"horizont"
It’s a word that means “horizon,”
but it’s nothing all that dramatic.
Try to picture the R-horizont—
a curved background installation used in photo studios.
Blind people touch an elephant and speak of what it is.
An elephant is like a tree.
An elephant is like a snake.
No, an elephant has wings.
If we took their words at face value,
what a terrifying monster the elephant would become.
We know what an elephant truly looks like.
But we cannot laugh at them.
How much, after all,
do we know about the world?
At the end of a long staircase leading to an underground studio,
a dimly lit R-horizont.
There, the monster lies.
"An old legend"
Speak not. Listen not.
There is a legend bound to a certain shrine—and with it, a feeling I cannot quite name.
I want to tell it.
I want to hear it.
I want to share it.
But if it is spoken,
if it is heard,something may fracture and fade.
And if it truly matters,all the more reason to remain silent.
To speak of a photograph—
but truly, to speak of myself.
To hear the story that lies behind the image.
To seek something beyond the image itself.
"You’ll understand when you see it," I whisper.
I want to speak, and I want you to listen.
So says an artist exhibiting in Shinjuku-sanchōme.
And yet, what is one to do？
"Silver Grains"
We were the generation told to learn by watching.
But these days, that method is often criticized as inefficient.
It’s true—
those who showed us the way often couldn’t articulate what they were doing.
They simply said: watch and steal it.
Yet once you become skilled,
you start to see—
what tools are used,
what mindset is at work,
how the creation unfolds.
To see is to understand.
And with understanding comes refinement—the ability to show something well.
So, I decided not to look.
If a cat exists only once it is seen—
what is it when it’s observed outside of awareness?
Is it still a cat?
That cat, accidentally captured in the frame—perhaps it wasn’t a cat at all,but something merely disguised as one.
Next time I see a cat,I want to tell it:
"You have become silver grains."
And so, the days pass—quietly, just like that.
