Illustrator Ayame Ono’s works are populated by electric-eyed donkeys, regal llamas, scissor-holding lambs and owls turning into space parapets. It’s a weird, spliced up wonderland where the creatures meekly agree to, “stop making sense”. You can certainly see traces of her favourite artists; Keiji Ito’s radicalised pop art; Fluxus creative Chieko Shiomi’s fantastical moments in time; and the planar, Edo-era obsession with chickens as seen in Jyakuchu Ito’s screen paintings. But the end result is all Ono’s own.
Images © Ayame Ono, courtesy the artist.
Primarily operating in the DIY domain of collage, Ono says, “For me, scissors are easier to use than pens. I can see something that exceeds my expectation without falling into mannerism.” It’s a rich, botanical domain with more, “sensitive, individualistic,” overtones than any concern with “social thoughts and issues.” However there is the sense – if not overtly – that these animals are not merely decorative, but emblems of fading worlds. Her most-loved animal? The flightless South Island Takahe, a rare species on the feather’s edge of extinction, but, exceeding all expectation, still surviving. And in this case, taking flight.