Shunpei Kamiya finds the surreal, and the funny, in everyday Tokyo

At first glance, a Shunpei Kamiya illustration gives you something familiar, right out of Japan: a packed commuter train, a family posing for a selfie outside the supermarket, two salarymen slurping ramen after work. Then the world turns upside down. White rabbits come bounding out of a 3D cinema screen while the audience gawps in paper glasses; two teenagers lock eyes and fire crackling red laser beams across the school corridor; a man lifts his shirt in the doctor's office to reveal a clean, round hole straight through his middle. The Tokyo-based illustrator, a member of the Tokyo Illustrators Society, builds his work on that double-take, turning the most ordinary corners of modern Japanese life into surreal, funny, and sharply observed scenes using flat gouache colour in a glorious ode mashup to manga and fine art.

Ask him where the strangeness comes from, and he says it's all about attitude. "There are already countless pictures in the world, so I feel compelled to create something that people do not usually draw," he tells Creative Boom. "Otherwise, I sometimes wonder what the point of my making pictures would be. I am not interested in being strange for its own sake. I always look for hints within ordinary daily life."

Even his most eventful scenes, like the leaping rabbits and the duelling laser beams, have a curious stillness, as though caught in that moment rather than filmed. While many artists chase movement and drama, Kamiya deliberately shuns the medium that best conveys motion. "When people try to depict movement or dramatic moments, they often rely on photographs or paused video frames. I do not want my images to become too photographic," he says. "Photography is naturally better at capturing motion and fleeting moments. Painting and illustration are different forms of expression, and I want my work to remain within the territory of drawing rather than imitate photography. That may be one reason why my work often feels still and static."

Much of the tension in Kamiya's work comes from what he chooses not to explain, and he is candid that maintaining the balance remains a struggle. "Someone once told me that my work is very 'linguistic' and leaves little room for ambiguity. I thought that was a fair observation because my ideas often begin with words," he says. Since then, he has tried to hold back. "I have tried to remind myself not to explain too much when making an image. At the same time, there are occasions when being deliberately explanatory can create its own kind of humour or interest. Finding the right balance remains difficult."

Part of what makes the withholding work is that Kamiya genuinely hands over the meaning. He thinks of the viewer as the one who finishes the piece. "I believe an artwork is completed when it is viewed, so I leave interpretation to each viewer," he says. "Just because I made an image does not mean I know the 'correct' meaning of it." That openness is not the same as indifference, though. Before he starts, he spends a long time imagining how all sorts of people might read the same scene from their own angle.

So where do the scenes themselves come from? Everywhere at once, it turns out. "Things I have seen, things I remember, things I imagine, and images made by other artists," he says. "All of these memories and impressions blend until a clear image forms in my mind. My task is then to translate that image onto paper as faithfully as possible."

There is a distinctly Tokyo quality to that process, too, especially in a hi-tech city, which can be an overwhelming sensory explosion. One painting strands a lone figure in a canyon of giant app icons, each blinking with unread counts in the hundreds; it reads as a portrait of exactly that overload. "Modern Tokyo, and perhaps Japan more generally, is flooded with information. Every day we are overwhelmed by an endless stream of things to absorb and process," Kamiya says. "I think my work reflects that environment very directly. In some ways, my pictures are rather 'head-driven'. I sometimes think of them as an act of editing symbols and signs."

Among the many influences shaping his work are Japanese illustrators such as Makoto Wada and classic artists like Edward Hopper. But the biggest pull came from somewhere less rarefied. "If I am honest, the strongest influence on me as a child came from Japanese manga such as Doraemon, Kinnikuman, and Dragon Ball," he says. "Later, when I became an illustrator, I realised that those influences alone were not enough, so I began looking more seriously at both Western and Japanese art history."

For all that his own surfaces are flat and unfussy, he favours plain colour over visible texture. Kamiya is aware of what "handmade" can do that the screen cannot. "When I look at the work of other artists, I am often captivated by the beauty of the painted surface itself. Even a subtle analogue texture can add value and presence to an image," he says. "I also think many artists simply enjoy the physical process of making things by hand more than working digitally." If there is one stage he would never shortcut, it is the beginning. "The most enjoyable stage is coming up with the idea. I love imagining possibilities and developing concepts." The other reward comes right at the end: "when an image that has existed only in my imagination finally emerges as a finished work after many twists and turns."

Like many creatives, he's a little anxious about where the industry is heading. "I worry that fewer people will be able to make a living as illustrators, and that Japanese illustration culture itself may become weaker as a result," he says. "So far, no new field has truly emerged to replace publishing and book-cover work as a major area of opportunity for illustrators." His own position, he is quick to add, is not one of luxury: "In general, I try to accept as many commissions as possible. Unless I am exceptionally busy, I rarely turn work down. I do not feel that I am in a position to be highly selective about projects."

Pressed on what would actually help illustrators starting out now, he's reluctant to admit that things might be tough out there. "Anime, manga, games, and contemporary art continue to thrive," he says. "In that context, illustration may have become relatively less visible. I would like to see more attention given to the exciting and innovative work being created in illustration today." The responsibility, he suggests, runs both ways: publishers and the wider industry could look more closely at what illustration is doing, and illustrators must keep making the case themselves: "Illustrators must continue to communicate what makes illustration unique, valuable, and exciting."

On AI – the anxiety lying under so many of these conversations lately – Kamiya is measured rather than alarmed. "At the moment, I still feel that AI-generated images have not surpassed the individuality of human-made work," he says. "However, AI will undoubtedly continue to improve, so the real question is how far it will develop." It is the prospect of where it leads, more than the tools themselves, that gives him pause. "Will future artists compete over who can write the best prompts? That does not sound especially enjoyable to me, so I try not to think about it too much."

If there is a thread running through all of this, it might be his refusal to pretend the work comes easily. Ask him whether he's always satisfied with what he made, and he laughs it off. "To be honest, it is rare for me to feel that a piece turned out exactly as I hoped. More often, I look back and think, 'I should have done this differently'," he says. "No matter how much preparation I do, things often do not go according to plan." Far from discouraging him, that gap seems to be the whole point. "Making art has taught me that improvement comes only very slowly. Perhaps that is exactly what makes it so rewarding."