Nagisa (seashore), an intermediate existence between land and sea, is a place where life is born or reborn. At the ends of our bodies, metabolism is taking place and we are being reborn little by little…

 

This flat, where I lived for six months, was on the ground floor and was very humid and moldy. The humidity attracted slugs, sometimes multiplying, corroding the paper and dissolving the candy. It was unpleasant for modern human life, but I also felt as if I had seen raw signs of life and energy there, even though it was an artificial place. When I was a small child, I once found mushrooms growing in a poorly lit part of a room. Something that had been floating or sedimented -potent things- somehow gained forms and appeared before my eyes. I remember, at that time, I felt as if the boundaries of that area, which had been undoubtedly "home" to me, were slightly threatened and fluctuating.

 

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I am ambivalent about making something, about giving things forms. Along with the urge to create, to give form to something, to preserve it and confirm it with my own eyes, I am also attracted to the small, dynamic, and fragile energy that occurs when shapes are being formed or before they take form, and I want to hold things in place in the midst of that energy - clearly there is a contradiction here though. There is a desire to see something dynamic in the form, to see the fluctuations of existence.

 

I feel like that kind of frontier energy is accumulating in this flat.

In February, I will move to a room with a little more sunlight.