- 技 - Against Disappearance

I paint slowly because I am afraid of losing what is real.

We live in a world that moves fast, where images are copied endlessly, concepts matter more than craft, and even the things we consume every day are shaped by artificial processes. Speed has become a value in itself. But in that acceleration, something essential feels fragile: attention, presence, and the quiet knowledge carried by human hands.

Traditional crafts are built on time. On repetition, patience, and transmission. Many artisans dedicate their entire lives to skills refined over centuries, yet struggle to survive in an economy that no longer rewards slowness. When I think about their work disappearing, I do not see nostalgia — I see a form of collective amnesia. We forget how things are made. We forget how long they take. We forget what it means to care deeply for materials.

I chose Nihonga not only as a medium, but as a way of living with time. Working with natural pigments and minerals forces me into a different rhythm. Each layer requires waiting, attention, and acceptance of imperfection. The process itself becomes a form of meditation — a dialogue between my body, the material, and those who prepared it before me.

I left Japan at fifteen. For a long time, I felt suspended between cultures, unsure of where I belonged. Nihonga became a way to reconnect with something deeper than geography: a sensibility, a relationship to silence, to seasons, to subtle change. Through painting, I began to understand that identity is not something you claim, but something you practice.

My images often come from memory — moments of stillness, fleeting encounters, small scenes that remain without explanation. I do not try to control their meaning. As Marcel Duchamp published the essay The Creative Act, I believe that the viewer completes the work. What matters is not what I intended, but what resonates in the space between us.

Ultimately, my ambition is not only to make paintings, but to contribute to a larger ecosystem of making. I dream of using my work to support and collaborate with artisans — lacquer painters, Buddhist sculptors, ceramists — whose knowledge embodies resilience and depth.

In a world obsessed with producing more, faster, I choose to stay with less, slower, and real. Painting, for me, is a way of resisting disappearance.