My artistic voyage began in 2016, and I still feel like a novice. I knew this path would be daunting, possibly more intimidating than anything I'd faced before.
Art wasn't unfamiliar; I'd met it early on, around age 8 or 9. I would visit museums alone, captivated by Munch’s The Scream and Picasso’s Guernica, spending hours gazing at those masterpieces.
Drawing has always been a natural habit of mine—I can't even remember when I first picked up a pencil. Somewhere along the line, I chose to pursue a career as a cartoonist rather than an artist. That dream stuck with me until I moved to NYC in 1998, where the city's vibrant energy rekindled my artistic nature. I found myself torn between two paths—remaining a cartoonist dream or evolving into an artist—struggling to choose. By the time I returned to Japan, the dream I held so close was fading into the mist of what could have been.
In 2006, after abandoning my childhood dream due to my passionate affair with art, I found myself lost, unsure of where or how to start anew. Rather than pursuing a path to become an artist, I took on various part-time jobs, which turned out to be quite enjoyable. I began to appreciate the simplicity of my life. Despite this, art stubbornly lingered in my depths. I had forgotten that it was all I had left when I let go of my old dream. Shy and hesitant at first, I gradually started to reconnect with art.
It took me 10 years to finally let go of all my possessions, attachments, and uncertainties at the time, and to fully commit to walking through life with art.
I believe any professional path is challenging, and art is no exception. I've often felt overwhelmed and tempted to escape my chaos. During a particularly vain and futile period when I saw no way forward, I decided to take a study break in 2022, wondering whether I would ever come back to art.
In 2025, with a renewed sense of knowledge and a fresh mindset, I took on some small sketches. These pieces are the fruits of my recovery—almost like my rebirth works.
In every moment of doubt, art has remained in my dimension. Sharing these works feels like finally stepping into the dim light after a long trip to the black hole. I hope that, in some way, the wavelength of me resonates with those who bump into my art — that they, too, might find the courage to forge their own creative strength.
Daunting fun
My artistic voyage began in 2016, and I still feel like a novice. I knew this path would be daunting, possibly more intimidating than anything I'd faced before.
Art wasn't unfamiliar; I'd met it early on, around age 8 or 9. I would visit museums alone, captivated by Munch’s The Scream and Picasso’s Guernica, spending hours gazing at those masterpieces.
Drawing has always been a natural habit of mine—I can't even remember when I first picked up a pencil. Somewhere along the line, I chose to pursue a career as a cartoonist rather than an artist. That dream stuck with me until I moved to NYC in 1998, where the city's vibrant energy rekindled my artistic nature. I found myself torn between two paths—remaining a cartoonist dream or evolving into an artist—struggling to choose. By the time I returned to Japan, the dream I held so close was fading into the mist of what could have been.
In 2006, after abandoning my childhood dream due to my passionate affair with art, I found myself lost, unsure of where or how to start anew. Rather than pursuing a path to become an artist, I took on various part-time jobs, which turned out to be quite enjoyable. I began to appreciate the simplicity of my life. Despite this, art stubbornly lingered in my depths. I had forgotten that it was all I had left when I let go of my old dream. Shy and hesitant at first, I gradually started to reconnect with art.
It took me 10 years to finally let go of all my possessions, attachments, and uncertainties at the time, and to fully commit to walking through life with art.
I believe any professional path is challenging, and art is no exception. I've often felt overwhelmed and tempted to escape my chaos. During a particularly vain and futile period when I saw no way forward, I decided to take a study break in 2022, wondering whether I would ever come back to art.
In 2025, with a renewed sense of knowledge and a fresh mindset, I took on some small sketches. These pieces are the fruits of my recovery—almost like my rebirth works.
In every moment of doubt, art has remained in my dimension. Sharing these works feels like finally stepping into the dim light after a long trip to the black hole. I hope that, in some way, the wavelength of me resonates with those who bump into my art — that they, too, might find the courage to forge their own creative strength.