In the summer of 1978, when I was eight years old, I was captivated by the Impressionist works I saw at the Hiroshima Museum of Art, and I decided to become a painter.

However, in high school, he had to give up on going to art school due to his color vision deficiency. It was his first major setback. After that, he lost contact with society in every field that required color perception, such as photographer, illustrator, painter, and electrician, and he sank into a deep vortex of self-doubt, wondering if he was a person unworthy of being valued by society.

In the depths of despair, at the age of 25, I encountered "dyeing" at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The vibrant, life-giving colors there gave me the vivid sensation of "seeing color" for the first time. It was the moment when I, who had been isolated from society, reconnected with the beauty of the world.

In 20th-century Western painting, there is a technique called "staining," practiced by artists such as Mark Rothko. This approach, which involves soaking thinly diluted paint into the canvas and erasing the boundaries of the material, has deep connections to the world of dyeing that I pursue. I believe that the phenomenon of color seeping into fabric and the fibers and colors becoming one (dyeing) has something essential that stimulates the limits of the human retina and stirs the heart.

 

Since then, dyeing has become a precious means of expression for me. Based on traditional Japanese dyeing techniques and my studies in various parts of Southeast Asia, I have spent 30 years working with fabrics and dyes, and have presented my work in department stores and museums both in Japan and abroad.

In 2022, marking 27 years in the art world, I suffered a serious illness, experiencing the blurring of boundaries between self and other, and the ambiguity of time and space. During my recovery, I encountered the traditional performing art of Noh. When I touched upon this profound world where reality and fiction, life and death intersect, the complex I had harbored for many years regarding my color vision deficiency quietly began to unravel.

The visible world isn't everything. Human presence and subtle cues certainly exist in the invisible world as well. I was able to deeply accept my own characteristics, realizing that my color vision deficiency is merely one of many diverse ways in which the world is perceived.

In Noh theater terms, I am the "waki," the catalyst that connects the real world with the other world, and the works I create are none other than the "shite" that emerge. More than 30 years have passed since I was captivated by dyeing, and the passion that permeated my heart back then remains unchanged.

Through my work, I hope you will come to understand that two things that seem separate—the visible and the invisible, oneself and others, the other and this world—are all connected and hold infinite possibilities.