In the year following the earthquake, I moved my studio from Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture, to the mountainous area of Shibata Town, also in Miyagi.
In exchange for the breathtaking scenery, I found myself surrounded by an astonishing array of seasonal events.
Dangerous insects wait for the slightest chance to drink my blood.
Foul-smelling bugs emerge without warning.
Wild boars barrel straight toward cars—an encounter that chills the bones.
While I’m lost in thought, spiders spin their webs.
Weeds stretch upward, relentless.
When the rains grow heavy, I worry about landslides.
When snow falls, I pray the roof will hold.
We are sustained by nature—
And yet, I’m constantly reminded of how little I understood its true essence.
I must remember: I still don’t fully grasp it.
The environmental changes of recent years, especially the earthquake,
have deepened this awareness.
Still, some things remain unchanged—before the quake and after.
No matter how much we experience or contemplate,
we are always operating within a certain frame.
This too has become a quiet realization.
But now that I recognize the existence of that frame,
I want to imagine what lies beyond it.
To turn it over.
To see from another side.
To ask:
What kind of reality (Genjitsu) will emerge from such an act?
And how might that reality lead toward the future?
Even something as small as an insect—called a “pest”—
reminds me how human-centered our meanings are.
Perhaps we are the pests, from their point of view.
Such thoughts often cross my mind as I’m bitten again and again.
What about “pests” in human society?
Isn’t it strange how meaning shifts depending on which side claims the center?
In this chaotic world, where countless thoughts, emotions, words, and information swirl,
each of us stands quietly within our own conceptual frame,
surrounded by our own inner reality (Genjitsu).
For this exhibition, I isolated a portion of that world,
and gave it the form of a specimen box—BOX ART.
The pink section at the center of the piece represents a person’s conceptual frame.
I used glow-in-the-dark paint.
It gathers light, glows faintly, then fades.
At times sharp and distinct,
at others barely perceptible—
like the outline of a thought,
or the edge of a feeling.
Inside this relatively orderly and defined space
lies the disorder and chaos of the outside world.
The reality (Genjitsu) becomes a box—
one that mediates the relationship between inside and out.
I imagine many such boxes exist in the world.
Lately, I’ve been watching an abandoned greenhouse near my home
slowly overtaken by wild weeds, day by day.
It makes me wonder:
Will our concepts and existence, too,
be swallowed so easily by the forces of nature?
No—surely there is a way to balance,
to coexist.
These thoughts circle quietly within me.
—
Note: In this context, “reality (Genjitsu)” refers to a personal, inner reality, distinct from external or social reality. I’ve used the Japanese term “ゲンジツ” to draw a nuanced distinction between these two perceptions of the real.
Exhibited Work: Genjitsu (Reality)
Iron, acrylic, phosphorescent paint
2014 (Collection of the Rias Ark Museum of Art)
-Menu-
- Song of Plants（2025）
- The Reality（Genjitsu）Within Me（2014）
- Presence…2010（2010）
- The Source of My Creation（1998）
