There is something that continues to exist even when we can no longer see it. It is within this invisible space that Chiharu Shiota’s work takes shape. Her installations are made of thousands of interwoven threads and objects marked by time, but they do not speak of the body: they speak of what the body leaves behind. Relationships, memories, traces, presences that resist absence. The thread does not simply connect objects; it makes visible the connections that usually remain hidden. Through a slow, physical, and deeply human gesture, Shiota transforms intimate experiences into collective images, creating spaces where memory becomes the most concrete proof of our existence.
Thread first entered your work as a way of drawing in space. Over time, however, it seems to have evolved into something much more complex. What does thread represent to you today, and when did you realise it had become your artistic language?
After I came to Germany, I had to move homes nine times in three years. During that period, one day I woke up in bed and felt the need to create my own space. I used thread that I found in my room and began weaving around the space of my bed. At first, it was about creating a personal space, but over time it became more about human relationships and the connection to the universe and to each other. Today, my work is especially focused on the connection between people, especially during and after the COVID-19 pandemic. I always wanted to be a painter, but during my studies I found that I could no longer paint. I had already started thinking about using other materials and began experimenting with thread when I was around twenty years old. Since then, thread has become more and more central to my work.
Throughout your work, you often use everyday and well-worn objects, for instance chairs, shoes, keys, beds, suitcases, which seem to retain human traces even in the absence of people. Do you believe objects preserve a part of those who once inhabited them?
Yes, I’ve never met this person but I feel their existence, this is the main theme of my work, existence in the absence. The objects that surround us accumulate our memories in our daily life.
In ‘Absent Bodies’, the two chairs become almost an invisible human presence, as if they were holding a relationship, a conversation, or someone who is no longer there. How did this installation come to life, and what do these two presences represent for you?
When I see these objects like chairs, I see two people. The body is absent, but a presence still remains, and the chairs seem as if they are having a conversation. I believe that everyone carries their own universe inside them, and I’m interested in how we connect that inner world to the outside world and to other people. We can never truly know what someone else is thinking or feeling, we can only imagine it, and I think that space between people is very interesting.
In your work, memory often feels like a form of continuity of existence, a trace that remains even when the body is no longer present. Do you think memory is what allows us to continue existing?
Without memory, I couldn't explain who I am. I think memory is essential to our lives. It proves our existence. When somebody dies you can still feel their existence in the objects they left behind because of the memory connected to them. Even after death, their existence can become even stronger.
In ‘The Soul’s Journey', the body appears fragile, almost dissolving, while the thread continues to expand through space. Did this work grow out of a reflection on mortality, transformation, or perhaps the relationship between body and soul?
Yes, exactly, all of it. I was reflecting on what remains of me after I die, and where my soul goes. Am I only my body? I realized that I will still be connected to the universe even after death. In the end, we are all connected through death because every human life is limited. I made a sculpture in which you cannot recognize gender, nationality, or age, because death will come to all of us.
You once said that fear is necessary for your creative process. Do you think it is this very emotion that allows you to connect more deeply with yourself and with what you feel?
I don’t think I could make art only from happiness or joy. Fear and anxiety are deeply connected to my life and my experiences. I’ve had cancer twice, I’ve experienced a miscarriage, and death has been very close to me. These experiences have become part of my understanding of life. I don’t really know life without struggle or anxiety.
Today we live in a world where more and more things are created artificially and through automated processes. Your work, on the other hand, still requires time and remains deeply connected to human gesture. How important is the artist’s hand and the manual process in the making of your work?
It’s very physical work, and a lot of emotion goes into it. It’s connected to my body, my emotions, and my feelings, everything works together. Artificial or automated processes feel much more connected to the mind or the intellect. But with physical work, especially when creating a large installation, the process takes a long time. Working through that process creates a very specific feeling, and I think the audience can immediately sense that feeling in the work.
Your installations are born, inhabit a space for a limited period of time, and are then dismantled. In those moments, do you ever feel that something is disappearing, or even dying?
No, because it remains in the memory of the viewer and memory can live forever. The material disappears, but the memory remains.
Is there a question you are still trying to answer through your art?
I’ve never found an exact answer, but for me it’s not really about questions and answers. I create in order to understand and make sense of my own feelings. Life doesn’t really give us clear answers, it’s limited and uncertain. I’m more interested in questions like why death exists, or why we are aware of death even though we can never truly know or understand it completely.
© SIAE, Rome, 2026 and the artist.
