amama

Amama
2026, oil on canvas, 112.0 x 145.5 cm

Please enter I was watering plants on the veranda one fine day.
When I saw that the dull colored leaves turned bright green and began to shine, I was dazzled, and when I thought ah, a small rainbow was right in front of me.
When the wind blew and I felt the coldness of my wet hands and the smell of the earth, I thought, “I still don't know anything.” I thought so.
I certainly touched the world at that time.

It's definitely not a special time to feel this way.
Even when I'm just walking around the city or just looking blankly, I quickly notice the world.

The greenery of plants. The smell of soil. Water splashes, rainbows, body vibrations, light, and temperature.
I want to bundle that time together so that it doesn't fall apart, but when I try to remember it, it gradually becomes blurry, and eventually I can't grasp it and it scatters up.
Thus, it will gradually become a distant record. But that moment definitely happened, if I could draw everything.

But it's very difficult to bundle everything together. Even though it looks like Munyamunya was born, it still just has a simple shape and Sekai hasn't stood up, and words and brushes are just stroking the screen.
We are used to seeing shapes, and we can immediately imagine something from there, but when we rely on it, we return to the real world, not because of the picture.
As I looked deeper and deeper into my gaze, I felt the colors creep into the picture. At the same time, it's a feeling that consciousness dives from the head into the body.
What breathes life into the generated munnyamunya is the light and smell that I have accepted with my senses.

I always wish I could take a walk in my paintings. it's because it's so close and far, so loud. When I walk through the world while touching with my eyes — that is, when consciousness falls into the body — I will encounter the lights and smells I have seen, and I will also arrive at the lights and smells you have seen someday. (Nakaji Moemi)

When I'm casually looking at a landscape, there is a moment when I suddenly see something I don't really understand in front of me.

Surprised, I tried to take a closer look, but I couldn't look at it anymore and it became something I saw.

What the heck is “something”?

I may have simply misunderstood it, but this is really all of the world I'm seeing now, so is that correct?

It makes me think that there is a reason why there is “something” that I saw for a moment just not being aware of it.

When I look at it — when I'm unconsciously capturing the whole thing without being aware of seeing it — I feel like my gaze is looking at the other side past the landscape.

“Something” may be something floating around perception.

I'm trying to capture something that fluctuates and vague in color and form before something becomes something.

“Ekkuru”, “Hono”, “Pofuto”... It's a word similar to something, but you don't know the meaning, and you may feel like it's a word from a place you don't know.

These are a combination of the sounds and sounds I heard in the scenery I actually saw, and the sounds that seem to be heard from the colors and forms of the work arranged, and there is no meaning in the words themselves.

The purpose of adding this title is to make it common with the process of creating a work - a landscape as a trigger, creating a way of reconstructing while layering 20 layers and 30 layers of color.

Since the colors and shapes on the screen do not mean anything, the title itself also moves away from context and meaning, and avoids fixing the image with words.