If you have a sweet tooth, this one’s for you. Because Osamu Watanabe’s works look like cakes, and as he tells us in this interview, his process “closely mimics actual cake-making techniques, but instead of using edible ingredients, I work with sculptural materials to create hyper-realistic, yet fantastical, confections.” His kawaii artworks, on view through March 1st at Whitestone Ginza New Gallery, are also ‘cooked’ with a dash nostalgia, a pinch of positivity, and a drop of hope.
But where does this obsession with pâtisserie come from? That’s easy: Watanabe’s mum was a pastry chef who cooked at home, so his earliest childhood memories are all related to her decorating cakes. “My childhood kitchen, filled with my mother’s desserts, felt like something out of a dream. The sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries, the bright colours of fresh fruit, the glossy sheen of whipped cream — it was almost like living inside a painting,” he explains. So, from an early age, the Japanese artist learnt about finding beauty in everyday life, which later influenced his practice.
For over two decades, Watanabe has turned everything into art-cake — much like the viral trend of ‘real vs cake’ videos, which makes me consider him a sort of pioneer in his own way. In his earliest series, like European Fantasy and Oriental Dream, he took inspiration from famous buildings and landmarks, famous artworks, and other relevant symbols of both Western and Japanese cultures — from the Big Ben to the Arc de Triomphe, to Daruma, Buddha, chandeliers, or Greco-Roman statues. Later, he moved on to more decaying, philosophical concepts like death and overconsumption, especially in his previous show, Vanity of Vanities.
Now, in his new solo presentation, titled Unseen Sweet Nostalgia, he focuses on dinosaurs, which to him are “fascinating because so much about them remains unknown. They fuel the imagination, allowing us to break free from fixed ideas.” Today, we speak with Watanabe about his favourite sweet as a child, the make-believe world he crafts through sculpture, and overcoming nostalgia.
Hello Osamu, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. Your latest exhibition draws a lot from childhood memories, especially of your mum, a pastry chef, decorating sweets. So my first question is, what was your favourite sweet as a child? And what is your favourite sweet now?
As a child, my absolute favourite was strawberry shortcake. The Japanese version of this cake has evolved into something unique — it’s light and fluffy, with a delicate sponge and incredibly smooth whipped cream. My mother’s shortcake was always topped with perfectly sweet and tangy strawberries, making it both visually and tastefully flawless. Unlike a dessert reserved for special occasions, she would sometimes bake it on a whim, so it became a familiar and comforting reminder of home.
These days, I’m particularly drawn to Mont Blanc. I love how its rich chestnut flavour comes through in a refined, delicate way. Beyond taste, I find Mont Blanc visually captivating — the sculptural form of the chestnut cream, the texture of the layers, and the glossy finish all make it an aesthetically beautiful dessert. Even in my work, I often find inspiration in the way creams flow, the shine of a glaze, and the way sweets hold a certain sculptural beauty.
Looking at both my childhood favourite and my current preference, I think what ties them together is the idea of bringing out the natural beauty of the ingredients. This perspective has definitely influenced my creative approach as well.
These days, I’m particularly drawn to Mont Blanc. I love how its rich chestnut flavour comes through in a refined, delicate way. Beyond taste, I find Mont Blanc visually captivating — the sculptural form of the chestnut cream, the texture of the layers, and the glossy finish all make it an aesthetically beautiful dessert. Even in my work, I often find inspiration in the way creams flow, the shine of a glaze, and the way sweets hold a certain sculptural beauty.
Looking at both my childhood favourite and my current preference, I think what ties them together is the idea of bringing out the natural beauty of the ingredients. This perspective has definitely influenced my creative approach as well.
Growing up in a home with a kitchen full of sweets, rich textures, and vibrant colours must’ve been a joy! So how did your mum’s profession influence your relationship with food, especially sweets?
My childhood kitchen, filled with my mother’s desserts, felt like something out of a dream. The sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries, the bright colours of fresh fruit, the glossy sheen of whipped cream — it was almost like living inside a painting. Watching my mother work, I never saw sweets as something rare or indulgent — they were simply a part of everyday life. Because of that, I didn’t just see them as food, but as something inherently beautiful. I think that perspective naturally became part of my artistic vision.
From a young age, I developed a strong sensitivity to texture and colour, which continues to play a big role in my art today. Whether it’s the smoothness of cream, the glossy surface of chocolate, or the juiciness of fresh fruit, I’m constantly thinking about how to capture those qualities in my work to create the ‘ideal dessert.’ Without a doubt, my mother’s influence shaped my relationship with sweets and, in many ways, became the foundation of my artistic practice.
From a young age, I developed a strong sensitivity to texture and colour, which continues to play a big role in my art today. Whether it’s the smoothness of cream, the glossy surface of chocolate, or the juiciness of fresh fruit, I’m constantly thinking about how to capture those qualities in my work to create the ‘ideal dessert.’ Without a doubt, my mother’s influence shaped my relationship with sweets and, in many ways, became the foundation of my artistic practice.
Even if sweets played a big role in your upbringing, you ended up being an artist instead of a chef. You’ve confessed to growing up in a rural environment where the artistic path wasn’t as accepted by others, even your parents. So when and how did your interest for art spark?
The reason I became an artist who works with sweets as a motif rather than a pâtissier is quite simple — since sweets were always present in my home, I never really thought about making them myself. It was only when I entered art school that I started reflecting on my childhood influences and realised that expressing those memories through my work felt the most natural.
I had an interest in art from a young age, especially since I was good at drawing. However, growing up in a very rural area, there were no art prep schools, and pursuing art as a profession wasn’t seen as a realistic option. Most people assumed making a living as an artist was nearly impossible. That said, I had the reckless confidence of youth — I applied to art school with almost no formal preparation, and by sheer luck, I got in. Once I arrived, though, I was immediately overwhelmed by the technical skill of my classmates. It was a humbling experience, but it forced me to confront myself and develop my own artistic voice.
I had an interest in art from a young age, especially since I was good at drawing. However, growing up in a very rural area, there were no art prep schools, and pursuing art as a profession wasn’t seen as a realistic option. Most people assumed making a living as an artist was nearly impossible. That said, I had the reckless confidence of youth — I applied to art school with almost no formal preparation, and by sheer luck, I got in. Once I arrived, though, I was immediately overwhelmed by the technical skill of my classmates. It was a humbling experience, but it forced me to confront myself and develop my own artistic voice.
“In my work, I often find inspiration in the way creams flow, the shine of a glaze, and the way sweets hold a certain sculptural beauty.”
You’ve made a lot of dinosaurs for this exhibit; a previous one focused more on vanitas (skulls and decaying flowers). What prompted that change?
In my earlier series, Vanity of Vanities, I used overly decorated sweets as a metaphor for the endless cycle of consumerism, infusing my work with a sense of irony. However, with so much negativity in the world (war, disasters, constant unsettling news), I started to feel a disconnect with that approach.
Now, I want the world within my work to be filled with dreams and hope. This exhibition focuses on childhood memories and the idea of creating something that brings happiness to those who see it. That’s why I introduced dinosaurs — as a symbol of joyful nostalgia, creating a whimsical and fantastical space.
Now, I want the world within my work to be filled with dreams and hope. This exhibition focuses on childhood memories and the idea of creating something that brings happiness to those who see it. That’s why I introduced dinosaurs — as a symbol of joyful nostalgia, creating a whimsical and fantastical space.
What do dinosaurs mean to you?
Dinosaurs are fascinating because so much about them remains unknown. They fuel the imagination, allowing us to break free from fixed ideas. By decorating them with sweets, I hope to spark a sense of wonder and open up new creative possibilities for those who view my work.
In Unseen Sweet Nostalgia, you exhibit a series of creatures that blur the line between edible cake and artwork, so blurring the line between reality and deception. Is there an intention to make viewers question reality through your work?
When you explore the idea of ‘sweetness,’ you inevitably start to recognise its opposite — bitterness. There’s an interesting phenomenon where hyper-realistic desserts, when recreated as art, often don’t look as appetising as the real thing. This is because we don’t just taste with our mouths; we taste with our memories and emotions as well. To counter this, I intentionally exaggerate colours and textures to create the idealised version of a dessert — one that exists in memory rather than reality. After all, memory itself is a form of embellishment. Often, the sweets we remember from childhood seem far more vibrant and delicious than they actually were.
In this exhibition, I invite viewers to step into a world decorated with ‘sweets from memory.’ It’s a space where you might ask yourself: Is reality truly more beautiful than the version we remember? I hope each viewer comes away with their own answer.
In this exhibition, I invite viewers to step into a world decorated with ‘sweets from memory.’ It’s a space where you might ask yourself: Is reality truly more beautiful than the version we remember? I hope each viewer comes away with their own answer.
There was an online trend of ‘real or cake,’ where people posted videos of everyday objects and viewers had to guess whether they were cake or not (see an example here). I think your art practice can somehow be related to that. Am I very far off?
This is actually my first time seeing one of those videos — it’s fascinating! I love how the surprise element creates such a strong reaction.
You’ve been working as an artist for the past twenty years, so you’ve perfected your technique. Could you guide us through your creative process?
The decorative elements in my work are primarily made from FRP (fibre-reinforced plastic) and resin clay. For the fruit components, I use real fruits to create silicone moulds, then cast them in resin. I also incorporate pastry moulds traditionally used in confectionery. For the frosting decorations, I use modelling paste, piping it through pastry nozzles just as one would when decorating a real cake. My process closely mimics actual cake-making techniques, but instead of using edible ingredients, I work with sculptural materials to create hyper-realistic, yet fantastical, confections.
Nostalgia and melancholy play a big role in your art. Do you consider yourself a nostalgic person? Does making your artworks help overcome these feelings and make them more bearable?
That’s right, my work is deeply influenced by nostalgia and a sense of longing. The dreamlike landscapes from my childhood and the warm memories of being surrounded by sweets serve as the foundation of my artistic vision. However, rather than simply recreating the past, I am more interested in reconstructing an idealised world based on those memories.
I do find myself reflecting on the past often, but not in a way that’s purely sentimental. I’m more fascinated by how our minds reshape and romanticise memories over time. Through my work, I take those nostalgic emotions and transform them into something more positive, almost like an act of emotional refinement. Ultimately, I want my art to evoke universal moments of happiness — the kind of joy that everyone carries within them, even if they don’t consciously recall it. If my pieces can resonate with people’s personal nostalgia and expand their imagination, then I feel I’ve achieved something meaningful.
I do find myself reflecting on the past often, but not in a way that’s purely sentimental. I’m more fascinated by how our minds reshape and romanticise memories over time. Through my work, I take those nostalgic emotions and transform them into something more positive, almost like an act of emotional refinement. Ultimately, I want my art to evoke universal moments of happiness — the kind of joy that everyone carries within them, even if they don’t consciously recall it. If my pieces can resonate with people’s personal nostalgia and expand their imagination, then I feel I’ve achieved something meaningful.
“I intentionally exaggerate colours and textures to create the idealised version of a dessert — one that exists in memory rather than reality. After all, memory itself is a form of embellishment.”
I’d say tracing back our childhood memories is also a way of escapism from the dark times we’re living in — when we were children, everything was easier, more joyful, enjoyable. Would you agree with that?
I absolutely understand that perspective — revisiting childhood memories can indeed serve as a form of escape from reality. When we were young, the world felt pure, simple, and filled with wonder. That sense of excitement and limitless possibility tends to fade as we grow older. However, for me, creating art is not just about escaping into the past. Rather, it’s about reconstructing those happy memories and bringing them into the present — injecting a sense of wonder back into our everyday lives.
I believe that within childhood memories, there is a kind of universal happiness — a source of warmth that everyone carries, even subconsciously. By embedding that feeling into my work, I hope viewers can reconnect with their own cherished moments and experience a renewed sense of joy.
I believe that within childhood memories, there is a kind of universal happiness — a source of warmth that everyone carries, even subconsciously. By embedding that feeling into my work, I hope viewers can reconnect with their own cherished moments and experience a renewed sense of joy.
To finish, do you have any goals to accomplish on 2025? Or do you improvise more and see what life brings to you?
I want to continue expanding the boundaries of my artistic expression while staying true to the core theme of sweet decoration. This includes experimenting with new materials and techniques, as well as incorporating digital technology to explore fresh creative possibilities. One of my major goals is to create immersive installations, where visitors can fully experience an art space rather than just viewing individual pieces. Additionally, I’m collaborating with museums across Japan to develop large-scale exhibitions that go beyond anything I’ve done before. Ultimately, my aim is to bring dreams to life on an even grander scale and share that sense of wonder with as many people as possible.
