午夜剧场

Since I was a child, I often asked people questions. I felt like I understood the answers, and yet, I also felt like I didn't.

When I draw, I move forward by repeating questions and answers to myself.

As I keep asking "Why?", the number of "Whys" increases for every word that makes up a sentence. This is because words have different ranges of meaning and redundancies depending on the person using them or the situation. The more I ask, the more unknowns appear within the answers; there is nothing I can fully grasp. Lately, I feel that I am drawing as if searching for my own form from the areas blurred by that redundancy.

It is a process like calming the loud sound of spilled water and returning it to myself.

In conversation, words move in one direction. In written text, one is free from the time axis to some extent, but I still feel the direction of progress is fixed.

"Since I was a child, I often asked people questions." This is a "sentence written previously."

In writing, the same word in different positions becomes something else. In a drawing, even if I follow associations while ignoring the direction of progress, I can arrange them almost simultaneously, and I can place things in shifted positions as if they are connected. There are different types of fluctuations in sentences and drawings, and I feel a sense of familiarity with both. Or rather, I feel as if my own room exists there.

There are infinite gaps where one can ask "Why?", and the world I see changes every time I change the question.

I am sometimes asked where I start when I draw. In my case, I first write something like a simple plot of a story in words, and then I proceed by arranging that content along with branched-off side stories.

Therefore, when I tried to write about drawing, I ended up writing about sentences, and after repeating "Why?" to myself, this text was created.