I often overlook “differences.” Most of the time, it’s because I’m not observing carefully, lacking knowledge, or simply not paying attention. As a result, I often find myself impressed by similar things and missing details the first time. Even when I notice a “difference,” I tend to forget about it soon after. I go through my days overlooking these “differences,” never really understanding them.
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In early autumn 2022, I traveled to Hokkaido. During the five-day stay, I kept photographing the landscapes I encountered. But instead of my usual device, I happened to use a single-lens camera I had brought by chance—and that choice turned out to be unfortunate. After returning home, I lost the memory card that contained all the image data. It never reappeared, and the photographs were gone. More than just losing the record itself, it felt as if the very experience of those five days had been partially erased.
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I began learning oil painting when I was ten. In the class I attended for about five years, my teacher repeatedly told me:
“Apply the paint so thickly that you can’t see the texture of the canvas anymore.”
Perhaps because of that, even now, whenever I work with paint, I still carry a quiet belief—I’d like to paint that way or that’s how it should be.
When I think about it, the act of “applying paint” may contain my own desire to cover or conceal something.
How precisely do I memorise what I have seen in my life?
The answer became clear while I was painting. When I found that I couldn’t materialise “what I had seen” – or “what I had perceived visually” – exactly as it was in my paintings, I realised what a shaky world I live in – the world in which I only roughly perceive things around me and call it my own “memory”. The more we depend on our vision as a source of information, the more unreliable the information becomes.
Statement
「違い」を分かっていないことがよくある。ろくに観察をしていないとか、単なる知識不足だとか、集中していないとか、ほとんどはそんな他愛のない理由なんだろうと思う。だから似たような事に感動したり、初めての事を見過ごしたりもする。「違い」に気がついても忘れてしまう事が多く、タチが悪い。
そうやってよく分かっていないまま、「違い」とすれ違いながら日々を過ごしている。
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2022年の初秋、北海道を訪れた。五日間の滞在中、出合った先の景色を撮り溜めていく。しかし「いつもの端末」ではなく、たまたま持参した一眼カメラを使用していた事がわざわいした。帰宅後に撮影データが記録されているメモリーカードを無くしてしまったのだ。結局それは見つからず、撮影した写真のデータは失われてしまう事となった。そして、それは単に記録を無くしたという事実に留まらず、五日間の経験そのものまでも欠いてしまったかの様な感覚を伴うものであった。
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小学生4年生のおわり、油画を習い始めた。中学3年生まで通ったその教室で先生から繰り返し言われていた言葉がある。
「キャンバスの目が見えなくなるくらい、厚く絵の具を塗り重ねようね。」
その影響か、今でも絵の具を扱う時には「出来ればそうしたい」とか「そうなる方がいいんだ」という、ある価値観のようなものを抱えているような気がする。
そう考えると、私にとって、「絵の具を塗る」という行為は「何かを覆い隠す」という自身の欲求を孕んでいるのかもしれない。
I often overlook “differences.” Most of the time, it’s because I’m not observing carefully, lacking knowledge, or simply not paying attention. As a result, I often find myself impressed by similar things and missing details the first time. Even when I notice a “difference,” I tend to forget about it soon after. I go through my days overlooking these “differences,” never really understanding them.
–
In early autumn 2022, I traveled to Hokkaido. During the five-day stay, I kept photographing the landscapes I encountered. But instead of my usual device, I happened to use a single-lens camera I had brought by chance—and that choice turned out to be unfortunate. After returning home, I lost the memory card that contained all the image data. It never reappeared, and the photographs were gone. More than just losing the record itself, it felt as if the very experience of those five days had been partially erased.
–
I began learning oil painting when I was ten. In the class I attended for about five years, my teacher repeatedly told me:
“Apply the paint so thickly that you can’t see the texture of the canvas anymore.”
Perhaps because of that, even now, whenever I work with paint, I still carry a quiet belief—I’d like to paint that way or that’s how it should be.
When I think about it, the act of “applying paint” may contain my own desire to cover or conceal something.
2025.04
—
これまでの経験の中で、見てきたものについて、どのくらい正確に記憶しているだろう。
絵を描く時、その問いの答えが明確になった。「見てきたもの」＝「視覚的なイメージ」を再現できない事で、自分が、物事をどれだけ大雑把に捉え、それを「記憶」と決めた、揺らいだ世界の中で暮らしているのかを認識した。「視覚」を拠り所にするほど、「記憶」は頼りない。
How precisely do I memorise what I have seen in my life?
The answer became clear while I was painting. When I found that I couldn’t materialise “what I had seen” – or “what I had perceived visually” – exactly as it was in my paintings, I realised what a shaky world I live in – the world in which I only roughly perceive things around me and call it my own “memory”. The more we depend on our vision as a source of information, the more unreliable the information becomes.
2024.02