In a city that reinvents itself almost daily, artist Kazuya Morimoto quietly preserves the moments that slip through time. Through delicate watercolor paintings and finely detailed ink drawings, Morimoto documents the architecture, storefronts, and streets of historic New York neighborhoods, capturing not just buildings, but the emotional memory of a city constantly in motion.
Born and raised in Okayama, Japan, Morimoto arrived in New York more than two decades ago. The shift was dramatic. “At first, I was confused by this city, which is roughly 180 degrees different from artistic and social values in Okayama,” he recalls. “But I was overwhelmed by New York's exciting and dynamic momentum.”
That momentum eventually became home. “Before I knew it, it had been 25 years since I came to New York,” Morimoto says. Over time, the city that once felt overwhelming became familiar ground—neighborhoods where he now spends long hours sketching the streets that inspire his work.
Ironically, moving thousands of miles away also deepened his connection to Japan. “I couldn't see the goodness, culture, and historical value of Japan until I came here,” he reflects. “There are many times when I'm impressed again by Japanese culture.”
Morimoto’s path into art was not entirely traditional. He studied sociology in Japan before gradually finding his way into the art world. After graduation he began exploring watercolor and later studied art theory, eventually continuing his education in New York at the renowned Art Students League.
Yet the most important lessons didn’t come from classrooms. “Much of what I learned was from interacting with real friends,” Morimoto says. “Walking around galleries and museums together, exchanging opinions about art with each other, fighting, cursing for not having money, being depressed about lack of talent, and comforting each other.”
Those years of struggle and discovery helped shape his artistic voice. “Most of the things I learned,” he says, “were from interacting with my friends and living in a harsh reality.”
Earlier in his career, Morimoto focused primarily on conceptual abstract painting. But eventually something shifted.
“It wasn't any particular inspiration but the timing,” he explains. “The projects I was working on were always looking for answers to questions about my abstract painting concepts.” One day he realized the search itself had reached its natural end. “There was already an answer in the work,” he says. “So there was no need to look for the answer anymore.”
Around the same time, travel opened a new artistic door. During his first visits to Europe—Germany, Switzerland, and Italy—Morimoto became fascinated by historic architecture and urban landscapes. “When I was in Rome, I didn't have money, but I had plenty of time,” he remembers. “So I started sketching the old streets of Rome and enjoyed it.”
The experience was transformative. “The cityscape of Venice floating on the water was wonderful,” he says. Soon after, he received a travel grant that allowed him to spend six months sketching across Europe, which was an experience that ultimately led him to begin documenting New York itself.
For Morimoto, travel revealed something essential about observation and art.
“First of all, I learned the importance of experiencing,” he explains. “You can feel the color and temperature of each place with your skin.” Every city carries its own atmosphere. “You experience cultural and historical backgrounds such as the air, the sound of wind and sea waves, humidity, the hustle and bustle of the city and the tranquility of the village,” he says. “All kinds of different languages, meals, architectural styles and ornaments.”
Those sensory memories often connect him to art history. In Belgium, for example, morning dew on leaves reminded him of the luminous detail of Flemish master Jan van Eyck. In Italy, he sensed echoes of Renaissance painting. “I feel the atmosphere like the dirt that was burned and slightly weathered on that hot day was mixed with the air in the background painting of Raphael's portraits,” Morimoto says.
Back in New York, those lessons shaped how he observes the city around him. His daily practice begins with drawing, usually in black ink. “Actually, I prefer black and white drawing to watercolor paintings,” he admits.
While many artists outline quickly and move directly into paint, Morimoto takes the opposite approach. “I spend as much or more time on a sketch as a normal person does when painting a watercolor,” he says. “I always stick to the details with a pencil or pen to enjoy the simple process of looking at the object and moving my hands.”
For Morimoto, the act of drawing is a form of discovery. “While drawing details, you can get various information and discoveries from the object,” he explains. “The hand-drawn lines give more life to the sketch and reflect my own character and my mood. It is always growing and changing.”
Today, many of Morimoto’s paintings focus on beloved New York neighborhoods such as Greenwich Village, the West Village, and the Upper West Side, areas known for historic architecture, local shops, and streets that still echo earlier eras of the city.
For him, these places carry deep meaning.
“First of all, respect for proof of existence that has run through different eras,” he says. “I wanted to keep the proof that we have been alive. In this series of New York, I wanted to keep the evidence and experiences of my own personal life,” Morimoto explains. “And only to those who can share, I’m asking personally, ‘How have you been so far? Managing well? Is everything all right now?’”
That quiet question seems embedded in every storefront and corner café he paints. It also connects to one of the central themes of his work: preservation. New York is a city that constantly rebuilds itself. Old storefronts vanish. Neighborhoods change. Longtime landmarks disappear almost overnight.
“This is one of the reasons why I paint this disappearing cityscape,” Morimoto says. “New York is always changing.” The pace of change, he believes, makes memory even more important. “It is easy to destroy the memory of what we have cherished for many years,” he says, “but it is difficult to make the same thing again.”
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Morimoto is not opposed to progress. Cities evolve, and new architecture has its place. “I am not saying that new things are bad,” he explains. “It's natural in the world to change.” But he believes something valuable should remain. “I think it is important for us to respect and preserve our living memories,” he says. “And I want to feel grateful that I can still live in an old neighborhood and am able to keep painting to preserve.”
Watercolor, with its transparency and lightness, allows him to capture these memories in a way that feels almost like a passing moment. “I really like the lightness and floating feeling of watercolor,” Morimoto says. “I don't fill my personal experience and my emotions into the piece too heavily.” Instead, his paintings leave space, for the viewer’s own memories, emotions, and sense of place.
Looking at a Morimoto watercolor often feels like stepping into a quiet New York morning: the soft light hitting brick facades, a café preparing to open, a neighborhood corner that has existed for decades. In a city where everything seems temporary, his work reminds us that memory still has a place and that sometimes the most powerful way to preserve a moment is simply to paint it.
And once you begin to see New York through Morimoto’s eyes, it becomes difficult to walk past those historic streets without imagining how they might look suspended forever in watercolor.
