By the time the light from a star reaches this finger, what has happened to the star from which the light is emitted? After the light ends a journey of thousands and tens of thousands of years, is the star itself no longer in existence? Or does it evolve in an unforeseen way and twinkle even more strongly?

Photographs record the world. The paper on which photographs are printed is a material I love. I move the fingers of my left hand slowly over the paper and the cutter knife I hold with the fingers of my right hand sinks softly into the paper. Sometimes I focus light on it with a magnifying glass. At those times, Iʼm filled with a sweet sense of satisfaction that comes from the feeling of holding the world, including the time, persons, and even the mind and heart it contains in my hand.

However, at the instant I hold the paper with those wounds up to the light, the world moves far away from my hand. The world I thought I was gripping tightly starts out from my fingers on a journey as stars in a place I will never reach. But Iʼm satisfied with this too. This is because stars are existent things that continue to shine, transcending my life and time. I want to get the same feeling from the drawings―the lines move from my fingertips to permeate every part of my inner being.