Why I Paint Kokeshi Dolls

There are some subjects an artist returns to again and again without really planning to. For me, that subject is the kokeshi doll.

For a long time, I thought I was simply drawn to their beautiful shapes, their painted patterns, and the endless possibilities contained within such a simple form.

All of that is true. But the longer I’ve painted them, the more I’ve realized that my connection to kokeshi goes much further back. In a way, it begins with dolls.

I have always loved dolls

Some of my favorite toys as a little girl were dolls.

I had rag dolls, Cabbage Patch Kids, baby dolls, paper dolls with interchangeable dresses, and Barbies. The paper dolls were probably my favorites. I loved choosing their clothes, changing their appearance, and imagining all the different people they could become. Barbie, interestingly, was probably my least favorite.

As a child, I was especially attracted to dolls that somehow looked like me. Those were much harder to find. I didn’t have the language then to understand exactly why that mattered to me. It wasn’t until I was in college that I became much more aware of my own appearance and began thinking differently about my ancestry and the features I saw when I looked in the mirror.

Looking back now, I think there was something powerful about searching for a familiar face among my dolls. Perhaps that is one of the reasons kokeshi eventually felt so comfortable to me.

Japan was already there, too

Running alongside my love of dolls was another fascination that seems to have been with me for almost as long as I can remember: Japan.

I was drawn to Japanese things from a very young age. I collected Sanrio items, especially Hello Kitty. Later there were Studio Ghibli films and all sorts of little objects, images, stories, and aesthetics that slowly became part of my personal world.

Then, when I was in college, a friend gave me my first kokeshi doll. It wasn’t a rare antique or an artisan-made traditional kokeshi. It was one of those decorative dolls you might find in a Chinatown-style import shop. But that didn’t really matter. It was a thoughtful gift from someone who knew I loved Japanese things, and it became part of my collection.

Years later, when kokeshi began appearing in my artwork, I think several threads from my life quietly met in the same place:

• my childhood love of dolls,

• my fascination with Japan,

• my attraction to faces that somehow felt familiar,

• and my lifelong impulse to collect beautiful little things.

A simple form with endless possibilities

There is also, of course, the artist in me. I love the visual simplicity of kokeshi. A rounded head. A simple body. A few lines for a face. And somehow that is enough. One can look serene. Another shy. Another mischievous, sleepy, dignified, stubborn, brave, or completely content. A tiny change in the eyes or mouth can alter an entire personality. And because the underlying form is so simple, the body becomes almost like a small canvas. I can play with flowers, birds, wood grain, Japanese patterns, colors, symbols, and increasingly, things from the natural world around me here in Puerto Rico. Every doll can be completely different while still unmistakably belonging to the same family. I think that combination of repetition and possibility is part of what keeps bringing me back.

Somewhere between doll, character, and canvas

Over time, some of the kokeshi I paint have become less like representations of actual wooden dolls and more like little illustrated personalities of their own. Some carry words or ideas that interest me — kokoro, kansha, yūki, kibō: heart, gratitude, courage, hope. Others are simply playful. I like that they don’t all need to mean something profound. Some can carry a quiet idea. Some can tell a small story. And some can simply exist because they make me smile.

That feels very much like the dolls I loved as a child. Their personalities didn’t arrive fully formed. I got to imagine them.

My collection looks different now

Living in Puerto Rico makes collecting physical kokeshi difficult. They aren’t objects I encounter very often here, and acquiring authentic Japanese kokeshi from afar can become expensive very quickly. But I recently realized something. Through my work, I collect them visually.

Every time I paint another kokeshi, I get to add one more doll to a collection that doesn’t need a shelf. One might wear flor de maga across her kimono. Another might carry a tiny san pedrito. Another might be covered in waves or flowers or natural wood grain. Some become original watercolor paintings. Others eventually find their way onto stickers, postcards, bookmarks, prints, or journals.

In that sense, my collection can keep growing indefinitely. And perhaps that is one reason painting them feels so nostalgic to me. There is still something of the little girl who loved dolls in the adult sitting at the studio table, wondering what the next one should look like.

Why I keep painting them

The more I think about it, the less I believe there is one tidy answer to why I paint kokeshi. They sit at the intersection of many things I love.

• Dolls and collecting.

• Japan and the curiosity it has inspired in me for so long.

• Pattern, illustration, nature, color, and story.

• The pleasure of transforming a simple shape into someone who somehow has a personality.

• And now, increasingly, the landscape and creatures of Puerto Rico are finding their way into that little world too.

Maybe that is why I haven’t grown tired of them. Every new kokeshi feels familiar and new at the same time.

♥

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