KYOTO -- Many foreigners new to Japan feel the pulls and strains of adapting to the feeling of demanding but hidden rules in this country, trying to understand things that seem generally accepted but never quite articulated.

One wonders, when people in this society -- Japanese and non-Japanese -- are suffering from loneliness and confusion, or more serious crises of abuse, what do they do? It seems there is a tacit agreement to keep silent.

In her upcoming exhibition, "Behind Screens," Costa Rican artist Rossella Matamoros tackles the dynamics of trauma and recovery as well as the struggles of trying to make this land one's new home. The show, which incorporates Matamoros' paintings, drawings, books and installations, will be shown at Sowaka Gallery March 7-12 in Kyoto's Minami Ward.

The show's title refers to the duality of self and other, insider and outsider, tradition and modernity, all as experienced by someone new to these shores. "People here have a tendency to be more distant, less expressive, but extremely polite. Everything is so organized. It made me aware of the layers in society, of not knowing exactly what was behind the surface," she says.

Her paintings convey this through visual screens, walls and other surfaces covering ambiguous shapes. As in life, at times the walls seem to shut out the viewer, other times they invite further exploration. Some shapes almost but don't quite match their surroundings, relating to the artist's impression of many things that used to fit together, but don't anymore.

Primarily a painter, Matamoros was awarded a six-month Japan Foundation scholarship to study traditional and contemporary Japan through arts on stage. Since late September, she has attended noh, kyogen, butoh, bunraku and gagaku performances, and other events.

"I find a strong relation between the arts onstage and reality here. There are so many codes of behavior, so much structure," the artist says.

As a result, hands and feet, some of the most expressive parts of the body in theater, are prominent images in Matamoros' work.

"When you go to enter a room and see a pair of shoes outside, you know someone's there but you don't know who," Matamoros explains. The footprints across her canvases are sometimes her own, sometimes those of an unidentified acquaintance, or even a complete stranger.

Though the painter spent years studying and working as an artist in the U.S. and France, she says coming to Japan was an intense and confusing experience.

"Many foreigners must go through this, but I felt that there was no ground beneath me," she says.

In her paintings and drawings, there is a sense of not knowing where to settle, of constant movement, simultaneously exciting and threatening. "There are all these contrasts here with the traditional and contemporary . . . it's intense. But [on the surface] it doesn't seem to bother people here that much. A pachinko parlor next to a temple is normal," she says, laughing.

The canvases convey the conflicting elements in change, the pain of moving toward the future and trying to choose positive change. This process is further explored in her three installations, which center on the theme of trauma and recovery.

"I still feel this sense of despair here, left from the war. I've felt so strongly here that this is the only country to have [been struck by a nuclear] bomb," she says. For this reason, trauma and recovery is a theme very much a part of Japan, she points out.

The installations also document three phases in a very personal journey, beginning with the jagged darkness of despair, fear and loneliness. Footprints indicate a possible abuser, but their identity and location remains mysterious, adding tension. Is it the specter of a past experience? Or the pattern repeating itself?

Hanging sheets and strands of opaque plastic in the second installation lend a feeling of murky confusion.

Eventually, visitors find themselves in front of a mirror. "To recover, you have to confront yourself," Matamoros explains. "You have to reflect: Do you want to recover, or not?"

The final room is a welcome play of warm yellows, orange and gold -- a veritable reward for having slogged through the pain and confusion and choosing to go on.

Of course, people going through the installations always have the option to return to former rooms. "This reflects the cycles of life. I think abuse can be a kind of addiction. Whether someone is abused is a personal choice."

Matamoros takes pains to point out that her work is not a critique or attack on men.

"Women are abusers too . . . and people can be abused in many ways: physically, sexually, psychologically, through war or accidents. There's trauma. And there's recovery."

The artist says she was conscious of the delicacy of her subject matter, but the lack of communication about these themes made her feel it was all the more important for her to publicly share her explorations, as challenging as they may be.

"People are intelligent, so I want them to think. It's not just, 'Here's five paintings, then let's go.'

"Think! Feel! That's the point."