17-28 August 2022. Solo Exhibition "Cloth, box, wood, oil"

I'm working every day in a sort of a roundabout way, ?going back and forth between a happy mood and a serious mood. Luckily, I'm working happily every day at the moment, but at a rate of 0.4 yen per second. My contract might be coming to an end soon. I have to work for a house to live in and food to eat, plus 30,000 yen a month for art materials and studio fees, which are a bit cheaper now that there are more members. With my income, it's not easy to paint. With my current lifestyle, I can work for about four hours a day, but I also want to read books, go to the movies and have fun. It doesn't help to say this, but my style of production is completely different from that of the court painters and those who can make a living from their production. I heard that the paintings at the Charity Institute in Hals France, depict the people who gave him bread, but they all have very scary faces. Depending on my mood, sometimes I can only remember people's faces in that moment.
Oh, am I writing something that I don't need to write?

I think we all probably thought in earnest in February, what the hell can we do? There are all kinds of artists out there, and I don't know about others, but I'm just a crappy painter, and I've been thinking for a while now, what the hell am I going to get out of being in my studio like this? When I first started Corona, I saw a tweet from an artist doing a hand-washing workshop saying that he was disappointed that this was all he could do, and I think I'm on the side of those who are disappointed. I'm still exploring the distance between what's happening in the world and what I'm creating or what I'm making or what I'm doing, and I guess that's better than me, who can only watch. What can I do in this studio? I won't be able to do anything. What exactly did Ango Sakaguchi write just after the war? What was he looking at and thinking about in there? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
At the end of one of Tatsuki Fujimoto's short stories, he wrote that when he was an art student, the earthquake happened and he felt that it was no longer the time to be drawingpictures, so he went to volunteer. Come to think of it, at the time I was just racing my heart out at the news footage, half-way through the internet looking up radiation and panicking, wandering around the town with rolling blackouts on my bicycle, thinking I should be looking for a job soon, and being one of those people who wondered why I was still alive. . I was in my early twenties when I was a selfish, self-involved, early twentysomething who kept wanting to go far away, but was cut off when it came to things far away. I wonder what it's like now.

Last month, the perpetrators of the indiscriminate killings in Akihabara were sentenced. When did that incident happen? Was it already 14 years ago? Somehow, recently there have been a lot of people again who are called invincible or something. There was man who dressed up as ?JOKER?, but didn't hide his faces. I remember that the Akihabara criminal's painting titled "Tomorrow, too, let's do our best", which was traced from ?IDOL M@STER? illustration drawn with dots of 'depression', was recently exhibited somewhere. It was a disgusting painting, but I felt like I could understand a little something about it. The brushstrokes and strokes left in the paint of the impressionists seem to emphasise the fact that the paintings were made in the time and space of their creation, as if they were trying to change the line of sight from the mythical world in which they were painted to hide the traces of their creators to the world inhabited by humans. The drawing of the Akihabara killer is a grid of symbols converging in meaning and handwaving, one letter at a time, tracing an image that I can't imagine, but to which he may have become attached. I don't know what distance this image really has from him. structure, fiction. I felt that selfishness was also evident in this painting.

I've taken the liberty of imagining that there's something in these so-called mass-murderers that I can't detach far enough from me, and I'll take that as a clue.
You know, ?human existence is not something that floats in the air, it is always accompanied by a BE verb. Existence exists by being driven by the external world, and in order to make its own existence more certain, it desires to expand its drive in relation to beings other than itself, but if it cannot sufficiently confirm its autonomy (which it mistakenly believes to be) from the drive by floating its own existence in relation to the beings it encounters within its sphere of life, it may not be able to do so. When it is aware that it cannot sufficiently confirm its autonomy (what it mistakenly believes to be) from its drive by floating its own existence in relation to the beings it encounters in its sphere of life, it may try to finance its desire or unreliability by treating the beings as objects of its drive not as depth but as territory. I think that a certain web of web space is made up of this desire, and I think that the web behaves well as a device that stimulates the being's desire to be seen. The erection of a statue by a politician or a person in power is an attempt to extend his existence beyond his lifespan into the future, to include his achievements or his blood in his existence, without letting "be" become "was" even if the subject "A" disappears. It may be an action that tries to extend the desire for existence on the spatial axis to the temporal axis beyond the life span. The desire for existence and the life span or crisis are a set of things. The desire to be seen, like finding oneself in the eyes of a parent in the mirror-image phase, is probably a function of existence, but being seen is at the same time isolation, and is there a case where the owner of over-involved eyes prevents isolation?
The social medium that mediates between economy, or information, symbols, systems and the whole of humanity, may now be sitting on a throne. Even if the canvas is pierced with the title 'the end of God', a replacement may just be sitting there now. Like the world that understands the norms of existence in the light of God, can humans themselves exist without searching for the be-verb of existence in the medium of a medium society?
Or perhaps the birth of the web has fundamentally changed existence. In the above, I have talked about the separation of the sphere of life and its exterior, but this may be a mistake, and the web may already be connected to the sphere of existence. It is not just that the sphere of existence has expanded, but that existence itself may be increasing, fragmenting and destroying what it was before, just as the reproducibility of images has increased, fragmented and destroyed the image of the original (as well as the word itself), and existence may be feeling pain in the increased and fragmented phantom limbs. It may also be the case that the being feels a pain that should not dwell in the increased and fragmented phantom limb.
But I guesswe can't deny the post-web world. Even if we yearn for the smile of a rainforest with no perspective, we have already acquired this perception. I might want to take another look at what is and isn't here, in this place I don't know where it is. As slowly as possible. I'm picking up bits and pieces of my studio and the place of my existence, even if it's a dick thing for me to do around it.

15 August 2022.

2020/1/17,18 "Where is go Metropolis ?" Tokyo Zokei University Graduate School Final Exhibition

Where do we come from, who are we, and where are we going?

Gauguin's question. Is the past, present, and future really a single path? History, who says, is interpretation. History is not an accumulation of time that is considered important. Causality should be questioned, the past and future that are not here are multiverse, and even the present time may be so. But still, we feel that we live on time in our only body. Morning comes and goes, night comes and goes, I wake up from sleep and go to sleep again. My parents made me and gave birth to me, and my parents were born from each of them. If we go back in time, which seems eternal, our ancestors may be traced back to bacteria. Even if the supposed scientific fact is false, even if it began when Adam and Eve tasted the fruit, the rut of blood and knowledge has continued far back and will continue far back in the future. Surely something in this vein has continued in the chain of desire. The desire for reproduction, for wisdom to fill the belly, for safe sleep, and so on. And it expands.
It is said that eventually we will have an anroid with an AI that surpasses the human brain.

Some say we may have an anroid with an AI that surpasses the human brain in 30 years. I can't believe it, but when I see news of dead artists singing new songs and machines conducting at concerts, I sometimes think that a metropolis-like world may be just around the corner. But there are those who say that singularity is already here. They say that the technology of systems, created by the human desire for efficiency, now seems to be in the hands of humans to satisfy the system's own desire for efficiency. Marinetti and his colleagues were possessed by speed. We may also be possessed by a new speed. The aristocrats of Metropolis are looking lustfully at the android Maria. Have we been swallowed up by speed? We are animals. It reminds me of a scene in a movie where a monkey kills a hostile monkey by swinging a bone. The movie in which the bones thrown into the sky transform into a spaceship. Is a monkey wielding technology a human being?
. The capitalist system spreads cities of advertisements and stimulates people's desires. In an attempt to create a better self-image, even humans themselves have begun to act as if they are advertising the value of their products on the Internet. Everything is like a show, a staged mirror image acting possessed in a show window. Information is flooding the window that fits in your hand, and mirror images are dancing. This new tool has created a network within it, and time flows at a different speed from the world outside the window. The birth of the Internet created a different kind of communication, and in the middle of this communication, a world inhabited by mirror images appeared. My mirror image speaks for my words, and I can look at someone else's mirror image through this window. Is it right to call today's world over-communication? In a sense, I think it is. However, the information about other people that is flooding in like a muddy stream is creating something different from the main body of information that should be communicated. The communication network makes even our neighbors into fictions. Facts and fakes are scrambled, and I feel that this is now complicated and accelerating.

There has always been a lie in this world. Lies have always existed in this world. Like believing in God, believing in the value of currency that cannot be exchanged for gold. The lie called fiction may have existed as a necessity in this world, or as a weapon for us, sometimes to our own detriment. Fact and fiction may not be dichotomous.

The reality contains a void of fiction within the fact and is self-supporting.