the scene to end. Nature’s magic show is over. I know it reminds us to be in the moment, but I guess a little girl part of me wants it to last a little bit longer.”
For Yokoyama, impermanence isn’t merely an artistic concept. Her awareness of mortality began at an early age.
When Yokoyama was 10, a serious epileptic seizure sent her into a coma and erased many of her childhood memories. The seizures persisted until she was 17.
“Those seven years were filled with more thoughts of death than I could imagine holding in life. I felt death very near every day, and I learned to surrender to the fact that my life is not in my hands. So even after I could live without the constant fear of losing control of my life, I still hold death like a twin sister of my life.”
That proximity to death didn’t eliminate Yokoyama’s fear. Instead, her art explores what happens when she allows herself to move through it.
Underneath the New Mexico sky, Yokoyama sat on the mesa beneath innumerable stars, listening to the coyotes howl.
“That was a true experience of immersion, where fear wrapped me while I let it go and felt almost delighted that I am so insignificant in this place. A little bubble of air in a river, the tiny star in the distance, which is massive if seen closer, and I are the same.”
The juxtaposition between microcosmic observation and telescopic understanding keeps Yokoyama’s curiosity busy at work. When asked when she last experienced genuine wonder, her answer was fittingly simple.
“I am genuinely wondering all the time.”
