a seed of flower

I planted my seed-Natane for Fukushima.

2011-09-16T00:38:00.046-04:00

I planted rapeseeds in a garden at my mother's house in Yamanashi.
Scientifically, It proves that radioactive materials like cesium-137 and strontium-90 will be removed from the contaminated soils by growing rapeseeds. They accumulate those radioactive materials in the seeds or the stalks, yet those materials can't be contaminated in extracting oils from the seeds. After hearing this fantastic story and, more importantly, with the fact that my name literally means the rapeseed, I said to myself, "All right then, This is a must action! "

First, I tried in a small land. And I will do more in October. I'd never had done farming or anything like this, so I am not sure if my attempt will have a success. Next Spring, when the time comes, I will collect the seeds and donate them to Fukushima. So I shall see!

Peace on the Earth

2011-08-04T00:18:00.002-04:00

Kanazawa

2010-09-15T03:08:00.002-04:00

As the late summer vacation, I visited Kanazawa with my mother and this was a trip down her memory lane. She was born and brought up in Kanazawa till her whole family moved to Tokyo　at her age of seven. Then, when she was nineteen-year-old, she ran away from home and she boaded at Goriya, one of the high-class Japanese restaurants in Kanazawa. There, working at men's clothing store, she was given a free room and meals with a deal that she would take care of a blind old lady who was the grand mother of the owner. For her, Kanazawa was her second home town.

When I was little, we went to Kanazawa once, but I only remembered two things: I was watching the thick clouds from the airplane that could not land for an hour or so due to the heavy snow and we walked at a local shopping mall to find rain boots for the snow. She got me red rain boots and I was really excited about walking with the new boots in the heavy snow.
Having said that, this was like my first trip to Kanazawa.

We visited some places where she had associations with, like a site where she was brought up, parks where she used to play around, shrines and some small streets. While visiting each, she seemed filled with emotions. Sometimes, she was staying silent, and other times, she signed out, staring at the place that changed its face or she acted like a kid, saying,
"wow, wow, I remember this!"
It was really moving to me to follow her footsteps in the past and to experience the town in her perspective.

One afternoon, we visited Goriya located by the Asano River. Japanese traditional wooden building was still remained. It was gracious and classical. She tried opening the bamboo gate that was led to the main entrance of the restaurant, but the gate was locked. She knocked the back door, yet there was only silence. An old lady passing by the street looked at us as if we were strange people. So, my mother stopped her to ask about what happened to Goriya.
"Ah, it was closed in a few years ago and nobody lived anymore. We have no idea about where the son of the owner went. I guess he ran away."
"I see, I used to live here to take care of the old grand mother...."
My mother looked sad.

It was a hot and humid day in spite that its already September. The sun was setting, the clouds were glowing pale pink, cicadas were singing loud and the wind were faintly blowing and shaking leaves of willows. Mountain ranges dimmed in the far distance.
We were looking at the sunset glow on the bridge near Goriya.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I said.
I could not say such a comment like, "it's pity that Goriya was closed," as it would sound so superficial. Well, before then, it's apparent.

"Yeah, beautiful, well, I often took the blind old lady for walk along the river back in those days," she said with her distant eyes.

We strolled along the banks of the Asano River.

The time has past and there isn't anything that's constant. However, I thought, the river, these willows and these mountains had been there and witnessed all the changes and dramas in this area. Perhaps my mother was in the pictures as well. I was not sure if it might have been because of the ambience or not, but I could visualize my mother taking this old lady for walk by the river around the time of the day when we were now.

To me, the scenery was like a movie set and somehow, in the whole area, there was a sense of good old days remained. The flow of time was slow and gentle.

Japan-ish

2010-07-21T09:47:00.003-04:00

My apartment is tiny---a 6.5 tatami mat size room with only a shower equipment.
I am such a-taking-a-bath-freak, so this is really a big deal-- not having a bath tub.
Well, I go back to my mother's house to take a bath sometimes, but recently I've started going to a public bath nearby. Yahoos.
Almost 95% people in the public bath are oldies.

That's the place for them to socialize like a cafe, but having a complete real open (inside and outside) relationship with each other. They talk about how to live life without an air-conditioning and sorts.
And here I am again, I am an outsider. (I often feel like "I am not belonging here" in almost any places where I go. )
Yet, observing those sweet ladies is fun.
Sometimes, they argue about opening and closing a window of the bath space for a while.
When I turned on a faucet at full blast to add more cold water, they shouted at me (not in an aggregating tone, but they are just loud) from every corners, like
"Turn off, Virus will stay if you put cold water too much!" or "Turn on, hot water is not good." I was laughing, following both orders back and forth. Aren't there sweet?
The other day, one old lady next to me started talking to me, completely out of blue, like,
"Do you know my age?"
"ahhhhh, I could guess but how could I possibly know your age? " I said in my mind, looking at her big but saggy boobies.
"No. I don't...," before I finished the sentence, she went,
"Well, I am 77. How good I look, right?" Smiling with a victory smile.

"Indeed, your skin is splendorous and shiny! What IS the tip for it?" my honest response.

Seriously, her skin had nothing to do with winkles or open pores that most girls in my age are concerned. (but not your saggy boobies, that part unsaid, of course.)
Then she kept revealing her life, that is, she is still a instructor for classic ballet and has been doing for 40 years, she is tougher than her daughter and sometimes she gives her massage, and her daughter is also a ballet teacher. And she goes straight to the bath after excise and she never gets sick.
I was nodding every 5 seconds while I was washing my hair.

And not only girls talk I get, but there goes boys talk.
When I asked a bath attendant (an old man) to break 50 yen to five 10 yen, he went like,
" Ok, I will take 10 yen for this service, " with a big smile.
Completely oyagi gyagu -- an unfunny joke specifically made by an old guy.
Then here you go, a guy next to the attendant finished up like,
"You can throw water on him! ha ha ha ha!"
oyagi gyagu, again. Hopelessly, fearlessly.....unfunny.
I was speechless and just smiled at them.
Well, I love their friendliness and admire guts to crack unfunny jokes without hesitation! Aren't they sweet too?

I enjoy those local oldies.
No pretentious ness involved here in the real naked world.

So, just gulping a cold tea after the bath, I feel at home and ease.
As much as I miss NYC for diversity and an easy access to all sorts of cultures, I embrace a bit of Japan-ish long forgotten culture here. Small things like that, which can be found at the very corner of Tokyo, is what I missed while in NY.

GOALLLLLLL!---

2010-07-19T10:19:00.001-04:00

the moment when adrenaline kicks in.
Watching a football especially the world cup does turn me on.
Sadly, the world cup came to an end and I have been still re-watching videos that I recorded to analyze each team or game. Am I nuts? Yes, I am, when it comes to the soccer.
As is always the case, I watched the games everywhere like at an electric store at the Heathrow Airport waiting for a plane via Basel, at a cafe in Art Basel, at a sports bar in Basel city, with or without friends. My schedule was determined by the soccer schedule during my stay in Art Basel. Coming back to Japan, I watched the games at home or at a cafe bar in Aoyama by myself. Everywhere I went, or whatever I did, my topic for a conversation was about the soccer.
On the former world cup, I was in NYC. One day, I was sick with high fever. So, I had to watch one game on a TV at my apartment, yet due to a device from the stone aged, that is called Antenna, the TV had such a poor reception. Almost every-time the announcer screamed like, "g-g-g-GOOOOOOAL!" Or "G G GOAL? ahhhhhh! off side..." the screen was filled with a grayish zig-sag pattern. I was like "Where is Amélie?" (in a film, Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain.) What did I do wrongggg?" I cursed, hit and kicked the old TV, but nothing worked on such an old lady. So, with a box of tissue paper and with a sweater despite the hot weather, I managed to go to a cafe that had a TV set (a high-tech device, cabled) nearby my apartment. Like that, I am a soccer fetch. I can admit without hesitation.

The soccer is truly artistic, beautiful and SEXY. To me as an observer, it is absolutely the king of the sports to watch and the players are man of the man. If I were born as a boy next life (if i have next life), I will want to be a soccer player. No other sports can, I think, excite, mesmerize, entertain and unite people. Well, baseball fans, or basecket ball fans or any other sports fan would disagree with me. Yet, let me ask those one question,
"Do you know any other sports that you are not allowed to go to a toilet, check a hot girl or boy, buy a hot dog and beer, to snack french fries, to chat your friends, meaning that you can't even blink your eyes? For about 45 minuets? "
You seriously got to be glued to the game entirely, as there is always a chance that you will miss the most wanted exciting tasteful moving moment of making one GOAL! And, more important, there is always a chance that the goal is made in a second. Do you understand this contradictory theory? The chance is rare, but at the same time, the chance could be in any moment.
i.e. on a game--Germany vs Argentine, I was at a cafe bar and the waiter brought a check. The moment I looked at the check, which was just for a few second, the goal was already made in Germany. I was furious,
" WHATTTTTTT? and NOOOOO, I missed IT!" screamed.
The waiter apologized me sincerely, though he did what he got to do.
Anyways, my point here is ; what's the point of watching the soccer game, when you miss the MOMENT of the goal, which you only have one or two during the half (45 minuets) ? You feel like a loser, being patient 99% of the time in the game, sitting up and down, holding your breath, kicking something with frustration, not being abel to go to a toilet, screaming and sighing...
Because the value of one goal is such a big deal, when you catch the moment of one goal, your built up emotions and frustration are exploded, which leads you to THAT scream or tears or euphoria.
In a tennis match, for instance, yes, there is tension, but before a serve or during the break every single set, you have a time to a toilet. What about a swimming race? Right, it has a tension, but it lasts only for a few minutes? The soccer players are required non stop moves with high tension for such a long time. Forget about an idea of snacking, checking boy and girls and etc even as an observer. FORCUS is needed big time.

Then, here is another thing about the soccer---sexiness. How sexy it could be, when the player does feint movement, dribbling, making a complicated pass, and a goal during the entire time, unlike a baseball, which is too systematic and organized, unlike a basketball which make a goal almost in every second--- just TOO MANY. I could be melted by watching one wow movement after another. They are the real killers.
The highlight is in a goal, but to get there always has a story and drama--- trough many passes or a long shoot from the mid fielder or even the goal keeper. It is like a music--- having a maximum dynamism. It is born by an integration of an individual technique and a team work.

The soccer involves physicality, an immediate decision and action, intuition, imagination, individual skills, organization ability and the strength as one team. And after the game, both players in a winning or losing look amazingly beautiful.
I feel like hugging all, which has to do with motherly nature for 80 % and of course a sexual attraction as a straight girl for the rest. I am being honest.

(As a note, I love watching a good match, but after all, I was for Spain and they won! I cried and could not be happier. )

Ok, I am seriously thinking about going to Brazil for the next world cup. Am I nuts? Well, already answered.

Art Basel

2010-07-03T22:51:00.010-04:00

I stayed in Basel for Art Basel for a week.

Wowing in artworks,

reuniting with my ex bosses and good old friends,

meeting new people,

visiting to an artist studio,

sneaking out of the fairs to watch the world cup,

dining and (wining-not for me)

sipping six cups of espresso a day with the real chocolates,

walking though beautiful nature, old houses and buildings,

I could not be happier.

One complain I have is that everything in Switzerland is too expensive.

I ordered just a cup of coffee, a piece of cake for myself and a bottle of water for my friend.

It was like almost 20 swiss fran. We thought the cashier was miscalculating, yet she was NOT.

Well, a bottle of water cost 6 swiss Fran at the fair.

"Ahhh, Hello? Excuse me, but it is just water!!!"

I wanted to cancel one thing, but there were fancy people behind us waiting to order, so I was too embraced to cancel. (My stupid pride!!)

My right hand was shaking, giving her cash.

Anyways, I learnt from the mistake; I never bought anything at the fair. (still at Kiosk, a bottle of water cost me 3 swiss fran though. ) Ai ai ai.

Back to art, the highlight was Basquiat's show at Foundation Beyeler.

The museum's walls were taken over by Large scale colorful paintings---in a one-after-another-style.

My jar was dropped. My eyes were wide open. My heart was beating fast. Right, Adrenaline kicked in big time. How could he possibly produce so many great works in such a short time?

Then Felix Gonzales-Torres installation was lovely.

Even though I'd seen the pictures of his installations, I never saw his actual works before. I almost jumped seeing it for the first time.

Well, my spirit flew up to the ceiling of the museum for sure.

http://www.beyeler.com/fondation/e/html_11sonderaus/01_aktuelle/intro.htm

I felt grateful that I could have a chance to stay in Basel, being soaked into beauty and love.

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the intersection of life

2010-06-07T08:06:00.013-04:00

I saw an old friend of mine at the Tokyo Photo preview party the other night.
Wow, over a decade ago.. we used to work together at a cafe in Ebisu; he was a chef and I was a waitress. Well, one confession, I had a dream about owning my own cafe back then. Moved into a new apartment in Ebisu, I was walking around, found a nice cafe, went in and asked if I could work. Then it turned out that we both were from sort of the same circuit in Tokyo by chance.

Once upon a time, there was a cafe called LAS CHICAS, a legend place, in Omotesando. It still exists, but its bought out and commercialized now.
Anyways, back then, 90% of people there, were foreigners--either as customers, waiters, waitresses or bartenders. Its like a cosmopolitan in a smaller scale--funky bohemians, super duper funky crazy gays, very conventional business men, designers in all black outfit, girls and boys, in various type of skin colors. Needless to say, it was my favorite place to hung out.
So, that's where we came from: him as a bar manager and me as a customer, but we never crossed each other.
So, ding ding ding--BOF.
We started working together. Its a place where my BF, his GF, my friends and his friends all hanged out.

Actually, I don't remember as its really a long time ago, but somehow the cafe was closed or bought up. For some reason, I quit and he left.

After some more and more years later, I moved into NYC. He was at Idee as a chef. So, for the first 2 years, I could find him at Idee cafe in Aoyama, but then again, Idee was bought up by Mujirushi. Since then, I'd lost in touch.

Funny enough, that night, I actually called another old friend of mine, a commercial photographer, whom I've known over a decade and curated his show once. I asked him to come out for this event. Then, he goes, "oh I knew about this, because of this chef friend." "all right then, great." I forgot that they were friends. I was so disconnected that I could not keep up with info like who is who's friend and etc.
So we went and I was reconnected to this chef friend. Life is funny.
Now, He does his own catering business that is really related to contemporary art scene in Tokyo and he works as a commercial photographer.
Somehow, he is involved with the Tokyo Photo. All sounds good.

After the preview event, we stayed with his friend at a bar and talked and talked.
It seemed that he was involved with many different things, as a catering chef, which I could say he is a food artist, a photographer, a traveler, a organizer for a club event.
He did a catering for Damian Hirst's reception at Mori Museum and made a big cow using coffee jello.
"Oh, yes, as business goes, I need to make profit, but at the same time I take a risk and sometimes, it ends up breaking even. well, the important theory is to do things that makes myself excited and happy. " he said.
"Ride on!"
We finished up with a ramen place at 2 am.

I like the intersection of life. You never know who will be in and out of your life.
I felt somehow, home, meaning I could be myself. Or I'll say, with a bit of feeling of reminiscent, I just re realized that there was indeed the history in my life, reminding me of what I was and am.
Yes, I love art and music, but all them aside, I just love people- interacting with people beyond sex, age, nationalities and professions. That's why I'd traveled so much in the world and met so many different types of people from hippies to millionaires.
Especially interacting with like minded or open minded people like him gives me energy and true happiness. Inspiring.
Even in a 5 min talk with a stranger at a bus station, when I feel connected to the person, that's like a WOW experience that I would never forget.
Sadly, it doesn't happen too often. Sometimes, I feel cold in my heart when I am in a situation where there is nothing to share with despite efforts.
Like viewing art, when you see the real, you will know. But its hard to encounter the real. Then, when you see the real finally, you are in the utmost happiness.
Its similar when it comes to people.

I have to say, its been hard here in Japan for me to adjust. I feel as if I were in a cage with restrictions and rules. But still, I just want to be myself and being reunited to my old friend, to me, is like a message--- you will be fine as the way you are.

Taking a cab back home, feeling the winds with the smell of rain, I really appreciated life and what life offers me.
loves life? oh yes.

Oh, My God in Naoshima

2010-05-16T22:39:00.001-04:00

I visited to Naoshima alone last month and loved everything there, especially the Chichu Museum. Impeccable integration of art by James Turrell, Monet and Walter De Maria, the architecture by Tadao Ando and atmosphere---Sublime, spiritual and substantial. I found myself all alone in each space, which was such a rare opportunity and luxury.
----

First, Naoshima was a far-away-island --- an over 3 hour Shinkansen ride, and 2 local trains, which were not connected so well, then an one hour getting- stuck at Uno port, then a 20 min ferry ride, then the bus. phew… I left home around 7:30 am and by the time I checked in the Benesse house, it was already 2 pm.

Yet, when I saw the ocean and a big yellow pumpkin by Yayoi Kusama, my spirit was already uplifted. Yes, YEs, and YES, I made it!
Birds were singing from everywhere as if they were welcoming me and the flowers were glooming in profusion. Dumping some of my belongings at the room, I rushed out to explore the art sites in nature.
Walking along the beach and up to the hill, here and there, some artworks were sat on the beach or the land as if they were abandoned objects. And Seascape by Hiroshi Sugimoto was up on the cliff. Where possibly could you see his work like that?

Then, a great collection of the works by CY Twombly, Jannis Kounellis, Yukio Yanagi, Hiroshi Sugimoto, Warhol, Basquiat and more were on display at the Benesse museum. What a wow. I could not help taking photographs secretively despite the prohibition. As an Aquarius who doesn't follow a rule, I got to do.

Next day, it was unfortunately raining with harsh sea breeze. Yet, my steps were aerial to explore the House project. I enjoyed walking through the classical townscape where almost there was nobody besides me. Ah, I have to say, I love good old Japanese culture.

There were five classic houses where artworks were integrated.
- Tatsuo Miyajima
- James Turrell
- Hiroshi Sugimoto
- Shinro Ohtake
- Hiroshi Senjyu
Among all, James Turell and Tatsuo Miyajima were my favorite. I will not tell you the details, as you need to experience them on your own.

Yet, just as a travel tip, I was putting on my long boots and every place, i was asked to take them off. So, when you go, please wear a pair of shoes that is easy to take off. This putting them on and off action really gets one's nerve.

After having a piece of cake with a cup of coffee at a cafe where the shoes were allowed(!), I headed to the Chichu Museum.

First, Monet. "Monet? here? Who cares?" Sorry to be rude, but that's my first reaction, as I didn't expect to see Monet in such a contemporary architecture, designed by Tadao Ando and all the way here. Then again, the security asked me to take off the shoes. "Oh, Again? Come on, this is the Museum, not someone's house for crisis sake. How many times do I have to?" I was really annoyed, bitching a lot in my mind. Then, after walking though a white space, there it was. Monet's large diptych Water Lily was in front of my eyes, dazzling like the full moon. "Wow….!" There were 4 more beautiful Monet's Water Lilies. " Oh my god." To be honest with you, I never expected myself to feel so moved and touched by Monet, as in a normal circumstance, Monet's painting in an old fashioned decorative frame is jammed on the wall with some works by another masters' paintings. Right? But, in the atmosphere, I was speechless and I almost kneeled down as if I unexpectedly encountered a God or something bigger than a human being. (I mean even if I'd wanted to talk, I was alone, so I could not talk to anybody anyway.)
It had to do with how they were installed---The tiled floor, and the paintings in the white frame that were embedded in the wall and the indirect lighting. The room was just dedicated to these beautiful 5 Monets. It is true that how a work becomes so alive does depend on how it is installed, beside the fact that the work has to be good. I was absolutely stunned by the whole set-up and truly appreciated his paintings.
Sitting down on the bench in the middle of the room, I was contemplating for a while about what Monet saw in his eyes and closed my eyes to talk to him in my mind. My eyes got teary in rapture. Somehow, yes, I felt connected to him.

The next is Turrell.

OK, again, I knew that I had to take off my shoes, so I needed to be realistic here. I walked up to his section without putting them back on. Then the security stopped me, "Miss, Miss, please put on your shoes? " in a polite manner. But I ignored her. Sorry, but "No fxxxxx way! enough is enough" (in my mind, of course.) There you go, there was another security waiting to tell me, "please take off…." Well, she saw me without the shoes and stopped. I smiled at her. " A ha! " Then, she explained " You are to walk up the stair, but please be careful as the stairs are slippery and blur blur blur…" I was not listening. I guess I was turning into a real New Yorker after 8 years? --no patience. (Sorry, New Yorkers!! ) After her long talk, I was led by her to walk up the stairs slowly and go into the hollow filled with subtle blue light, Open Filed. Just there was myself (with this security…. yikes.) in the absolute blue world. I felt as if i were inside of a soap bubble, being out of balance. Very dreamy and calming… Could the inside of a womb be like this? Another "OMG" here.

While I was experiencing sheer pleasure, Luckily, the rain stopped. I do feel the existence of the universe force in such a small miracle. I walked up to another work, Open Sky by Turell. I sat there and looked up the sky through the square frame. Due to the winds, the thick clouds were moving so hasty and I felt like viewing a live painting performance.

Then, Walter de Maria.
Wow, first I didn't have to take off my shoes! Yes.
Then, entering into a huge space, which looks like a contemporary version of a church. In the middle of steps, there was a gigantic black sphere sculpture in a balance and was illuminated from the skylight on the ceiling. On the concrete wall, a set of 3 rectangular gold leaf covered sculpture were installed, which looked like an organ. I almost heard a hymn tune. Sublime. I was walking closer to it and I saw myself reflected on the surface. Am I watching myself from the outside or the inside of the ball? Indeed, mythical and divine.

The wholes set up was just amazing and splendor.
Artificial and nature could go hand in hand. The world of aesthetic, everything in my eyes was. in my heart and spirit.
I needed so badly to get hell out of Tokyo and unexpectedly this visit turned into a spiritual re-awaking experience. This is a MUST destination for not only art lovers but all.

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Life for Experience

2010-04-23T10:11:00.014-04:00

"I live to experience.
I experience to feel myself fully and ultimately to be connected to the world."
I've been telling this to myself like a mantra.

Life gets cruel and confusing sometimes.
I had to face one of the toughest and saddest thing in my life and I've been feeling an excruciating pain.
Every morning I force myself to get out of bed and manage to do what I need to do. Yet, my body feels heavy as if I were carrying 1 ton weight ball around my legs. I go out and see people, yet my mind is often absent. My heart is trembling and my stomach is twisted up, feeling like puking up constantly. I read books based on Buddhism philosophy and go to a shrine for help almost everyday. Yet, still, all sorts of pent up emotions like grief, sorrow, anger, regret, anxiety rise up in me....almost every 1 hour. As much as I know I'm responsible for any circumstances where I am led, it has been really hard to assimilate and get a clear and rationalized perception of the happening.

When I find myself falling down, over and over, I remind myself that I live to experience like I have been till today and I will be strong and open enough to fully experience anything that comes along in my life journey --- sadness, loneliness, pain, happiness, excitement or satisfaction.
Then, there I know I could eventually relate myself with others and the world, giving me a broader perspective and making me compassionate as a woman.

I truly believe in this.

The deeper I dive into,

2010-04-11T10:04:00.004-04:00

the higher I can fly.
and...
so I will come back and
meet you on the horizon always.

I will be..

It is in the afternoon on the end of 2009.

2009-12-31T01:51:00.005-05:00

I jogged and embraced the strong sun light on the last day of 2009.
I love spending the new year in Japan. Almost every single business is closed and everybody goes back home to spend sometime with his/her family. Less traffic and people on the streets and no lights in office buildings. The constant commotion disappears and the sound of quietness dominates the whole country. The air gets crisp and clean. The sky gets crystal blue. All the shrines and temples in the whole country prepare for the new year ceremony. People cook "osechi," the special cuisine for the new year. "Kadomatsu," which symbolizes a tree provided for the descent of the gods, is decorated almost every single house. Through the entire year, this is the most precious time when we all are simply connected to our heritage.
Peaceful and spiritual energy travels though the country.

Looking back this year, there were many changes in my life--moving back to Japan from NY, quitting my job, leaving my friends. Still, now I am in transition, not knowing exactly where my life heads to. Experiencing "unknown," yet I felt grateful. While jogging, I said to myself, " I will accept anything comes along and I'm not scared. " I'm here in Japan. It is funny in a way, as I didn't really plan well on coming back here, but I will surrender. I think I have been trying to fight or control my life enough. Now, I just want to let everything happen, like as a true observer. The fact that I was jogging, exposing myself to the sun, breathing the clean air, listening to the sound of the wind, being soaked myself into serenity in my neighborhood just made me feel happy tremendously. Indeed, people passing by looked happy as well. That's how Oshogatsu do to people!

I am thanking for this year and for the fact that I can spend the new year in Japan.
A happy wonderful peaceful New Year.
Love for all.

Hannari

2009-12-15T23:43:00.009-05:00

"Hannari" is Kyoto dialect.
You can find it in almost any guide books for Kyoto, yet the meaning of it IS mystery. Occaosinally, there are words that can grab my heart and excite me by just listening to without knowing why...., like unfathomable, abyss in English. "Hannari" is really it.
When I was in Kyoto last time, I asked a several Kyoto people what it meant and how it could be used in a conversational context.
They all go,
" Well, it doesn't have a clear and solid meaning. can't really explain, yet we use it...you know."
"I don't know...." I replied and insisted like "Could you give me some examples?"
"You could say for this particular part of the neck of this particular Geisha," showing me the photo of the geisha.
"or just for somebody," the other cited.
" or, for this particular shape of one's finger." "oh, for the particular scenery." "Right, but also for the food?"
They went on and on.
After a long discussion, then the conclusion was this:
"Well, yet, actually, it all depends on each individual."
".....!?"
OK...., this word is in a way very discriminative to a sense that "Sorry, if you are not from Kyoto, you can't know."
That's very Kyoto-ish, indeed.
So, is it really bad thing?
As much as I felt disappointed and annoyed by the fact anybody couldn't give me a clarification of the meaning, after a while I started respecting this attitude. Isn't it nice to use the word that doesn't have a clear meaning, yet to be able to understand feeling of it between people's communications? That's the essential spirit of Japan. Like an ability to understand invisible or quintessential point without relying on much explanation.
Our language is very subtle and sensual to begin with. It would be originated from that spirit.
We, in fact, have so many "Gitai-go," (mimentic words) like "shito shioto," "Beto beto," "chira chira," "kira kira," "choro choro," "gotsu gotsu," "hishi hishi," to describe more feeling of situations. (Not to describe the sound of animals or actions, like WOF WOF in English. )

More importantly, in order to preserve the traditional cultures, we do need a sort of healthy pride. Pride not as arrogance or patriotism, but as " strong faith in what you believe."
I feel that this attitude or mentality is missing in Japan, especailly in Tokyo now.
Not only the cultural scenes, but also our spirits have been westernised to an extreme degree.
Just being in Kyoto, touching the traditional culture there reminded me of the importance of finding the "lost." It IS hard in tokyo to find it, yet even in its urban canyon, behind the glaring neon signs, there would be still something to be picked up. There would be something "Hannari" somewhere, I believe in.

There would be a distinctive aroma in each city

2009-12-13T21:56:00.005-05:00

and the aromas of Bonitto and incense were the ones in Kyoto. Well, walking around the city, I found myself almost always hungry...... then the flagrance of the incense brought me back to a sober state of mind. I'm loving this particular combination of two aromas. I traveled to Kyoto alone last fall. It had been a several years since my last visit. Yet, Kyoto was always Kyoto, to me. With mountains, the rivers, one temple and shrine after another, old customs and traditions, what the city could offer was immense, giving opportunities to re-appreciate greatness and grace of the old Japan.

Crossing a bridge over the Isuzu River in Autumn,

2009-10-08T00:58:00.025-04:00

I noticed the air turning crips. Water of the river, a place to cleanse our hands and spirit, was pristine. Along a long gravelly path to a main shrine, the sound of stepping on the stones underfoot was echoed around me.

Standing thick and tall, 500hunderd-year-old cypres trees pierced into the cloudy sky, their aroma of Hinoki hanging in the faint winds. People were quietly bowing to encounters passing by. The entire atmosphere was highly spiritual.
Despite a slight headache my mind was still.

Climbing Sanbaseki steps that conjure the image of the Earth from outer space, I was in front of the gate of the main shrine.

"I'm happy and thank you for leading me," prayed in my mind.

Suddenly, the wind brushed my cheek, as if a spirit were corresponding to me. I opened my eyes half and a white curtain over the gate was being swung in the wind. Tears of rapture welled in my eyes and I felt like kneeling down.

The wind gradually intensified. Standing still, I embraced this momentary communication. I felt surely an existence of the spirit.

It was last week when my mother and I went to Ise Jingu, one of Japanese holiest shrines, where Amaterasu Omikami, a spirit of the sun was enshrined 200 years ago, Mie. There were 2 sites, Naiku and Geku, 6 km apart from each other and each site has several shrines besides the central one. (About the shrine, please check

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ise_Grand_Shrine)

In Shinto, there were not any idolized gods to be worshipped, but we recognize the spirit/ god in any nature forms like the sun, the wind, the sea, trees, stones, sands, water and more.

Ise Jingu is the origin of Japanese culture. I felt deeply connected to my own heritage, my home.

an unspoken battle

2009-09-23T22:56:00.002-04:00

My mother is a type of person who accumulates stuff. In addition, she likes putting millions of accumulated stuff elsewhere in orders. I didn’t inherit these characters obviously—I can make a huge mess with much less stuff.
Lipsticks, powder foundations that I used in my college.(I am in thirties now.), trial sewing kits, seasonings, snacks or vitamins that are already expired a few years ago, magazines, newspapers, stuffed animals, toys, garment, and unknown documents--- those oldies occupied my mom’s house.
A space with one-inch depth in the wall of the toilet, for instance, small empty perfume bottles are on display. There are about 40 of them. Thinking about how to brush away the dust gives me a huge headache. When it comes to the drawers, well, I avoid opening them----I will faint.
Among all the rooms in her house, the bathroom was the most troublesome place.
First, there was a stack of free magazines sent from credit companies or airline companies. “Mom, they were boring and no worth reading.” “I know, but that’s why they are in the bathroom.” A big question mark pops out in my mind. Then, I found that she reads them during the bath. I just wonder how long it will take her to finish all of them-- a Lifelong-attempt.
Second, the chest in the bathroom is filled with too many towels. I bet there are 100 or so. Just for your info, she lives alone and who needs so many towels for only herself? More badly, whenever we traveled together, she often stole bath towels from hotels. “Mom, you have enough.” Her response,” I like the texture of them! Leave me alone!” We fought over this stupid towel situation once or twice each trip. This summer, during our trip, surprisingly, I didn’t see her doing so. I thought that she already got the meaning of “enough.” Yet, when I saw her unpacking her luggage after the trip, I caught her taking 2 towels out of the bag. “….” I was speechless and she was more determined than I expected.
Then in the other chests and some drawers, there were collections of hotel amenities, like shampoos, creams, toothbrushes, razors and so forth. Some shampoos and creams were actually collected from almost 2 decades ago. I am not joking! They were oxidized. I could not stand this and acted on. Knowing her determination, yet, I acknowledged that there were no chances to win this game through a straightforward approach. So, one night, after taking the bath, I throw those shampoos from the Stone Age into the garbage can, while she was asleep.
Then, the next morning, I saw those shampoos that I thought I’d thrown back in the chest. “?” First, I thought that I was half sleep, hoping that it was just an illusion. After taking shower and feeling fresh, I gingerly looked at the spot in the chest and they were there smiling off right in front of my eyes. I was in awe. I should have put the garbage out of the house…..
Then, after a few minutes, I busted into laugh, imagining how she panicked finding her collection of the oldies were missing, how frantic she tried to find them, eventually got her hand into the garbage can, pulled them out and put them back in order.
After all, we acted as if nothing happened. Up to today, the incident was never mentioned and will never be. Indeed, she won this unspoken battle over me.

I'm a coffee lover,

2009-09-12T00:22:00.002-04:00

in another word, a coffee addict. I am not kind of people who make fuss about the food or the service in public, but when it comes to coffee, I could be a bitch. (All the people whom got involved with me to some degree know that fact.) My favorite coffee is "Americano," and I hate "American." You may say what's the difference? well, adding "o" in the end of american actually makes a huge difference. Let me make the thing clear here for you, in case you don't know. American is drip coffee, which often looks over-brewed earl gray tea like color and tastes like drinking water with a drop of some kind of liquid medication. Awful!! On the other hand, americano is one shot of espresso weakened with hot water. It should look dark chocolate-like color and it still has strong bitterness and flavor that are in the espresso. Yet, unlike one shot espresso which you can drink in one sip, you can enjoy as long as you do with a regular coffee.

That being said, in NYC, I often had a hard time to get coffee in the way I wanted, which also means that I myself gave people served coffee an extra hard time.

There are three types of places in NYC.
1. places where they don't have americano in the menu.
2. places where they have americano in the menu, yet they don't know what that is.
3. places where they have americano in the menu and they know what that is.

at 1 situation, I have to tell waiters, " I want to have an espresso in a regular cup and hot water and milk on the side please."
However, whether my pronunciation was really bad or the waiters were not listening or just being an idiot, what I often got was an espresso in the espresso cup and hot water in a huge mag cup. If I follow the direction that they served, a coffee became more american than american coffee. so I had to call the waiters to explain from the scratch.

at 2 situation, well, I ordered americano assuming that they knew what that was. yet, again what I often got was just american coffee. so I had to ask first if they knew about what americano meant and how it was to make. usually, they didn't know how to or they put too much hot water. hence, I had to explain like I did at 1 situation.

at 3 situation, like the situations above mentioned, I still got american as they put too much water. Hence, I explained like at 1, 2.

After all those traumatic misery, in order to avoid any confusion and confrontation with the waiters and to save unnesessary times, in any places, I decided to order only like this " could i get espresso in a REGULAR CUP with HOT WATER ON THE SIDE, please?" with my body language. I spoke very slowly and clearly. (the capital parts were the places where I used my body language.)

So, now I've been back in Tokyo where all the food was satisfying and amazing and I thought I would be able to run away from this hustle in coffee situation. However, my expectation was easily buried.

First of all, they don't have espresso to begin with. Well, I can't even fight about it.
Ok, I can take 100 steps back to compromise.
However, the biggest problem here is that they don't have DECAFE!!!!!
I ask waiters at places if they have de-cafe, then they are either frozen feeling ashamed of the fact they have something that they don't know as the professionals, or they give you a look as if I said something stupid.
To my deffense, I do love coffee, but I also do love sleeping in the evening. so usually, after 5 p.m., I drink de-cafe. What I love about coffee is the smell, flavor and bitterness. Not so much about caffeine. So, how could I survive without de-cafe? Well, you can find star-bucks in tokyo, but this is too much of compromising to me. After all, the US doesn't have a coffee culture where american coffee at dunk-in donut was considered as the best nationwide. (this is a big joke. )

Sigh..... My solution for this issue is to stock de-cafe beans at home. Yet, still after dining out, it would be nice to have a de-cafe espresso in a regular cup with hot water on the side.
Sigh 2......I am even missing some fights against some waiters in NYC over one cup of coffee.

Julian Dashper.....

2009-08-13T21:52:00.005-04:00

It was a group show entitled Atomica in 2005 when I first encountered an artwork by a New Zealand based artist, Julian Dashper at Esso Gallery, New York. It was, indeed, the very first show that I had been involved in the gallery. As a new intern, I clearly remember that my hands were a bit shaking with a sense of nervousness, hanging twelve clear vinyl that were recorded the sound of nuclear experiments in NZ. There was sheer elegance beyond the conceptual approach to his work and I loved it.
Since that show, Julian and I'd started communicating with each other via only email up until his solo show at the gallery in Spring 2007. Even through email, I could know and feel that he was a warm, generous, positive and beautiful human being. When I finally met him for the first time, we hugged each other tight as if we had known for a long time, or we had been a long term friend to each other.
As much as I was excited about getting to know him and his work more, I was shocked to know that he had been suffering from cancer and before he came to NY, he'd just had a major surgery, which left scars and stitches on him.
Yet, I never saw him lamenting about it. He was grateful and excited about being alive and having his solo show in NY. His enthuasism about anything lightened everybody around him---even a memo that our art handler had used for calculating the measurements to install all the work. " Wow, I want to keep this! this is a piece of art!" Like a kid, he held the memo in his hand with a curious smile. He gave all of us energy---positive energy. Right, he had never ever betrayed my first impression on him till now.
Last fall, he visited NY again for a group show in PS1 that his work was included. He brought me a small bag made out of a Japanese newspaper. " I found this in a museum and I got to buy this for you!" Sadly, that became the last chance when I had real conversations with him.

Today, A sad news that he had passed away as of July 30, 2009 was delivered to me. He was only 49 year old, a great artist, human being, husband and daddy for his kid.
I was in devastation and my heart and stomach were ached. I meant to send a letter to him before I'd left NY. I meant to send my selection of Music to him to cheer him up after his second major surgery. All were undone, just because I took him his life for granted. I thought that he would be fine. Yet, this idea was diminished and I lost a chance to do anything for him. too late. away too late.......... I feel like puking up on myself.
Facing death is the hardest thing in one's life. Still, I am in illusion where there was no death.

Julian, my dearest, you are in my heart. I am truly grateful that I'd met and got to know you and your work. You yourself inspired and uplifted us. Your work that questions about the art world with a humor and irony, that provokes a sense of longing for communicating to the world due to the geographical distance and that has nothing but beauty, I will never forget. Your curiosity, your innocence, your warmth, your smile, your generosity, your caring, I will never never forget.
I may your soul rest in peace.
Thank you, truly and genuinely.

much love.

http://www.essogallery.com/Frames/Directory/Dir_frame.html
http://www.essogallery.com/Frames/Directory/Dir_frame.html

image: Julian Dashper, Untitled (1996), 1996, vinyl on drumhead, 16" diameter
courtesy of artist and Esso Gallery

an invisible web

2009-07-25T19:04:00.016-04:00

I forced myself to be out and walked around the city all day today. I fell down into the hole again, losing a clear vision of where I was and what I was doing here before my departure. I was not here or there, anywhere. I have been putting pressure on myself, trying to be productive, yet I find myself feeling tired and void after all. Canceling my agendas, I seeked for a complete solitude to deal with myself today. Walking around, treating myself at my favorite cafe, buying a new dress(of course, I am a girl!) , I inwardly conversed with myself.
Why am I scared so much? Why had I done that? What's wrong with me? Why did I fall for somebody now? What's going to happen to me from now? What am I doing here? All those useless questions were stoking me, like a long marching band. Stop stop stop!!!

There, in the middle of a busy intersection in Soho, I saw a guy drumming with abandoned things. I stopped and watched him for a while. The drum melody was echoed through the surrounded buildings and created orchestra-like musicality. He was deeply into his own world. "dude, you cool!!!" I gave applause to him in my mind. I tipped in and left. "What's up with me? Look at how strong he is." Right, I was scared of the fact that I gave up on my apartment and had no place to come back. Yet, Do I need to hold onto the form of home? This is my home. My home in my heart and soul. The city gave me such strength to be myself and to survive here and so many opportunities to experience and meet people from all over the world. As much as I feel tired of a continuous survival mode of life here at the moment, I love this city where chances are given equally. I have not many but a few of my dearest friends whom I love. Plus, I am just taking a break from the city, as I need to recharge. What's the point of feeling sad? In fact, I am lucky to receive this break and start a new beginning....?

Yes, I fell for somebody right before I am moving. How ironic it could be and I screamed in my mind, WHY NOW?
Yet again, this is the facts. This person certainly gave my life such sparkle. I felt "caring" deep within me. Elusive, indefinable, almost intoxicated, intangible crazy feeling.... as-if- I-knew-this-person-for -a-long-time feeling....beautiful feeling....I haven't felt that way for a long time, so I know this is something that I can't ignore or deny. My friend said to me, "you are naivete for my age and such a romantic dreamer." I may be so. Yet, I can't deny how I feel....or should I? Should I pretend to be cool? Does growing up mean to be cool? Or is it cool not to feel or pretend not to feel to begin with? Just becuase the timing was off? I can't be light or cool, even if this could sound completely illogical and irrational. We all long for love no matter how old we are, no matter what we do, no matter where we are anyway.

Sadly, though, I lost my balance and collapsed due to mix of my freaky situation, limitation in time, my inability to trust men, my own insecurity and feeling of fear.... I forced to produce immediate results. Here I am again. I do things that make the other withdraw and I suffer from the situation I created greatly.
I regret.
"Everything is about time and when you think about it, this is total bullshit, "my friend's quote. How could I forget that? Well, in the middle of chaos and mess, I lost a broader vision and was trapped in narrow minded sight. Well, I need to take responsibilty for my own action and my selfishness.....
Yet, at the same time, I'm happy and lucky that I have met this person who was so unique and loner and gave me such sparkle. It was indeed a special gift and cerebration from a god regardless.

I have only 7 days here for now. Yet, today, somehow I get a little bit of my strength back.
Forget about an idea of --7 days to go. Just live life and now. Just do what I want, not "should." Plus, I know that this is not the end. Life is like an invisible web. Who knows how the outcome will look like. You can't see it as a whole till you die anyway. So, I want to keep weaving my own pattern. It might be complicated and tabgled up, but deep down, I believe in that it will look, in the "end," unique and beautiful....

It is raining

2009-07-21T23:20:00.002-04:00

and so is my heart. My life is uncertain and shaky.
Right, changes entail fear. It should be a time to have a faith in myself, yet just foggy view in life brings me nothing but feeling of doubt.
It is like sailing alone in the middle of the vast ocean at night without seeing any loadstars.
Adding to this uncertainity, I'm falling for somebody in the middle of my move.
It was unexpected totally.

I'm not the kind who can't be falling for somebody easily.
There have been times when some guys hit on me, but when I am not interested in them, nothing can move me: I am like a huge rock.....
Then here I am. I got this feeling -- butterfly in my stomach. Why now and why him?
A big question mark has been hanging in front of my eyes.
Feeling attracted to certain people is still mystery to me.
Are we controlled by greater force? This random encounters have to do with what I did in my past life? then what had I done? Is it a test?
I was absolutely not ready to fall for somebody right now, but it happened and I can't change the past.

Today, I dropped everything. I didn't want to fight against myself and my feelings.
I faced all my negative feelings, fear, doubt, anger..... and let my tears come out.
I needed it, as i have been trying not to deal with them. If not now, in the near future.

However, interestingly enough, I received a special gift from one of my closest friends in Germany---- a message that I should keep writing, as he has been enjoying reading my blog and believes in talent in my writing.....
Yes, he is not only one who encouraged me to do so. Many followed. This is, in fact, a complement that makes me nothing but happy.

I was in the darkness, yet his message greatly lighted up my gloomy day and the dark blue of the ocean. Yes, life is unpredicted in many ways....

day two...

2009-07-06T16:43:00.004-04:00

I was on the bus the other day. In a slow and long ride, looking at the street view through the window, a memory came to my mind.
It was the second day of my arrival in NY-- the end of March, 2002. With jetlag and feeling of confusion, I forced myself out of a stinky salvation army residence in midtown. I roamed around and ended up in Union Square. It was a cold but sunny Sunday, I believe. There were hundreds of people out there, walking, hanging out, skateboarding, dancing and shouting.
Being overwhelmed, I realized that I knew nobody.... Not even one person in this big city. People's burbling with laughter from any angles, all of sudden, made me feel insecure and lonesome. "Why I came to NY?" "Why did I leave all my friends and my mom?...for what?" I was standing on the south west corner of 5th Ave and 14th st. Feeling like crying, I decided to head back to my tiny room in the residence. I waited for the signal to change and something happened. I didn't know why, but I felt a need to look back. Then, a sign, "book" caught my eyes in a distance. (I love going to a bookstore and love a bookstore with style.)
I walked and found, yes, "East West Book" (now it is called East West Living, I think.) I opened the door, as if I had needed to be saved from hunger. The smell of incense and old papers of books welcomed me. The carpet was laid out entirely and Crystals and Tarot cards were on display in a glass showcase. The wood shelves for the books looked ancient. The bookstore seemed completely out of dated, but I loved it immediately. I felt as if I were in "another" world. Scanning though the selection of the books, I figured that the speciality of this store was "spirituality." Right, No matter what I do, where I go, spirituality (I don't like this word so much, but....) is my strong interest. I have to say, I can't live without it.
With feeling of big relief, I forgot about my lost feeling and the fact that I almost cried in the middle of the street. I stayed there for about 2 hours, sitting and reading some books..... There was no sense of time.
By the time i left the bookstore, I found myself uplifted.

I believe in signs in life. Once in a while, some miracles happened to me and this is one of them. Some may say, it is just a bookstore, but in an unfamiliar town, how many chances would I have had finding a bookstore that specialized my favorite subject in day 2? How many are there bookstores with style in NY to begin with? ....I believe that this was an absolute sign from the universe. " You are on the right track, so don't feel sad and don't worry!"

Yes, my steps on my way home were light and aerial.... Ride on!!

"I was once a doctor and

2009-06-08T13:24:00.002-04:00

now I am a publisher, but I will do something new again. Life is too short. do what ever you want. Don't waste your time,"
a German guy, a friend of my another german friend whom I just had met a few hours ago the other night said out loud.
Over a dinner table, I was asked by him what I would do from now on.
" I don't know yet;" my response with a bit of hesitation.
Then he goes, " GREAT!" with a big smile.
"Ah....?" Unexpected totally, imagining that my response would give him a bad impression and he would change the subject immediately or talk to others at the table.
With my surprise, I made an excuse for myself. "...but I changed my professions so many times and I don't think i can do that any more....I am not young after all. So I will stay in the art businees."
Then, he said above remark and added, " I don't know what I would do next yet!"
My eyes were wide open to look at him to find there was a sense of hesitation, yet he looked certainly excited and confident.
Suddenly I was uplifted. He, a half stranger, looking like a tall and jumbo version of Mick Jagger, made me that night.... Yup! I am the one who judged myself who is sort of lost in life again, but anyone.

I am an "unknown" territory again. right, again and again. Blurry and cloudy, but luckily not rainy or stormy. Very calm and serene like a misty spring dawn on the seashore.

Life is multi dimensional (for me), not just one way road. I've taking detours, highways and off roads. Right now, I am not on any roads, wondering which roads I want to take.
I might not be consistent, yet one thing that has been consistent is that I choose to experience to know more about myself/ the meaning of life. I can't stop exploring life internally and externally.
" Life is too short." How could I forget about it? How could I take it for granted and live life like I never die? How could I have to be reminded by somebody who is almost a stranger? My soul must have been buried.
His remark was a message/reminder from the universe. Sounds corny, but I believe in it. That's a kind of thing that I feel presence of greater power. I always feel protected by it--I am not alone.

uncompleted

2009-04-10T23:45:00.005-04:00

I'm listening to pumping up music and writing this in a total mess in my apartment right this moment. I've been starting packing for my move and found so many notebooks--a few in boxes that had never been open since I moved in, a few in between of books, a few in my handbags, a few in a kitchen, a few in drawers...on and on. Right, I am kind of an ADD type and kind of people who read 3 to 4 different books at the same time and never finish unless the books were super engaging. Having said that, you might easily imagine my "notebooks situation." A few notebooks seemed to be initially served as word-books, which new English words to memorize were written, then after a few pages, all of sudden, a sentence like, "it is rainy and cold today, I feel miserable..." appears, then after a several pages, there is the list of the things need to be done. In another one, there are people's phone numbers and my account name and pass word for the bank account, the internet, or frequent flyer program, then out of blue in the middle of the white space, here it goes again, " why I can't love myself? blur blur blur?" I have more than 10 of such mysterious notebooks and all the notebooks is unfinished with lots of blank pages left. Interesting enough, in all those diary-looking pages, I could not find any lines like, "Wow, I am super happy!" I guess that is the nature of a diary? --- Poeple write when they are down? Or is that only me?
Anyhow, I really don't know what to do with those notebooks. They don't really serve the initial purpose as wordbooks or address books. Surely, they can't be used as a diary, as I am absolutely not a "write-a-diary-everyday" person.

Now, what? Pathetic? Looking at the unfinished collection of my notebooks in the mess with loud music, I ponder if I were really an uncompleted person. I am leaving NYC in the summer for a while to sort things out, independently work and start a new chapter of my life. This decision is like my notebooks? My life is indeed consisted of a series of different adventures--Traveling around, living in many different places (Sydney, Hawaii, a remote island in Japan and NYC), moving around within Tokyo and NYC so many times, changing professions too many many times. There has been no consistency in my life what so ever. (I once was like a hippie and now I am a gallerian....make no sense?)
If I could complete one of my notebooks, would I be able to figure out a way to integrate all the aspects of my life?
Oh Well, at least, before then, I’m going to have to need to finish one of my notebooks.

"There he was!"

2009-04-01T02:08:00.002-04:00

I shouted at my friend, when I found Madeoff's portrait on the white wall at David Zwiner's booth at Armory's opening. It was a black and white watercolor image of THAT face, just straight. I walked towards the piece with feeling of victory, as I predicted that somebody, a silly artist, would definitely make a work incorporated with Mr. Ponzi schemer. (Obama’s face already seemed lame/ not-hot in the art world.) The fair was packed with people as always and with variety of hair colors —black, blonde, gray, red, brown— it was impossible to see any works in a full shot. However, around this particular work, there was nobody as if the work emitted such bad odor. My friend and I seemed the only ones who were nearby reacting this artwork.
No complex in the piece. It is the Madeoff with a gloat veiled in sort of uncanny aura. I bet there would be “ladies and gentlemen” who wanted to slash, cut, tear it down or set afire. Not us surely. We, in fact, could not stop laughing at the fact that there was his face at the fair for real, that this piece was made by a Chinese artist and that the gallery had balls to put up this work.
Well, my accurate prediction fed my ego, but I can't stand this "all-too-easy-way" in production of art. “Ok, now Obama, then Madeoff, let’s make something with something HOT.” What’s the difference between fine art and journalism then? It is insulting to genuine artists and viewers. I felt like watching a soap opera or some predictable films. Sorry, but just lame, easy, boring and cheesy.
While Madeoff warded people off, there was one work that glued peoples’ heads in an inch close and the owner of the gallery, Mizuma, was busy telling people to back off. It was the work, "Foretoken," by Manabu Ikeda. His pen and acrylic paper on board work (75” x 134”) took over one entire black wall of the gallery's booth. The work was intricate depiction of Tokyo like city swept by Tsunami waves. It recalled "Great Wave off of Kanagawa" by Hokusai. Though the work was huge, every single thing—people, houses, buildings, animals, graffiti images in the work was so tiny, meticulous and fine that a magnifier was needed to see the details. Having both dynamism and intricacy, it was indeed a beautiful and mind blowing work. According to Mizuma, it took one year for the artist to complete. Wow.

Exposing myself to thousands of art works during the fair, by now I only remember these two pieces, the work without a deeper meaning and the work with superb craftsmanship.
Perhaps, it could be because of my current bad allergic-like reaction against art and the art world or my low level of "intellect" in art, and the rests are gone with the NY wind right away.

He is nobody, but somebody.

2009-03-02T16:44:00.004-05:00

Finding a yoga teacher whom one can have good chemistry with seems as difficult as finding one love. How long have I been doing yoga on and off for? One decade perhaps, or could be more. I joined a yoga retreat once in the upstate NY and tried so many different kinds of yoga here and there, yet I never found "wow-he/she-must-be-the-one!" type of instructor. What I can't stand about certain yoga institutions is that most of those students have a certain attitude. They have a faith in one particular yoga and if you are not in, they give you a cold look. With the portrait of the yogi on the wall, he/she was worshipped like a god and you are asked too. I'm fine, as long as I like an atmosphere and a teacher, but I never met anybody who satisfies, calms and encourages me to keep going. So, I stopped going to those yoga institutions.
Last fall, I joined a gym in NYC. (I guess officially I am a New Yorker...) Then I started taking so many classes like a Pilate, hatha yoga, core yoga and so forth. Well, hopping one class to another, I sometimes found a teacher as annoyed as a fly in the air. (I can't stand her voice! I can't stand her energy! She goes too FAST!! She is just showing off!!! My complains never stops.) Yet, you know, it is just the gym after all and what can I expect I was OK that I could do excises without chanting or the picture of an overwhelming looking Indian smiling at least.

It was indeed one Sunday when everything changed. I went to one class called a somatic yoga. What's that? Although I had no idea about it, I dragged myself to try this unfamiliar thing in order to get myself out of a boring and cold Sunday. Then, there the instructor was. The minute he walked in the class, I sensed something good. He moved like a king with dignity and divinity. Every step he took was like a dance. He was so so grounded.
It was like love at first sight. "Yes...Yes Yes!! “

Here are some things that I like about him and his class.
First, he doesn't start with making a sound of "OM." Yes.
Second, his music choice is fantastic. It is an ambient music with a little touch of Indian flavor. not too cheesy, not too dramatic, not too Indian. (One teacher put hip-hop during the class....speechless.) This class is supposed to be one-hour class; yet, he always goes over one hour and it turns out to be 2-hour intensive class. I have no idea where he comes from, yet certainly he is not American or Indian. He has a thick accent. So, it took me a while to get used to his English. He goes, "drop your heath." and I ask myself "Which the hell part of a body is heath?" I had to look around people and found later this "heath" meant "head." He always checks everybody in the class, unlike the one who shows one unimaginable tangled-up convoluted crazy posture after another and expects us to follow. Even demonstrating the difficult posture: he puts one hand and one leg on the floor and the other leg and hand are up in the air, he calls an attention with a whistle, "there, in the back of the room, be careful. Let your shoulder down." He must have another set of eyes on the back of his "heath."

It has been a few month since that miracle Sunday, yet I still don't know what the somatic yoga is. The practice is not like the yoga for the yoga's sake, not like an acrobatic exercise. A kind of stretch? Something like that. In this practice, we are to focus on our spine to widen. Anyway, what ever it is, I feel so light and serene after the class. I go even if it rains or snows. I go even if I feel tired like a dead fish. Knowing that I will feel as grounded as he looks, I will feel as calm as he looks, I can’t miss the class.
Someone in a position where he/she teaches something have to to have charisma or persuasive power. More importantly, to influence people, one doesn’t need to rely on the name, verbal explanations, or someone's picture on the wall. This teacher whom I still don’t know his name or his background is a living proof that one can influence people by just doing his business or being as he is. That's the thing I appreciate and respect the most. Yes, I found him in just one of the regular gyms in NYC. Right, he is nobody, but somebody. Very Somebody to me.

made in Japan

2009-01-11T19:54:00.006-05:00

During the New Year's holidays in Japan, the whole country is enveloped with sacredness. From the New Year’s Day to January 3rd, every business is officially closed. Heavy traffic disappears and the air gets clear and pristine. At night, there is almost nobody on the streets and the lights in office buildings go off for 3 days, instead, the light of the moon vigorously falls down from the deep blue night sky. Only the temples and shrines are the places to hang out. On the New Year’s Eve, all the temples through out the country start ringing a bell at the same time for 108 times from before the midnight and last till after the midnight. People endlessly show up either in the shrines or temples for the New Year’s pray at any time of those days.

This year, I spent the New Year’s holidays in Japan, which I had missed for 2 years. I’ve complained about Japan often, but I have to say I was completely stunned and touched by the whole thing this time. It was the absolutely surreal, blessed, extraordinary experience. Soaked into the sound of serenity and the spiritual vibe, I felt as if I were reborn again. Good (too good) food, good hot springs all over, peaceful and kind people, the mountains… I was just grateful that I was born in this country. (It actually took me almost seven years to feel that way.)

When I saw the sun rising over the mountain on the New Year’s Day, I straitened up my back. I said to myself, “Yes, my resolution for the year of 2009 is to keep my back straight.” In another words, the backbone that has supported my life and myself is indeed made out of what this country taught me, which I never even thought about ever. So, I will straight that up and be proud of myself, yes, “made in Japan.”

One-ness without force

2008-12-22T19:04:00.004-05:00

I usually donÅft like the end of something: the end of the day, a good book, a good movie, a good trip, the summer and on an on. Yet, there is one "end of..." that I love, that is, now: the end of the year. Yes, I just can't wait that the year will come to an end. It was tough in many ways. Well, have I ever had easy years? No. Have you? ThatÅfs life, but now it is a time to say good-bye to all of good, bad, pain, regrets, excitements, happiness, sorrow.... Only, I take a small luggage filled with whatever I learnt this year with me to the upcoming year, plus a blank book to write my brand new story. So how can I not be happy?
More importantly, I just love the "Happy holidays" vibe all around me and all around the world. I assume that there would not be anybody who can't enjoy the holidays and the end of the year. Family, friends, bosses, co workers, even taxi drivers, even total strangers, during this season, where ever we are, we all greet to each other, Åg Happy Holidays!Åh Beyond nationalities, religious beliefs, sex, age, we all are on the same emotional terrain and hope for the New Year. I feel as if I could hear all the sounds of joy and love from all over the world. The airs of joy travel from the ocean to the ocean, from the continent to the continent and touch my heart. It is absolutely uplifting. This is the spirit. If we live everyday like the end of the year, the whole world will be peaceful. No wars, no hates, no fights, but there is just only love. One ness without force.

"Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one"

Wishing you a happy, lovely and peaceful new year 2009.

Luxury on Saturday Night

2008-12-06T22:26:00.003-05:00

While arty people are frantically shopping around art at the fairs in Miami this week---well, that seems over, --so I will have to say, they might have turned into hunters who are vigorously seeking out ever-bigger bargains against the backdrop of deepening deflation, I stayed "quiet-in" tonight, enjoying a doing-nothing-luxury. I was going to jump on the airplane after the gallery to catch the fragment of what's up in Miami, which I did last year in the name of research, but I decided "no hustle." My physical, mental and financial conditions stopped me this rather crazy plan. So, Chelsea, as is always the case, was dead like a ghost town this week and got even worse with the economy crisis. So tonight, with no plans or obligations after work, I stopped by my gym to use sauna. Feeling good to sweat up. With light steps, I stopped by a Japanese supermarket to buy some junk foods. Feeling bad after doing good, yet it is the Saturday, who cares? Getting home, I found one package delivered all the way from Japan--from my friend/artist. With excitement, I tore the wrapping paper and opened it without taking off my shoes. There were his catalogues and one artwork, a screen print framed, by him as a gesture to thank me for putting his work in a group show held at Zone Contemporary Gallery last month. Wow, that was a big and lovely surprise. I have to say not many artists are appreciative for all the work we as gallerists do like him. They can be really dickhead and wise-ass. Putting facial pack on my face and being bundled up, (my house is freezing inside, so I look like a homeless at HOME.) lazily, I lay down on my couch and grabbed Friday New York Times, reading some articles about how fucked up the economy situation was now…. (FYI: MOCA is facing financial crisis...) Drinking teas with rice crackers (Japanese junk snacks), I just felt content suddenly despite suffering of the world... I mean money is like water: It comes and goes. I was never rich in the first place. Plus, if I had made a “go” to Miami, I would have been still in the airplane now and found myself like a dead fish after the week of work. Sometime, you know, you just need a break from commotion and the world around you. So, tonight was the night for only myself and I got the artwork gifted. My luxury is right here within my studio apartment.

The winter has hit the city.

2008-11-21T19:44:00.004-05:00

Yes, my favorite season, the summer, is officially over and I just woke up from a long autumn-sleep. The brutal cold wind has swept away all the colored leaves and the summer memories. There is no reminiscent of the summer. Now It is a time for me to accept the end of it and embrace this piercing winds on my face.
There are two things that I can't stand:lukewarm coffee and lukewarm season like the fall. Black or White. Hot or Cold. Yes or No. Bright or Dark. I say, don't give me "in-between." Well, it may sound cool but it is the contrary: I can’t be cool AT ALL about dealing with transition. The sunset, the fall, the end of a good trip or anything transitional makes me feel sentimental and I cry. This fall, in fact, it was harder, as not while ago, I had my broken heart in a one-sided road with my friend whom I had been so so attracted to for over 3 years. Those years of my fantasy were over. Feeling cold is doubled up now in my body and heart. It is hard to accept reality. It is painful to be rejected by someone I really liked and wished for, even though I feel grateful that I met someone like him and I felt how I'd felt. With my mind absent, I have been in mourning period, yet this cold air inexorably shakes my head up. "Hey, you! wake up. Otherwise you will die,” like a call out to somebody who had an accident in the snow mountain and was waiting for a rescue. So I wake up from a doze and feel alive.
In thirty something years, I have been through so much in life. I was in the black holes, the dark side of the moon, the furious jet coaster like trip, the hell or what ever. When things get in my ways, I find strength in me. When I am on the edge of the cliff, I find a balance. In crisis, my mind gets sharper. My weakness is to be in transition and once I fall down in the hole, I’m well trained to get back in the game again.
The summer ended and so did my long love. The winter has come and I am so alive. Yes, It is a time to accept those ends and it is a time for me to embrace my solitude.

Home, Sweet Home

2008-09-09T22:59:00.003-04:00

In the beginning of this year, no actually, for half the year, I felt as if I lost my foot. I could not find home anywhere. For 6 years, even in the middle of the hardest time, an idea of leaving NYC never occurred to my mind, yet, this year, I considered about a choice of going back to Japan, my home country, for the first time. Why? You know why if you live here. So, to me, my stay in Japan this summer was experimental actually. Not that I was realistically thinking. All I want to see is how I could fit myself into life in Japan. The result? Well, I have to say, "I am so happy to be back to NYC." Most of my old buddies were not in Tokyo anymore and some settled down building own family. And after my 6 years absence, I lost in touch with some. I could have tried to find them, but not in the mood. After all, what could we talk about? Interestingly, then, I actually bumped into my friend/an artist not from Japan but all the way from NYC. He tapped me on my shoulder in the middle of Shibuya, in the middle of the day, in the middle of troop of Japanese. I almost had a heart attack, as I thought somebody was stubbing me or something. (now, Tokyo is not so safe.) Then here he was. "Are you stalking me or what?" I said to him. He was laughing. This was the sign -- I'm ready to go back to NYC. Then, I came back. It has been just for a week or so. I have been working even on my arrival day and seeing all my friends after work. I'm super-duper happy. I have my nest! I have my friends! I have work! I have built up life here in NY and am still building and I love it. People often say, "this city is all about money, status, ambition, fame, vanity and there is no intimacy here." So, they leave. I don't disagree at all about this "wannabe" feeling in the city, yet, there is love around me here. I have those friends who can just sit next to me when I am down. I have those friends who can joke around. I have those friends who can argue with. I have people who work together. I have a little girl, my friends baby, who calls me "Tatane," who says and jumps onto me," I want Tatane." I have my own family here.
Last night, I had dinner with one male artist. We started conversing with two guys sitting next to us and ended up going to another bar afterwards. One in the advertisement biz and the other in sound biz actually know about “contemporary art.” We talked, joked around and laughed as if we had known for years. The typical night in NY. Always, a bit of miracle will come to you here, as long as your heart is open. Home, Sweet Home. I am back!

My angel

2008-06-15T12:42:00.003-04:00

My best friend moved into NJ with her husband due to his job transfer last April. She is my only longest friend…like 2 decades. I met her when we were high school students and we started hanging out when we were college students. We were and are really different: When I say, "black," she will say "white." That different. While I'm a very complicated and difficult person, she is a very straightforward one. In my college days, I was on the dark side of the moon. Well, since I was 6 years old, I say. I was depressed and always faking myself. I didn’t really exist in the world. I was just living. I didn’t trust and accept neither myself nor anybody in the world. I thought nobody liked me, as I didn’t like myself anyway. So, I never had a single real friend along the way until I'd met this girl, who was on the other side of the shore in life. Of course, it took me for a while to break my hardened heart to her. We just hanged out and had fun together, like I did with other people. We laughed a lot, but still I didn’t trust her, though I really enjoyed being with her, though I really liked her, her honesty, sense of humor and the fact that she didn’t seem to know about “darkness in life.” but I never expected her to like me as much as I did. At one point, I could not live any longer unless I did something to save myself. Really I fell apart seriously. So, I decided to participate into kind of a cult institution/"let's-help-yourself! You-belong-to-the-world.' kinda place. I was so despair that this looked like the only option that I had. So, I was really into it and completed all the courses, which were 4 levels. (I could talk about this, but not here.) So, I stopped seeing her and then one day, she asked me out for lunch. We went to a typical lunch place where everybody had to share the table and leave once he's done. We were in the middle of the table with a bunch of businessman. "We don’t see each other at all and I'm sad," she started crying. I almost choked. “I was busy with this institution…” and then started crying as well. First of all, our conversation was something like a couple could conduct; yet in the middle of the day and in the middle of businessman just swallowing food. (We were young after all?) Yet, I was surprised about the fact there was somebody in this world who could cry for me…cry for not being able to see me enough. I was saved. Absolutely. As a person who could never open her heart despite her wish for opening up, as a person who was suffocating for love, as a person who was completely lonely, this was like a bomb. I never forgot this moment, though she herself didn’t remember this…well, that’s her…. what can I say? Since that day, she became my angel, my first real friend and my longest friend who knew everything about me, good and bad yet accepted the whole me without saying cheesy words, yet through her honesty and action. After a while, we parted each other here and there, as I was the one who wondered around, moving around. She was more pursuing a normal and solid life. Yet, she was always there for me after coming back one journey after another. Just knowing that she exists has been bringing me strength.
After my move to NY, she got married. I could not attend the wedding. Only once a year or 2 years, we saw each other during my trip to Japan. Still we laughed together. We were the same like when we were college students. Then, now, she is so close to me with another life in her stomach. I can’t be happier. After all, I will be able to be there for her biggest day, bringing a new life. For the first time, I will be there for her like she has been always there for me.

life is too short!

2008-05-16T21:31:00.002-04:00

More than 15 thousands people died in China. Anything can happen in life. Tomorrow might not come. Life is completely unpredictable like the weather in NYC. Then, why am I so worried about my future, which doesn’t really exist? Why am I worried about how others see me? Why am I worried about so many small things in life? I just want to stop thinking. I just want to stop being serious. I just want to stop judging others and myself. I just want to stop analyzing or observing situations. I just want to stop reading self help books. I just want to stop reading people’s mind. I just want to stop being too nice. I just want to stop pretending. Why is it so hard to be myself? Why is it so hard to open myself? Life is already too much, so then I don’t want to add anything up any more. I want to dance with myself freely. I just want to be free from all the chains and strings tied up with my heart. Life is indeed too short to be serious about. From now on, I will smile at whatever comes across in life. Yes, it is miracle that I have been alive till now. I am not alone. Here, I have my best friend next to me, that is, myself who was always there and will be there forever. So let’s drop all that made me suffer and we shall dance!?

To be a princess

2008-05-12T14:59:00.005-04:00

was my dream in my child hood. All the drawings from age 4 to 6, which my mom’d kept, were all about the princesses with lacy dresses. Some princesses accompanied a prince, and some even had a servant, always named "Peter." One thing in common with all the drawings was, needless to say, the princess with such variety of dresses. Even in the graduation drawing book from my kindergarten, "what do you want to be, when you become a grown-up?" there the princess was again, while others were more realistic, like "a policeman," "a doctor," "a florist," and so forth. Practical reasons free dream. This was not because I was pretty like the princess. I was far from the "prettiness" in what a girl or a princess was about. I was fully aware of my ugliness, thanks to a mirror. My eyes are not big, my nose was almost buried in my face and my body was out of the proportion: My head was just huge, compared to my skinny body. On tope of that, as I was sick a lot, my mom shaved my hair (not cut, but SHAVED!!) I absolutely looked like a monkey. Not only did I look like a boy, but also I was the top of a tomboy always hanging out with boys outside and made them cry even. There was no "fear," or "hesitation,” in my dictionary. Up until when I faced reality of the bitter world, I’d kept a wish in my heart for a slight chance that a miracle might happen one day. “I will be the princess with big eyes and nose, wearing a beautiful dress in a castle, when I am getting older!” I love myself in those times when I was once fully myself. Even though I was like the monkey, I was shining like the Sun, I was free like the wind, and I was light like a butterfly. I don’t remember every single detail, but I do remember feeling of those times. Like a golden light. The world where a dream means really a dream and there was no “must,” or “should.” The place where I go back, when I feel down.

"This is Richard Nonas,"

2008-04-21T23:20:00.004-04:00

When I first heard his voice on the phone, I thought he was like a 30's guy. I was ignorant not to know anything about him as an artist, so I did assume that he was a young American fellow. It was until he showed up in the gallery last winter that I’d kept my assumption valid. "I'm Richard Nonas," he introduced himself with the same tone of the voice on the phone, and I could not believe my eyes. Someone who sounds so young could be like someone who looks as if he lived thousands of years like mountain hermits? Well, with his gray hair and beard and a cowboy-like outfit, he appeared like a Sharman--has sharp and deep eyes to see through everything, can know so much about life and still keeps his spirit young. Since the gallery had a two-man show, Richard Nonas and Gary Kuehn last year, Nonas has been around and it has been just uplifting to get to know him. He always bikes around the city with his own made bicycle. His hobby is canoeing with his own made canoe. He is incredibly competent about all the computer soft programs. His steps are aerial, his sprit is full of energy, and I never heard him say, “ I’m tired,” while I am always tired…. Impressive. So, we had been talking about me going to visit his studio and finally, last Monday, I knocked the door of his studio in Tribecca where he has been living for something like 5 decades. Once I was in, I completely forgot that I was in the very fancy and kitsch neighborhood or even in NYC. It was like a chaotic version of Natural American History museum, or a native Indian house (of my imagination.) The studio was a just big open space without any walls to divide. His artworks, mostly steel and wood sculptures, his own made canoes and machinery were taken up the entire floor and walls. Everything appeared in gradation of brown color like his outfit. Each work has a strong presence, yet over all, the room looked united. There was no distinction between his furniture, ornaments, artworks, or, actually all including himself. Perfection in chaos….“Wow…” Yes, just “wow.”
He in fact used to be an anthropologist and live with Native Indians in Mexico, Canada and elsewhere. One day, he realized that there was limitation to articulate what he’d learnt from them or what he had been studying through a word. That very realization led him to be where he is now, that is, an artist. Yet, he is free from categorization of his own art and superficiality of the art world. Still, he has been showing his work in Museums and galleries throughout the world.
His steel or wood sculptures are minimal and organic. “I am trying to re-make a place like the mountain where I was, a memory…feeling, could be a place or a situation,” he said, sitting a wood chair. “ I want to make my art the least craftsmanship manner,” he emphasized. He likes incooporating any spaces, whether they are small, or big, inside or outside, with his work. Each show has been apparently challenging, yet super exciting for him. “Do you talk to the materials like a stone, or a piece of wood?” I asked. “ I rather read. Read its intention if it wants to stay or wants to be used in a form of art.” While we conversed, he served espresso in a Finish wooden cup whose form was like Aladdin's lamp. (I am telling you everything in his studio was almost wooden made.) I felt as if I turned into brown.
After talking about art, the conversation shifted to things about life or I shall say about me… “ I’ve never met any Japanese who is so emotional and passionate, he said. “I see myself the least emotional,” I replied. His remark was quite surprising, as I have been trying not to show my emotion or passion. Only a few people who is close to me knows that I am quite emotional (yes, I truly am). “Well, obviously, my attempt failed.” Yet I could not help feeling happy about it. “It is a good failure then! I was myself,” I felt. Then, I just started thinking, like “ is it really so? Or is it just because he is like a Sharman who can see me in real? you know, a-man-who-can-read-a-stone!” Whichever the case is, I was quite content.
I stayed for 2 hours or so, but it was certainly a big trip. “You can knock my door anytime,” he greeted. Just before I left the studio, at the door, I asked,” why do you use red for your drawings? It seems that you only use red.” “I don’t know much about the colors, so to me the color means RED. That’s it.” I could not stop laughing, as I expected him to say something philosophical that can be typical for a commertial artist. I loved his remark and it, to me, is actually the most unforgettable and inspiring remark that he made somehow. Finally on my departure, we hugged tightly. "Ok, I’ve got to be ready to wake up from a daydreaming…," I said to myself. The sun was still shining, and too bright to my eyes. In a jetrugged state of mind, my steps were, rather, aerial like his and my spirit was full of gratefulness and happiness.

the cherry blossom

2008-04-13T20:25:00.004-04:00

I was invited by my friends to have a cherry blossom feast at their friends' house in Port Washington today. It was chilly and I felt dull due to the pollen allergy, yet one-hour train ride took us a refreshing and cozy atmosphere. The house was located in a small hill in a small forest like land and between the houses there was a small creek. The birds were singing and the cherry blossoms at their garden were in almost full bloom. Kids were running around the garden not being interested in the food or the flowers and grown-ups were nothing but eating and drinking for at least 4 hours straight. With one Japanese dish after another under the cherry trees, I did feel home.
In Japan, the cherry blossoms were already over. There, it is traditional to have a feast under the cherry trees, which we call "Hanami." It literally means, "viewing cherry blossom," yet in reality it is more about the food and drinks: getting crazy. We even have a cherry blossom forecast on TV like for the weather. We as crazy Japanese even stay over a few nights at a park to reserve the best spot for "Hanami." Indeed, it IS a big thing in Japan.
It was the cherry blossom season when I left Tokyo for NY 6 years ago. One day before my departure, I went to a park near by my house to say a good bye to the cherry blossoms. They were swinging the brunches, giving me the shower of the pink pedals and said, "see you next year." 6 years have quickly passed and I've never seen them again since that day. Every spring I see the cherry blossoms, I think about them. Well, I didn't imagine at all that my life would settle where I am now. I don't know where I will be and what I will do 6 years later from now. I feel fear and worries about the future like that day in 6 years ago under the cherry trees when I was excited, but felt absolute fear for unknown, with my stomach squeezed and my hands sweated. Yet, there wasnÅft really anything to be worried, as I am here now. Right, It tells me that life itself takes one to the most appropriate place or stage to be. Like a pollen is taken to somewhere by the wind and lands on the earth to grow. Life goes on and I keep moving and growing. My flower will bloom and new pollen will be taken to a different place. All I need to do is to just follow the wind. A peaceful day like today did assure me that.

What a nice thing about being a curator

2008-04-07T18:38:00.002-04:00

is that I could easily get to know PEOPLE beyond age, sex, nationality and occupation. Today, I had lunch in China Town with a female painter whom I don't know her age, but I assume that she would be in her fifties. Her trademarks are a read frame glass and gray hair, which looks impeccable for her feature. We conversed about various topics such as art, art market, politics, cultural differences between Japan and the US and how art could manifest those differences and what else? Yeah food! After the chat and food, I opened a fortune cookie, which said " There is true and sincere friendship between you both." How nice? I saw her through a friend of mine, a German artist and saw each other for a few times with always the third party or more. Today, officially, it was the first time that we sat at the same table in a face-to-face position. This diverseness or causality of making friends would hardly happen in Japan. Let's say, if she were Japanese with the exact same status, I would have to use polite language all the time and answer certain questions like "are you married?" "How does your family do?" "Why do you live alone?" Or, she would give a long lecture about the history of her art. Due to politeness in our language, we separate from each other and never are able to really get over a wall. This, you –are-young-like-my-daughter attitude minimizes an opportunity to be really related to each other. So, being in NYC and being a curator enable me to connect people like, needles to say, artists and people like a CEO whom I would not know otherwise. Sure, when it comes to a collector, you might have to behave in a certain way, yet, still, we talks (not the lecture style) the same language, “art,” which allows us to stand on the same terrain. Encountering somebody is like the spring wind. Getting to know him/her is like a stream. Getting closer is like swimming in the vast ocean. I felt good today, despite the chilly weather for April and a bit of sickness.

I grabbed a cab,

2008-04-02T19:15:00.002-04:00

"How are you doing today Miss?" he greeted with a thick Indian accent. " I am fine, thank you," with a thick Japanese accent, I replied. He is nice for a NY cab driver, I thought. After a few blocks passing by, "What do you do?" he broke the silence. " I am working in a gallery." " Oh great! You know my friend from Bangladesh had a show in 27th street….in the new tall building. You know?" "I know, he must be good then," hey, he knows what he talking about, I thought. "You know, he bought 2 houses in Long island, but you know, to be an artist is not stable financially. You make money, but next day you don't." "Right, but he has freedom instead," I went. "Are you an artist?" he asked. "No, never. No talent," I replied. " What’s your sign?" He changed the subject relatively radically. " What? My star sign?" "Yes, your star sign. " "Aquarius." "Brilliant!!! You are smart!" --Ok, now he is really talking-- I did think. "How do you know?" Isn't that a girl's stuff, is it, I didn’t say that. "I know, because I studied and I can do a palm reading. I did it for many celebrities like Mr. xxx, Mr. Yy, and…." None of the names were familiar to my ears. " So, then read mine!" I sticked my right hand to his seat through a hole in a plastic cover. He held the handle with his left hand and grabbed my right hand with his right hand. "You live long. You are very smart. You have fortune, a lot of money. OH, you ARE a good writer!!!!" "All right, you know? That’s what I want to be!" "You are!!" There was full of excitement in a bit stinky old yellow cab. I liked that.
Someone might say, " Are you goanna believe in what a cab driver said?" I say, " why not?" Yes, he asked me my number after all which I didn't give, so his "I-can-read-a-palm" could be just a mean of picking a girl up. However, still why not for me. First of all, it is good to hear something good about you from a guy, isn't it? Secondly, it wasn’t cliché kind remarks, like "you look cute, " or no words with just seductive gaze, which in fact turned me off. (I am not young enough to jump out of a chair just because some guys think I am hot. Mostly, I will want to say, "What do you know about ME? Do you know my age by the way?") What this cab driver said was not like the remark s that could feed women's vanity, yet his remarks did feed my vanity or make me jump out of a back seat of the car. Let's say he was trying to pick me up, yet how could he possibly know about what I want to be.... a writer? Coincident? Could it be said that just because he has a gift to see something that most of people can't see? He is not the only one who said "you are a good writer." to me over 6 years. My professors in my University in NY, afew psychics, tarot reader and so forth. Ho ho ho! anyhow, he made my day…no actually more than day, through just a few miles of drive. This event was like an angel pushed my back assuring my secret dream.

I've been taking

2008-03-31T14:31:00.003-04:00

a 20 minutes meditation practice as my agenda every night for about 3 weeks or so. Well, morning is the best time according to my friend, but let's not be too idealistic and ambitious from the beginning, which will lead me nothing but a world of failure. So, no matter how sleepy or worn out I have been, I’ve forced myself to sit with a crossed leg position for 20 minutes. What do I do? Mostly, I let all my worries, concerns and memories take over. From a tiny matter like " Did I lock the door?" to a very serious concern which one never gets a real answer ever like" where is my life going?" All I have to do is to tell each thought, "let it go." "Oh, I kept forgetting buy a tooth froth." "Let it go." "My friend, XX hasn't replied to my email, did I say something wrong." "Ok, let it go." "I slept too much last night. Could I sleep tonight?" "Yes, let it go." "My mom is getting older...should I go back to Japan?" "Let it go." "What am I going to wear tomorrow?" "let it GO!" "Why am I so thinking all the time?" "LET IT GO!" So, 20 minutes, in fact, pass quickly with the full buzzing sirens-like thoughts, yet I can't sit for longer than that right now. Therefore, the other night, I just did beg myself or my thoughts to calm down. "Focus on my breath. Period! Get it? " Still, they are there in my, by the way, "where?" Ok, I try to locate them, my thoughts. Yes, where can they be from? From my brain? my head? my stomach? my heart? my legs??? WHERE?" Even, this question comes from where? I fell into feeling of confusion. Closing my eyes tight, in the black darkness, I scanned the entire parts of my body. It seemed to me they were coming from my upper part of my body, yet still unclear. A few minutes of the trial, I realized that it would be a stupid act to try to find where they were from, as they were intangible anyway. At the same time, I had to be re-astonished by what a human being is made of! We memorize, think, forget and feel aside from all those digestive movement everyday within our tiny bodies. Wow so much going on! Respect it, yes respect and honor!!!
Meditation is the way to be in touch with one true self, which is bigger than a body and mind. In many religious or spiritual books, you see this notion. I started as I was having a hard time to control my emotions and attachement. I’ve tried it on and off and never was consistent before. A long way to go, yet, my hope is only in an idea of meditation. Even just for 2o minutes of just being worried every night, I will keep doing as if I do a science experiment. So, from time to time, I will report how it goes here.

moon

2008-03-13T22:12:00.002-04:00

When I am down, I look down like almost all does. Once I come out the middle of downtime, I look up the sky and almost always the moon is up there. Last night, on the way home at night, I felt something and looked back and up. There she was, with a big smile mark. “Lovely.” It happens whether it is at night, a sunset time or even in the middle of the day. I feel protected. I did remember one of the most uplifting and magical incidents that happened to me. It was when I was really blue in the afternoon at one day in Tokyo. I walked to a park nearby and sat down on the grass. Everybody waited for the sun setting. Rebelled against everybody's "we-are-happy" smiles and chatting, I sat towards the east, which was the opposite direction from the sunset or everybody. I wanted to be the least invisible. Then, I found the half fatty frosty moon in the pale blue sky. "Hello again, my friend." I looked at the moon vacantly for a while. I lay down with feeling of relief. Then out of pale blue, I saw a white light around the moon. "An airplane?" I stared at it. It was certainly not the airplane. It zigzagged or moved in unexpected directions. Then, the second one appeared. And the third, the forth, the fifth, the sixth, "No way!!" Then, the eighth. "Kidding me." Then the ninth...I don't remember the exact number, but at least more than 8 of the white lights were circling around the moon. "All right!" I was excited as if the lot fell on me. Yes, they were "that." So-called unidentified flying object, U.F.O! I turned my head to see other people in the park to make sure if they noticed them. It was me anyway sitting in the counter direction from all, so nobody even noticed there was the moon in still tender-lighted sky. "Good." I headed up again. They were still there, almost dancing. I was wishing they could come down right here to pick me up to show me the fragment of the universe. It didn't happen. After a while, they all disappeared and the sun went down. Yet, they left my heart warmth. They were watching me and telling me that I was not alone. Just recognizing the things in the sky, whether they are identifiable or not, made me close to the universe. It was uplifting to be aware that the earth is floating in the vast universe--the earth is the part of it. We all forget about it, don’t we? Yet, it is absolutely undeniable fact. With that fact, then, it is not unbelievable to see that there would be different creatures living in an unknown places far away from us, is it? Truly, the moon is the opening door to the universe for me. Even if I forget about it, she never ever forgets me and all.

To the world...

2008-03-10T19:49:00.004-04:00

I've started my blog since the summer 2005. I'm happy sometimes doing this, but mostly, I feel "I don't want to write!" Here is reality-- I ignore about the fact that there is a computer in my room as long as I could, then, another me laughs at me, "Are you going to give up on this? You never kept up anything in your whole life. Oh, you are such a loser." "Ok, ok you are right," so I force and drag myself to sit in front of the computer with a cup of coffee. Sipping a coffer, I stare at the computer, "----." a blank in my head and then, another sip, "----." an absolute blank. I am f---king frustrated with my English and topics to write about. Ok, about my English, yes the main reason to start my bog was to keep up with my English, after graduation of the university. Yet, I still don't know if I should put "a," or "the," for a certain noun or I should even put either one to begin with. I can't get along with energy of "a," "an," "the." Why do they exist? Oh my dearest friends, Mr. and Mrs. "prepositions," they are my enemy, often betraying me for their meanings. I still have to look into a dictionary to find a way to say what I want to say here, otherwise my English sounds very flat, emulation of simple "That-is-my-pen," kinda sentences. My English doesn't flow at all. “So, why not in your own language in the first place? “ Another me again. “ I just love English for no reason. Period.”
Then when it comes to the topics for my blog, well, it seems that I keep repeating the same thing over and over again. I start wondering if I ever learnt something during the course of these 3 years? Anything? I feel still a depressed and gloomy woman who just gets older. Then, why am I doing this? I am doing this nothing but out of obstinacy. Right, I never ever continued anything IÅfd decided to do and be consistent. Meditation, yoga, waking up early in the morning, an accent reduction class, acupuncture, and a Fula dance class, an African dance class, singing class and do forth. The only thing that IÅfvet never stopped is this blog, though I was going to write everyday, which is an unnatural and insane idea. So, only my determination of "I need to make a commitment to one thing once in my life” makes me sit here, squeezing something out of me.
Recently, I got a good feedback for the last article about Tokyo from a total stranger, which brought me much happiness. From time to time, I do get comments from my friends. Being able to know that there would be somebody in the world who would read my blog and feel close to me beyond age, sex, or nationality is incredibly uplifting, making me feel connected to the world… Hello! That's right, I love that. I love sharing with all anonymous. One day in the future, I will write something in a bigger scale to share universal feeling with all. (I said that now, wow then I will really have to do it.) By then, yes I will never stop this, even if I feel sick of it most of the time.

2008-03-06T21:24:00.004-05:00

Emotions are really daunting. My emotions are really busy. I always get confused and emotional, every time I stay in Japan. Mainly, because of my dearest mother. As much as I love and adore her, she could be really annoying like every single mother. "Where are you going? From whom you got email? To whom you were emailing? Who are you going to see today?" Her "wh" questions are like a shotgun. Really annoying. I spend 85% of time with her, yet it seems not enough for her. She gets cranky when I go out without her, accusing me how unneat I am or stuff like that. OK, I’m not a teenager, mom. Well, in addition, I am not your boy friend! Then after a while, I start feeling guilt about how I feel. "She is my only family, she is the one who brought me up alone, supported through out my life? I should not feel that way." Then after a while with more time, I get confused again. "NO, I need to be independent. I have to have my own life, no matter what." Then after a few days, again I feel guilt. "How could I be so ungrateful?" These thoughts jump back and forth as if I were playing on swing all by myself. Really tiring. Without getting any good answers, I start crying. In fact, at one artist’s studio in Tokyo, I burst into tears. I had no idea what the hell led my emotion there? I was supposed to be a curator, visiting one dearest artist.
Right, she IS someone. She loves taking care of others, though she is tiny and skinny like a small branch. She talks loud, though she is, again, tiny. She is good at mimicking people's characters. She is flamboyant, having a strong presence everywhere she goes. She is so emulous that she doesn't like admitting anything. She talks to her friend, "Oh, my daughter? She is busy, doing her own biz and I only mind my own." "Hello?" I say to myself. She dogs my every step. She never cries in front of anybody or me. (Only twice or so, I saw...I could not deal, as it was too painful to see my mom crying.) She is bitcy about the world, people, a newscaster, TV program, me and so forth. Yet, she is a sincere Buddhist. She becomes too shy, when it comes to dealing with a foreigner. She starts cleaning, whenever she is angry, but she likes cleaning regardless. She is good at cooking, designing cloths or making anything. She is innocent and has warm heart. She is not a kind of mother who consoles her child at all, instead, she yells at me when I am down. She is a control freak. That's how she is, and I adore her. She got retired from her own three boutiques.
You know, it is tough, as I am the only child. Nobody besides someone who is born like me would be able to imagine how I feel right now. No offense, but I don’t want you to tell me that you understand my feeling or something like, "Oh, well, but, it's going to be ok." It is not OK. I am torn by 2 completely deferent ideas, 1; I should go back to Japan to live close to her or with her. 2, I should stay here to be independent in many ways, otherwise I could not be able to make her happy. If I choose 1, then I feel running away from something. If I choose 2, then I feel,” what if time is running out? What if it would be too late, by the time I am detached from her emotionally?
The other night in NY, I had dinner with one girl whom I met last winter. We saw each other at a social function for a few times and never had a chance to get to know each other. Here we were. It turned out that she was the only child brought up by her mother only. The only difference from me was that her mother passed away at her age of 20. Again, I could not hold my tears. Suddenly, I felt close to her. Really close to someone whom I barely knew about… Nothing happens for any reason. On the way home, I just felt her so much and imagined myself in her position. More again, I cried like a baby. I will not be able to deal with it, if it happens to me. I am scared to death. I feel really "run-out-of-time."
I know deep down that I have to choose 1, which will ultimately bring happiness for her and myself. That is why I came all the way to NY. Then, 6 years have passed in a blink of an eye. In between of felling homesick and ignoring it, I am off. Oh, well, here is a night I can't sleep again. I miss her.

home town

2008-03-05T19:42:00.004-05:00

I was in Tokyo for about 2 weeks. Every time I go back, I am astonished by the fast-paced change in the city view. This time, I felt puking up by dehumanized indifferent energy hovering around the city. The brand new tall shinny skyscrapers with no smile, the highway wound and almost sneaked around the buildings, computerized announcements that orchestrated in the escalator, the train, the city looks completely alienated. In the train, 80% people have an ipod in their ears and do text in an incredible speed. The new century is hustling in the public restroom. The minute I opened the door, the lavatory cover automatically opened with music. There were too many buttons, one for a fake water running sound, one for a bidet, one for dry air, one for something else, one for what for really what? How could the just restroom for public possibly need that many buttons? All I needed is to just FLUSH. Rushing out this crazy high-tech crisis, the gigantic building blocked me. I can’t breathe!!!! “Oh, NYC is a big city with the tall buildings,” someone might say. “ Well, they are like just babies, compared to “those” in Tokyo, honey. “ “Then what about buildings in NJ developed area? You know the one Donald Trump built?” “They are like really just kids. Honey bunny.” Yes, really ugly types of buildings have been built in NYC these days, yet thanks to some regulations, nothing can compete “those” in Tokyo. Plus, Manhattan is just a small island. Tokyo is just spread-out, not big as contexts, but big geographically. And too many people there, yet they are dead like a robot. The buildings have so strong presence that people look as if they were serving to them, while people in NYC are so strong that all the buildings contribute anything to the city’s energy. Well, I never liked Tokyo, but this time I felt so sad, saying to myself, “ Is this really my home town? “ Then, I felt really sad, as I realized that there was no town that I could call my home town…. NYC? Not forever for me. So, I really have to find my home within myself. I really do.

image: City Glow, Chinatsu Aoshima

"How old are you!?"

2008-02-05T20:41:00.000-05:00

guys at delis ask me with such variety of accent, every time I buy a pack of cigarette. (I don't usually carry my ID with me.) I make my face like," come on!" Then I go, " I am 3X years old," which is one of the most embarrassing moments. Oh, the worst case is an occasion when a good-looking guy stands and waits to be served after me. My remark usually froze them for a few second as if they saw a mouse. Sure, They see me being not old enough to smoke (so do I look a teenager?), so they expect me to lie about my age. Yet, they never expect me to drop much higher number than what they assume. Therefore, here, silence is born. They stare at me, reach their hand to the tobacco and throw it at the counter. These three actions take place in an incredible fast speed, which is almost invisible and suggests they want me to leave right away. So, I leave like a criminal or something. "Damn." I look down with feeling of humiliation. Oh well, my BD is coming up this week. I will get one year older than now and I will not reveal my age. It becomes a big joke to me: I look away-too-young. Right, Asians age well. Yet, I look young even in Asians' circle. I have a baby face, my voice sounds like a kid and I behave like a kid. I look at myself in a mirror and from any angles I don't look like 3X years old lady. I take a look at my photos in Hawaii, the recent trip. With suntan, a mini skirt and tank top, I can be, well, a teenager. Freaky almost. If I dress up, I look like a kind of young girls who make lots of effort to look grown up. I was far from what 3X years old woman would be like in my imagination when I was little. My age is not catching up with not only my appearance, but also associated social matters with the age. No marriage, no kids of course, no great career, what so ever. Then, I sometimes call my mom to be confirmed if my decision is right, after I make my decision for soemthing. This is not surely something that a mature grown up person will do. I fly thousand of miles to be far from her to be independent emotionally. But, I end up depending on an international call. I hate that. Well, I don't want to look old with winkles, but I do want to look like close to my age. The gap between my actual age and my appearance is just getting bigger and bigger. Then I wonder, "What about those years and years of my experiences? "Didn’t they give me any mature thoughts and insights?" I know there is nothing that I can do about it. "Just acknowledge your difference from others, and just stick to it. You know, that is the thing that makes you unique," a pop star said on a dance contest TV program, which is my favorite show, last night. (Oh, dance! Love watching it, but does a 3X year old woman watch and possibly like this kind of TV program?) Anyway, right, stick to it. I guess I will have to stick to my freakiness in a long run.

Extremes beget extremes-spirituality and art

2008-01-28T17:22:00.000-05:00

Spiritual and the contemporary art world, at a glance, seem to be far from each other. While the latter seems more about fame, ambition, money, ego, the former suggests detaching those. I like art on a certain level, (I am actually getting bored with the scene these days though.) and spirituality has been always in my life (I am actually fed up with the term, spirituality.) I have been working in a gallery and participating in some meditation or yoga retreats and some lectures from time to time. Something about both sometimes make me feel extremely uncomfortable and puking up almost. I have been wondering what is the cause of my allergic-like reaction to both worlds. Today, taking a small walk under the sun, I have come to realization that, in fact, they have lots in common. They can be "ridiculously serious," " condescending," and "judgmental." In the art world, people are serious and O.T.T., getting into details on any levels. How important the piece is to the world now, how great it has reference to the past,"---ism", how the brushstrokes do to the viewer, how the artist comes up with this great and innovative idea, how important such a museum has to own this piece, how precise it needs to be installed so on and on without a tiny bit sense of humor and with almost a scary look. They are so serious about the details that a dealer, an artist and a collector often fight. People in the spiritual world have the same tone with more cheesiness. “We have a god within.” “ we need to tap into our inner child.” The term, “spirituality” sounds cheesy to begin with. I wonder if there is a way to say without sounding cheesy... Often people who believe into what they believe can get resented attacking, puckering their blow, when somebody disagrees with them. Likewise in the art world. One time, I claimed a “I shouldn’t have said” kinda statement to a highly recognized private dealer, Mr X. “I don’t like Takashi Murakami’s work.” Mr. X reacted against me as if he was completely denied his whole existence by a God or he just saw a ghost. “If you don’t understand his work, you should not be in this biz!” His voice was raised up and his face was getting pale. As much as I regretted putting up my claim, but well, "Give me a break."
Then, when an artist talks about a concept or his/her statement, it gets worse. Not only he becomes ridiculously serious, but also sounds so condescending that I learn a way to pretend to listen, but never really do. In front of a sculptural installation of brand new empty boxes, or bottles, “this is the way of commenting on commercialism and commodity, blur, blur and blur." "Then, instead of wasting materials, why don’t you stop making art, if you really concern about materialism?" Oh, when it comes to spirituality, it is worse than the worse. A friend of mine who has been into spirituality visited me in NY from Australia once. She often said, "The world is beautiful. You have to cultivate peace within, blur and blur." "Don’t throw a cigarette on the street, we have to save our mother earth." Yet, she smokes too. "You walk too fast, oh you are a New Yorker. Be in the moment!" Every 5 mins, she says something "spiritual," imposing me. (By the way, why could the tecnical terms in spirituality sound not cheesy?) When I introduced one of my friends who was a middle-aged Japanese art collector to her, she turned into a monster so easily. When he told her to be careful in South Mexico where was her next visit from NY, her face got reddish and she commented with her right side of eyebrows high up, “If one has fear, one is attracted to fear, and just you know I know what I am doing!” There was a long awkward silence and he left sooner. “Common, he is my friend. Show some respects, though he might not be spiritual according to you. What is all about peace?” I kept to myself. When someone doesn’t act accordingly what one says, the word loses its power and becomes just condescending. In the end, I said to her, “you are too condescending.” We argued quite a bit. Then she left and emailed me saying that, “I have an influence on people, so no wonder I am annoying to you.” “Oh men and Amen.” I completely ignored, wishing that she would get me one day. (Just in my belief, the influential person would not need to prove that.)
In the both worlds, there are various types of judgemental eyes flying around. I come across a head to toe scan in both social situations. If you are a new commer, often, people give you a look,"you know nothing about what we are talikng about." Then, in both, people either pretend to teach you like doing to a kid, which imply that they are showing off how much they know about or how advanced they are. In the yoga retreat, I heard people almost shouting Mantra in the class, as if they competed against each other about how good they read without seeing the text.
At last, people have an attitude--"I am chosen and I am a God.”
If that is so, why could this world be a better place than before?
Too many words, too many artworks, too many artists, too many galleries, too many cheapish spirituality, too serious and just too much. This is the time when extreme seriousness becomes and sounds a big joke.

Jazz

2008-01-23T20:48:00.000-05:00

I switched from Hawaiian Radio to Jazz station, cause I am in a Jazz mode. Jazz suits New York, especially in a foggy drizzling or snowy night. Like the blurry silhouette of Empire State building enveloped in mist and fog, a middle aged lady with a fur coat walking on Park Avenue, a gentleman with a trench coat and hat catching a cab, the streets in Soho after tourists’ depature, young lady with a book at a corner of a cafe, Jazz goes with any nothing-special scenes in the city. Jazz is kinds of music, which you could not only really listen to at a club , but you could also use as background music without being distracted. Not condescending like some music with lots of messages. Not dramatic like classic or opera. Yet it speaks sadness, excitement, sensuality, romance, regret, memoir, happiness, hope, and dream. It touches one’s heart. Each instrument plays off freely or almost selfishly and sometimes the beat and rhythm could be out of proportion, yet that is the point of Jazz. That’s where I am loving. REAL and LIFE. It creates an unexpected story. This “improvisation” factor is like when you miss a train and in the next one you wind up seeing somebody whom you lost in touch but just thought about. In fact, Jazz is New York. Every step, rhythm, and beat of each on the streets in Manhattan is improvised every day, producing the power of humans. Even if you feel being left behind the world or out of the circuit like me now, you ARE part of it like Jazz. I stumble or slow down or pace up and becomes disrupting. As the whole in an orchestra, yet, I might be also contributing some spices to the power of the city, an Improvisational land of music in full swing. Oh, I am back finally?

Last monday,

2008-01-21T16:28:00.000-05:00

I received a notice that I got the working visa. This was a” third time is lucky" situation. Literally, I tried twice and was rejected twice. On the first rejection, I cried like a baby. On the second rejection, I was like "Oh, well.” No tears. This time, I was like "...” Despite the fact that I was so eager to get the visa back then, by now, my passion to wanna stay in NY has seemed weakened. Just a few days ago when I got this notice, I was sleeping in my bed in a loft space like a usual night and loud noises of mice running around frantically in my ceiling woke me up in the middle of night. I’d pretty much acknowledged that they had been running around in a space in between my ceiling and the floor in upstairs. Yet, I was generous enough to let them live under a term and condition that they were in this between space. Yet on that night, the noises were too loud and close to almost feel them around me. I jumped out of my bed, turned on the light and stared at the ceiling. Then, I found a few small halls… "NO.” “ NO-NO-NO-NO." INVASION!!! I almost puked up. I covered the holes with a cardboard and layers and layers of duck tapes without breathing. I moved to my sofa in my main room, which is lower than the loft space, which means relatively far from the ceiling. 1 minute, 10 minutes, 15, 20, 30 minutes passed, but I was wide-awake, imagining a chance that mice get all over my body. "Ok. Enough. This is it. I want to go back to Japan." Especially after my stay in Maui Island and in my depression period, mice’s attempt to invade my apartment killed a glimmer of hope to convince myself that NY is such an inspiring place to live. “ Yes, this is the city that enables me to meet people from all over the world,” I kept telling myself over and over again whenever I felt depressed. Yet on that very night, it didn’t work. " I am already depressed enough, I can't live in the city where the population of mice is bigger than New Yorkers any longer.” Cynically enough, 2 days after this happening, I got the notice. I laughed at myself. "When I wanted, I could not. When I don’t care for it, I get it.” It seems that this is a universal law. “Oh God, but, if you say so, I will stay…. There must be something for me to learn, I guess.” In terms of mice? I am still traumatized reacting every single noise from outside of my apartment. If that "universal law" is valid, then, I should pray like, “ Please show your faces here.” Perhaps?

a storm broke my house....

2008-01-15T22:44:00.001-05:00

It has been a week since I came back from Maui trip but my spirit is still somewhere in the air. Or, I just refuse myself to land on the land of reality. Honestly, that would be the case. I am officially depressed. I have been trying not to fall down the hell of crying. Once I allow myself to drop even one tear, I know that I will not stop and get completely crazy, packing stuff and leaving NY for somewhere like Dallam Selah in India to take off any burdens, responsibilities for work, my mom and myself, desires, excitement and all in life. Although my desire for renouncement has been in a back of my head since I was little, I know that I am not really ready yet or will be ready ever in this life. Therefore, I can't cry right now. I-can’t-do... Well, seeing beauty in nature made me think that I am not really living but just struggling against life. “What am I tying to do?” So this trip turned out to be like a big storm, thundering so many questions, which were hovering around over my head anyway, but I tried so hard not to face. "Why am I living for?" "What's the meaning of life?" "Is it to breath in and out?” “Is it to make a living?" "Is it to become someone?" "Is it to accomplish every day life tasks? Or is it to establish career?" "Is to have family?" "If it is to make a living, I hardly do in NY. So does it mean that I am a failure or I am not living?" "What do I want in life, career or love?" "If I have all, would all the factors make me feel content and will never ask myself these questions? “ “If I had been born poor, then would I have never asked such questions, as I had to struggle making my living?” "If I live close to nature, then would it the same or not?" "I once lived in some islands like Hawaii, Chichi Island, but it didn't work with me. So, where would it be to live, if i want to live close to nature?" “Or to live is to find a place? Just like that?” “Is it better to live close to my mom, as she is a single mother and I am the only child? Or no matter what, is it normal for a child to set out on one's own? “Do I have sincere passion for the art world?” “ Do I love art in the first place?” On and on and on... It was the brutal storm that is like ripping shingles off the roof and the walls of my house, which I myself had been building and here I am sitting in the middle, closing my eyes and covering my ears with my hands. No matter how I have tried to live physically, the part of me has been always indifferent, objective or lonely rejecting to be in reality. I left behind. I have tried out so many different things from spiritual point of view to physical to know the reason why I was born. Still I don’t know. Do you know? An astrological reader had once told me, “At the age of 43, whether you choose or not, you will enter in a phase of spirituality.” The astrological signs based on my birthday and time is, according to him, the most perfect and ideal position for “spirituality” where I don’t need any gurus or teachers. “Great! Can’t wait! I don’t have to do anything consistently meditating or being a vegetarian to be “spiritual” Cool!” In a way, I am so waiting to become 43 years old. In the mean time, my only passion, I could say, is to know the answer for the very simple question, “why was I born here?” Whether I will be like a nun or not, as the astrological guy said, I am eager to know that. Huh wait a minute? Then, I already answered my question perhaps? Yeah, I live to know the answer. Ok, then so there is no need to be depressed then, as I at least know the reason why I am living currently. Ha! I can sleep tonight, though my roof was gone.

Only a few some hours ago,

2008-01-07T13:02:00.000-05:00

I was swimming in the ocean, feeling the sunshine and sea breezes, listening to the sound of waves and swinging leaves of palm trees. Here I am in my apartment now--The sound of waves is replaced by the noise form the refrigerator and instead of seeing the ocean from a window, I am looking at the computer screen. I spent the holidays in Maui Island and had an absolutely amazing and mesmerizing time there. When I close my eyes, the scenes and memories there vividly crowds in on me -- the immense blue ocean and sky, the pristine ocean water reflecting the sunshine, the rainbows arched over the mountain, the half moon, the night sky filled with the diamond-like stars and a shooting star, the sudden rain storm, the distinctive smell of the tropical island, turtles flying in the ocean, the evening glow creating drawings in the blue canvas that are more beautiful and convincing than any other abstract drawings in the world, the sky and the sun beam from the water, the clouds traveling in the sky, the flowers like plumeria, hibiscus, the pineapples and the sugar cane fields and more…. I opened my arms to the sky. I stretched my mind and body to the ocean. Then, when I open my eyes again here, I start wondering if all that was really real? Right, I am not good at dealing with an "in-between-time" after a trip, feeling deeply void. It takes me more than a week to really be back to reality. No matter how fast I can travel around, thanks to one of the human's greatest inventions, an airplane, my mind seems to still remain in the Stone Age. Some people like my ex-ex BF who frequently travels around the world for his work know how to deal with this "in-between-time" situation. I used to be amazed by how quickly he could adjust himself to be back to real time. The minute he was at the New York airports, he was already in NY time-mode, acting as if he was never gone anywhere. I found him a bit insensitive and he thought I was too melancholic to look back to the memories of the trips. For me, though, it is almost unbelievable that there are completely different types of life going on within this same Earth. Could it be true that the place like Maui Island where people follow the time of the Earth and the place like New York City where people follow the time of “self” coexist? (You Must Be Kidding!!) More over, there are thousands or millions places where nothing really relates to each other. So, this is when a trip becomes a "trip." In fact, I was completely tripped out by greatness of Hawaiian nature, besides one disappointment--no matter how far I flew in the air to get away from America, I still found the America in Maui Island – The big shopping malls, McDonalds, loud Americans and etc…(well, I used to live in Oahu Island, so what was I expecting?) Whether I am “too” melancholic or not, let me take my time to be completely back, as I will be eventually anyway. So in the mean time, I am spraying the perfume that I got in the Island all over my apartment, having Hawaiian coffee and pineapples to hold on the bewildered memories…

I woke up and

2007-11-26T22:32:00.000-05:00

found myself cranky. The heat in my apartment had not been strong enough to keep me warm and water had been running in the shower, as the knob was too tight to close. I already had the super to fix it for 3 times but within a week, I had to start hearing one of the most annoying sounds, - water running." It was on Saturday, a beautiful sunny day and the super was off. I was desperate enough to try to fix it with minus and plus screw drivers, but of course all my endeavor was in vain and I got soaked on top of that. Left my house leaving everything in a mess with still grumpy mood, I headed to Central Park, which was one of "to do" lists for that day anyway. (I'd wanted to go to see the fall in the park too bad but kept missing a chance. At previous night, I checked the weather forecast and I saw the "sun" mark!) Once I got there, I was speechless; I mean I was alone, so anyway I would have to be speechless despite it. The blue sky without clouds, the sunshine that was so strong and sharp that I had to screw up my eyes, colors of the leaves like bright yellow, red, pink, brown, dark green, apple like red, the beautiful tapestry of the leaves on the lawns, the shadows reflected on the met's wall, falling and dancing leaves, there were no moments that didn't excite and amaze me. "Oh My God!" I was walking for 2 hours. "Oh My God!" I was singing for almost 2 hours. I was as if I had never seen any of them in my entire life. I was totally, completely, absolutely, in a euphoric state of mind. I wish I could dance alone... but my sanity stopped me. Oh, nature you, nothing could be as beautiful as you. Right, so I skipped going to Guggenheim Museum to see Richard Prince, which was sort of one of my "to-do" lists as well. I didn’t want to ruin my feeling of calmness, peace, and happiness for something "artificial." The show and the artworks will not run away for a while, but this beauty will be hard to catch. no, I will not be able to see it ever again. It will be all different in the next fall. I didn’t care for anything but indulging myself into nature. Then, on the way home, I thought ,“the thing is that the issues in my apartment are such tiny little things to be concerned, yes actually a waste.” I was excited to go back to my small messy and lovely castle. And, “ Ok, I will cook a squash soup to embrace the color of the fall!”

a wake up call

2007-10-22T19:46:00.000-04:00

My hands got swollen like a rotten peach with full pain and itchiness a while ago. Literally they looked as if they had been burnt. I could not sleep or do anything domestic for about 10 days. My whole body could not function at all, neither could my spirit. I have been suffering from a kind of an autoimmune disease, called palm plantar pustulosis on my hands for over a decade, yet my hands had never gotten THAT worse. I'd been refused to go to a western doctor, as I knew that I would be given steroid without tell me the cause of the problem or what so ever. As I fully expected, that's exactly what the doctor gave the other day. Now, I have been on the worst drug, steroid, and have not been able to sleep at night because of it. Scarely enough, within 3 days, my hands looked completely back to normal, yet it doesn't mean that I was cured. Anyhow, it is true that I temporally came out of the hell. Any illness, needless to say, is strongly related to one' mind set anyway and the body is giving a sign to wake up. In my case, I don’t know where to begin, but I made my mind in such a hurry. From a small thing like washing dishes to something rather serious like finishing a review for an art exhibition, my focus was just on the finishing point and didn’t enjoy the process. I felt stressed with something undone. I didn’t breath. I was absent and was restless at the same time. Plus, that state of mind led me to the point where I got annoyed with such stupid things like people getting in my way, car's honk, someone's shouting at someone, someone's bad mood and stuff like that. I became like a sponge to absorb anything coming across whether the matter was related to me or not. I need to learn how to take one thing at a time with full attention and relax with undone. Occasionally, I have to put on an invisible warm jacket to protect myself from the outer world. It is not the world to blame; it is about how to cope with oneself and the world. Instead of reacting the external factors, I would like to find myself relaxing in the middle of commotion. Instead of getting stressed with undone, I would like to find myself enjoying the process of one act. I stopped smoking for good. Now, it is a time to breath in and out deeply. I might forget to breath again, but will not blame myself. I will take it easy as everything is in the process. Nothing or nobody to blame, but be gentle with myself. In the end, it is a nice wake up call.

I can't be honnest with myself,

2007-09-24T20:53:00.000-04:00

when it comes to somebody whom I like. The more I am interested in him, the less I show my attraction. I can't even see his eyes straight. My heart is beating fast and my hands are sweating. So, I make my full efforts not to reveal my inner emotional turmoil. So, this anxiety leads me to cold, strange, awkward behaviors. If she is teenager, she is considered as an innocent and sweet girl. In my case, worse comes to worst. I am in thirties. Hello!? All of my single girlfriends have one romance another. They always have something to talk about, yet me?.... apparently NOTHING. I am left far behind. On my way back home from those girls’ nights, I usually feel so damned. On top of that, almost everybody always concludes, “if you can drink….” As a grownup, everybody seems to get drunk to loosen up. Someone like me who can’t even sip a bit of alcohol has, then, no hope….? A kid is always straightforward. There isn’t such a word, “ fear for rejection,” in his or her dictionary. When I feel absolute attraction from my friends’ kids, I can melt away with bliss, yet at the same time I see how closed my heart is. That’s how the grownup’s world does to everybody? With one painful and harsh experience after another, the heart of the grownup gets harder and harder and needs something to loosen up? After I spent some time with my friends’ kids yesterday, though I was loosened up, I also felt pain within me about myself and about the harsh world.

My uncle died yesterday.

2007-09-11T22:07:00.000-04:00

In Japan, it was on 9.11. Somehow, I felt it and picked up a phone to call my mom to ask her about him. The first word from my mom was, "Martin died." Martin was his nickname. I was speechless and she talked restlessly. Obviously, she sounded nervous and tried not to fall into painful emotion. I was close to him while I was young. Then we were apart for a decade, because he did something unacceptable to my mom. It was until last fall that I finally saw him. He'd already had two operations for his cancer. He was skinny like a paper. I collapsed into tears once I saw him. I could not talk, neither could he. He was crying. Nothing came out from our mouth, yet we understood each other. I understood that he did feel bad about what he had done and he apologized. I supposed that he got that I’d forgave him. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to admit about the fact that he was dying; yet he was gone. I could not see him before. Today was 9.11 here in NYC. It was raining and I was down. Now, 9.11 has another meaning for me. The longer I live, the more I will come across someone's death. More and more.... I signed. Then, I asked myself again, "Why are we living for?" To say good-bye?
Good-bye Martin….wishing that you will become one of stars in the peaceful universe. Tell me if that is a good place to be….I love you.

La luna bella tonight.

2007-08-27T18:03:00.000-04:00

The full moon made me think about femininity. I have been single for over a year. In addition, I have been losing sexuality for about two years. I didn't take it so seriously in the beginning. I was preoccupied with getting myself together in many ways, so I didn't have a space to be intimate with someone anyway. Now I start getting used to life in NY, I am mentally sort of kind of ready for that or at least my desire to share many things with one person is taken out of my closet. Lots of dusts though…. However, my sexual urge has been still getting lost. Where did I put it? Now, I seriously do wonder--"is my phenomenon just slump, or is this an age related issue (certainly) or is this it? Am I just getting closer to enlightened state of mind? or just need to see a counselor? -- Surely, life has been much easier as I don't have a desire for it. But what about my wish to be with someone? Does it come true without it? My friends often say to me," Oh, don't worry about it, when you see someone special, it will come back to you." Is it so? I never had this experience. Though I was never a type of a girl who occasionally has a lover for sex or is flirtatious. I could live without it for years and years, when I was single. Yet, it didn't mean that I never had feeling of “sex-would-be-the-last-thing-to-do right now” like now. It was always up there somewhere, but now…forget about it. Physically and mentally it has become almost a mystery zone for me by now. Well, as I mentioned, my work situation in a new world and aspiration took it out of me first. I found more intriguing and exciting things to do. At the same time, my level of stress found myself being sick often. Even though I met somebody whom I was interested in, no willingness to be physically intimate made me feel reluctant to go for him. Slowly and gradually, the temporal lost has turned into the fearful unknown world---being touched freezes my body. Oh. Hallelujah!!! Looking up the fully full moon, I called for help. I want to love and be loved. I want to touch and be touched …eventually. I want to open up myself. I want to be in a state of “ I-am-out –of-control” mind without really being out of control. Then the moon asked me,” are you really ready?” Am I? Continued….

the ocean

2007-08-23T18:44:00.000-04:00

After 5 cloudy days, the sun has showed his presence. Hey you! Nice to feel the fragrance of the summer sun. This summer, in between of moving out and in, I managed to have small vacation in Montauk and Hampton for a few times. Looking at the ocean horizon, listening to the endless sounds of the waves, soaking myself into pristine clear Atlantic water, I re-realized how much I loved and missed the ocean. I love being in water. I feel free and cleansed physically and spiritually. Since I came to NYC, though, I have been forgetting about it. I once went to Jones beach and had to pay $10 or so to be in. The beach was nothing special or even looked boring. I was the one who was in fact an island girl living in Hawaii, Australia and Chichi Island in Japan and traveling from one island to another in Asian continents like Phuket, Bali and more. I could not accept paying for the unpleasant and nothing-special beach. Give me a break. When I was living in Chichi Island, I often found myself alone on the untouched beach with emerald green color of water. Since that traumatized day, I forgot about the ocean in NY. Though it is nothing compared to the beaches where I lived, the beach in Montauk was beautiful and had manly presence with strong waves. Getting under slightly cold water and opening my eyes led me to feeling of familiarity. “I’m Back!” I shouted in my mind. Today, my dear friend, Orvokki, came back from her trip in Hawaii Island and brought some seashells. They are a reminder of the Pacific Ocean. Well, the ocean is just one where there is no border. Over the horizon, there are another continents and islands. Under water, there are hundreds of creatures living. The waves make a rock to round stones and bring someone’s wish. The ocean is, yes, the place where a human being was born.

NYC's weather is moody and unpredictable.

2007-08-21T23:27:00.000-04:00

It was a soggy, cold miserable and rainy day today despite the season, so was my mood. I stayed home, cleaning up my new nest, cooking and doing laundry. (I just moved from the west side to the east last Monday, which was the 4th move within 5 years.) There, on the pure white walls, I installed some artworks given by my friends. They were not many, but just enough to adorn my room with. "Who could expect to have some artworks for someone moving here with one suitcase from Tokyo 5 years ago?" I thought. Well, my treasures that have been collected over years are not only pleasant to my eyes, but also remind me of my friends' presence and their history. The rain stopped at night. Feeling a bit uplifted, I headed to the Upper East Side to buy a second hand microwave, which I'd found on the craigslist. It happened to be in my old neighborhood, 70's on the second avenue. I was there for a year in 2002-3. On a bus on the way back from the familiar scenery, I was seeing 5 years of my life in NY flashed back. The first day in NYC, the days and nights when I felt so lonely, the school days, excited feeling about walking unknown streets, a day of opening my bank account, a day of being stuck in en elevator, nights when I was wide awake with wavering feeling of my future, the day when I met my ex boy-friends and on an on. Though I moved a lot within 5 years, each move actually stopped me to look back and see where I am now. When I opened the door of my small castle, I felt home. Hello, hello, here I am again. Yes, tomorrow's weather will be different and life goes on. I am ready for unknown.

memory

2007-08-19T21:50:00.000-04:00

When I say life is sad, I am considered as pessimistic and negative. I don't say life isn't beautiful. Moments of encountering people and things like art and music that inspire and touch my heart, seeing the beautiful sunset, sitting under swinging trees, looking up the blue sky, dancing freely, swimming in pristine ocean and so forth, all those, in fact, make life such precious. Yet, nothing is permanent. Living in these continuous momentary events, sometimes, I get overwhelmed by the fact that so many things are needed to let go in everyday basis. Not only the current memories but also painful or glory memories in my childhood are still deep inside of me. In Buddhism theory, it is said that we need to live in the moment and eternity is in the moment. Yet, the amounts of memories that need to be detached are certainly beyond my capacity right now. Form time to time, I have to come across a moment that the memories in the past that I thought I already let go actually are still in me. Confronting decay brings up a memory of days gone by even more. When I saw my mom getting older, all my childhood memories with my mom were vividly surfaced: Clear vision of her sitting at a bench in the park and seeing me exercising on horizontal bars, her back when she was cooking, warmth and softness of her hands when we were walking in the park. They are beautiful memories, but can't be touched ever again, which makes me feel sad. And, when I see a beautiful moment, the fact that it will be just one of the memories makes me feel sad. I do understand that is why life is beautiful. Yet, like salty water in the ocean, it is ,sometimes,eye-smarting.

Speaking of family,

2007-04-03T22:10:00.000-04:00

My dad emailed me saying that he would get married with his girlfriend who was younger than me. For him, this would be the third marriage. One with my mom failed right after I was born. (I had not seen him for 30years.) The other with his second wife, a British dancer, also failed after 10 years' together. No kids between them. Then, now he is 67 or 68, still active in work as a cinematographer and apparently in romance. In fact, he has been dating girls who were younger than me for a quite while. Well, I have to say I was in shock this time. I wanted to say to him, "can you at least wait for me? I haven't had even one marriage-experience yet," which never was spoken. Then, I started wondering why he had to get married at this point of his life after living as a single guy for almost 3 decades. "Is he afraid of dying alone?" "Do they want to have a kid?" He said that this was genuine. OK, if this were genuine, wouldn't it be even unnecessary for them to get married? It is a just paper thing that differs their situation from before. It even makes me doubt that this is genuine. Am I too harsh, cynical or rigid? Well, I have to be. He gave up on me long time ago, being totally irresponsible. He could not accomplish both marriages. Even though I've started seeing him for a few years, I never felt close to him. After a long time separation, he showed up in my life out of blue. Yet, he hasn't paid so much attention to me. He does when I ask, but I don't really ask anyway. I am not the one who should make an effort to get closer. He should be the one. Otherwise, why did he show up in the first place?
I just want him to get that he made many mistakes on this matters. To get married is not certainly easy, especially if you have kids. It is a big thing. You are not alone anymore. Lots of compromises, disagreements, arguments, and fights are involved, which you are to conquer together. You are building up the bond and it will become an invisible castle, which nobody can break. It is almost like making art and that is beauty of having family. I never was in the moment when I wanted to marry. The reasons are: 1, I never felt that I was ready. 2, I never met anybody whom I wished for. Most importantly, I don't want my kid to be in my situation, so when it comes to marriage, I have been really careful in many ways.
Anyway, it took a while to get back to him. Although I congrates on it, I conveyed what I am writing here. I am not an evil. I just hope he has learnt the idea of marriage from his mistakes and complete this one as the last.

Family

2007-04-03T19:33:00.000-04:00

Due to a spring break from work, I have been catching up with my dearest "family friends." These days, I was too preoccupied with work as well as work related meetings, dinner and hangouts. For a person who doesn't have family in the city, it IS precious to have them, which makes me feel rooted. So far, I saw 3 couples with kids. Each couple differs and keeps his own life style. Yet, one thing that each seems to share with is that all has some issues. (I don't want to reveal the details, since they are none of our biz and private.) What I respect is that all manages to maintain the relationship. Anyway, there would be no single couple in the whole world who doesn't have an issue. How many serious relationships did I have by now? "8. " None of them didn't work out and I have been single for 1 year. Even though I feel lonely once in a while, I have been embracing absolute freedom: I don’t have to cook when I don't want, I can sleep until I want, I can leave my clothing on the floor, I can watch silly TV programs without feeling guilty, I can be naked and dance at the same time, I can eat take-out food without putting it on the plate, I can leave a party without convincing the other or waiting and so forth. Do I sound pessimistic? In reality, I have to tell you, "these small things could lead a huge argument." I get so used to living alone that I can't imagine myself living with somebody. To be honnest, I am scared of showing my laziness or dullness. To keep a relationship alive is hard enough. When it comes to this "living-together-situation, I have no idea what it would be like or if I can deal with it in the first place. Yes, in the back of my head somewhere, I still dream about finding a guy for me and building up the relationship together though looking back at my past relationships and seeing my family-friends, my fantasy seems now too far to come true. I guess I am not ready yet. ( I never was.) In the mean time, to hang out with my family friends is just enough. I am grateful that I find my family in the city.

Spring has come!

2007-03-27T21:03:00.000-04:00

I have been neglecting putting up an article for a quite while. It is not because I have nothing to say or nothing has happened. In fact, there were many topics that I could write about. But, I was just frozen in front of my computer. I was scared of writing. I was scared of facing my language limitation. I was scared of not being able to articulate what I really wanted to say. I was sick and tired of my constant act of looking into a dictionary. Well, here I am again. I dragged myself out of a cabinet to just sit in front of my computer. At the moment, my fingers are shaking and I am sweating. Today, however, finally spring has hit in New York and I shall wake up. Be naked. Forget about trying to be cool. I am here to write. I am here to face myself. I am ready again!!

Love and Hate

2007-02-05T14:43:00.000-05:00

In any circumstances in life, love and hate always come together. I am in the midst of those two feelings for art. One day, I ask myself, “Why is art so special?” Or “ What makes people so excited about?” Piled and piled objects.... most of them, I shall say, are junk-ish and painful to my eyes. Then, I ask myself again, “Where are they ending up? Will the artist take them with his coffin? (It could be really pricy, unless they all are burned.) “ Once an artist (this time, I am only talking about an established one) dies, it is a whole different story. The price of the artworks will skyrocket immediately and people are chasing after the work with a wad of dollars. Thus, the work, regardless of the artist's intention, will become a toy for adults to toss around or a tool for making nothing but MONEY. Is this right? Everybody dies without an exception and nothing will be left on his hands. Period. Above all, the thing that gives me headache about the art world is that everybody from a gallerist, a collector to an artist has "I-am-so-important," attitude. Then, It gets me "what-so-ever" attitude. However, it is contradicted to say, I do have passion for art as well. I have been working on preparing the next show in the gallery. The show is a solo show by one of my favorite artist, William Villalong whose star is about rise. Dealing with the show, I realized how much I like supporting an artist in many ways. When the artist has sincere passion, I ride over his passion. Then, the show becomes more than just a show. We all share sweats and bloods. The whole process to make the show great give me just Great feeling. One dealer states, "The most inspiring thing about a society is the man of culture it produces." I will say, I like art, as simply it is a thing produced by a human being. I like getting to know somebody through art, which is beyond verbal communications. With love an passion, when a flower, called sometime a painting or an installation, is bloomed, we all sense a fragrance of it. And, we all know that behind the scene there is hate (distress and doubt) feeling of the artist attached. Love and Hate. In life, both cannot be ignored.

William Villalongo, " Don't You Worry Bout a Thing," 2007
courtesy of Esso Gallery

the first and the last card....

2007-01-26T18:40:00.000-05:00

It is brutally cold here in NY. Rushing home with a full devices for the whether and white breadth, I found a BD card from much colder place, Finland, in my mailbox. The card from the severe whether to the other warmed up my heart immediately. The sender is Orvokki, my dearest friend, who moved in Finland one and half year ago. Surprisingly, we just exchanged emails in the late afternoon today. She mentioned that she had sent the card. Here we go! Right, we were connected. She is coming back to the city in February after her adventure in Finland. Though her parents were immigrants from Finland, she had here relatives around her and she spoke the language, for her, it seemed to be harder to get into the social loop than she had expected. She often wrote to me that people there were too shy and reserved. Since she left NY, she has been sending many cards, which nowadays is unusual way to communicate. To find her letter s and cards from a bundle of bills and to see her hand writing letters always brought joy and touched my heart. Sometimes, I opened it right away and read through in front of the mailbox, before I even opened my door. So, no more her fragrance in the mail box, yet I will have her back! Tonight, the coldest night of the year, the first card to cerebrate my BD was delivered and it will become the last card from the cold country, Finland.

Depature from Familiarity

2007-01-21T17:35:00.000-05:00

Even in a small Island called Manhattan whose size is only 6000 ha., still, for everybody, there would be some places or streets that mean something special with full of memories, I assume. In my case, they are the streets, Irving Place and 26th street between 10th and 11th. From Irving Place, I shall say that my life has started, which I talked about in the former article. Then, my life has got elaborated from 26th street where my gallery is located. Since the beginning of last year, I have been working in a full-time schedule up until now. In rainy, snowy, hot and humid, windy, cloudy or bitterly cold days, this familiar look of the street has always welcomed me. No matter how the state of my mind has been, when I make a left at the corner of 26th st on10th Avenue, exposing myself to the winds from the Hudson River, I have felt good. As somebody who was new to the gallery work, there has been always something to learn. People who I had known before then or people whom I got to know after are working somewhere on 26th street. I felt at home. Two weeks ago, however, I made my decision to leave the gallery and the street soon. Being in a gallery IS quite work, which is definitely heavier than it looks. Especially, since the gallery is not a big like Gagosian and I am the only employee, I’ve had to cope with almost every aspect of gallery business from installation, administrative work, handling the artworks, to the sales. It was fun, but I started wondering if this was really what I wanted to do. Since my graduation from the University, I have been running, taking any job opportunities that came along without inspecting. An assistant of a great curator and the gallery, many involvements of art related projects here and there, a reviewer, a sort of dealer…I was extremely lucky, but now I am a little overloaded and overwhelmed. Though I am scared, the time has come to think on what I could do or how I could situate myself in the art world. Departure from the familiar place is not always easy, I have to say. I will miss the street where I felt home. I will miss all the memories, good and bad, that I had. I will miss people who are there and people whom I met. Once in a while, however, an orbital adjustment on life is necessary. That is a law of nature and I am in the cycle of evolvement without exception. Once the old door is closed, the new winds will blow. Now, I wonder which streets would be the next to be special in the city and I am excited about unknown.

Once my mom left NY,

2007-01-15T18:49:00.000-05:00

the real winter hit the city. I feel cold outside and inside. In about 5 years, how many times have I seen her off or has she seen me off? Quite a lot, yet I am never be able to get used to it. Part of me is happy to be independent here, but part of me is unhappy about the fact that I left her alone. Two extreme feelings in my heart are never integrated, rather torture me. Especially when I see in my eyes her getting old, losing a sense of sharpness, which she used to have when she was working, I feel as if my heart is tore up. She is my only family and she brought me up alone. She is an adorable human being who loves me and loves helping people out. I saw her struggling to make our living without showing her emotions to anybody. She just ran, ran and ran. Now she is alone. It is sometimes too emotional to think and I look up the sky, “Why?” "I wish I had had siblings." " I wish my parents had never got divorced." Those unrealistic wishes begin to rise up within myself, though I know that my thoughts are irrelevant to my reality. Then, I shake my head to let my thoughts go. Accepting my reality, then I made my decision to separate myself from her, in order to build up my life. However, once in a while, the question hangs down to my head; was my choice was really right? A day like today, which is below 0 out, makes me be pensive and I miss her.

a snow fairy

2007-01-08T13:04:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a snow fairy who made the world all sparkling white, and brought a sense of innocence to everybody from the youth to the elderly. This sounds romantic, doesn't it? Well, I might be the one in the modern time, as I tend to attract snow wherever I travel in winter. (My case was not as romantic as the real fairy's story.) My mother and I went to Santa Fe to spend the holidays. Holding a tour book and printed papers listed places to visit, we were excited about this unknown land and planned going to the desserts, some ancient Indian sites and spiritual places. After 3 days, yet, a big snowstorm hit the town, which continued for 3 days. It was the biggest one for 50 years. The accumulation of the snow reached 30" or more. We stayed in a mountain and all the surrounded mountains became completely white and looked like a Christmas cake covered by sugar coat. We felt bewitched in what our eyes looked at and what we heard in falling snow. Putting the tour guide book aside, we enjoyed making a few snowmen, which were soon cover up by more snow, jumping on the accumulated snow, looking at the snow crystals, and riding a sled. However, for some people, it was an absolutely disaster. The roads to the town and the highways there were all shut down. The newspaper wasn’t delivered for a few days. People who were supposed to stay at the lodge could not make it and people who were supposed to leave had to postpone their departures. People working there ended up staying at the lodge without the way to go home and of course we were snowed up in the mountain. Even just by walking in the property, I fell on my buttocks for 3 times, seeing fireworks in my head. I saw one lady broken her wrist who was taken to a hospital. This big snow reminded me of when I went to Athens with my ex. We were in Athens a couple of winter ago, and we had a big snow, which never had happened for 100 years. In fact, we caught the moment of snowing at a cafe in the highest hill there and we were the only customers. (Though the relationship with him didnÅft work out, it was the romantic moment in the entire time with him.) Everybody in Athens has never seen snow (unless he or she was over 100 years old). People were out on the streets to photograph the snowfalls and all the cars were either stuck or spinning around. My ex, a dj, had a gig that night, but not many people showed up, as they could not move. Anyhow, I have this big-snow-for-xx years' experience more. Although we could not use the guide book for Santa Fe, the snow was a gift from the sky for us fo sure. Sometimes, we all need to have a break from an ordinary, which the snow enables us to do. Whether people agree on me or not, I am the fairy snow and I love it.

the road

2006-12-21T22:36:00.000-05:00

This year, 2006 will end soon. Looking back upon this year's happenings: instability of my health condition, the visa problem, non-stop labor, heavy responsibly on my job, moving, I feel as if I held my breath all the way up until now. Did I ever look like a boxer ducking from endless blows? Along the way on life, yes, it is true that the road will have traffic, bumps, holes, fogs, and on and on. Yet, for some people, the road seems to be smooth like a highway. Does this depend on one's choice or just fate? How will I know which way would be more smooth than the other roads? Does somebody have more clear eyes or psychic to anticipate which roads could be straight? Or, the road that one takes is already determined before one's birth? Is it true that the obstacles are to overcome or just exist anyway? Well, whether I like it or not, the one thing is clear; the road that I take doesn't seem to be so easy. However, the drive without a map, needless to say, is more adventurous. What ever I confront along the way, there, I have to stop where I might find a little flower on the road, which I will miss out, if I don't stop. Sometimes, the gasoline could run out. Then I will stop again to recuperate. There, I might see somebody whom I will miss out, if I don’t stop. The harder the road is, the more I will feel alive. That’s life and I like that. So, no matter how tough this year was, my heart is now fully filled with satisfaction and joy. Yet, the gasoline IS running out, so I will pull out my car and leave the city tomorrow. Yes, a break from the commotion of the city. I will not know what will bring to me in this break, which excites me more. In the mean time, thanks NYC and I will see u in my high-spirited next year.

While there is a kind of life

2006-12-13T22:29:00.000-05:00

While there is a kind of life where money talks, there is also a kind of life where a gun talks loud. Last week, almost all the artworks in Miami fairs seemed to be sold out within one day. It sounded like a bargain sale in a department. Yet, the artworks were in the highest prices. Concurrently, In NY, gunfire by the police officers has been a serious issue for the last three weeks. Whether the victims were armed or not, the police officers seemed to pick up the gun and open the fires so easily. In one incident in Queens, it seemed that one officer shot the gun for 33 times within less than an hour. 33 times? Why does one human being need to shoot somebody or something that many? We are living in a society where we might be tomorrow's victims of a stray bullet. Though I am talking about 2 different things here, yet my reaction towards them was same: I lost my appetite. Both phenomena where millions of millions of money was spent in one day and where the bullets were flying on the every corner of the streets are just insane and sad. I don't belong to both. For a while, "?" mark hangs in my head and my stomach is empty, yet both phenomena don't really affect my life in a long run. So, that's it, yet is that it really? The world is suffering: starving children in Africa, Tibetans who lost their own country, the innocent victims in the war zones, abused children and more. Do we really have a time to drop millions of bills and bullets? Could we utilize money and power in a different way? Then, what am I doing here? Some calls, I could hear, yet I have been pretending not to hear, which have yielded to self-loathing. OK, I am one of those hypocrites. It could be worse than who is not aware of anything in the world. Let me take for a walk, if I am allowed to and if I will not be shot by somebody somewhere.

found and be found

2006-12-09T19:52:00.000-05:00

"
New York City was frozen last Friday, and so was Chelsea art scene. All of so-called arty people like collectors, gallerists, dealers, artists, plus wannabes were in Miami for art fairs. Thus, Chelsea had become a ghost town for the entire week. Thanks to the severe Alaska-like coldness, there were only 5 or 6 visitors in the galley. Well, I have to say that they were brave. Among all, I found one Japanese couple. The owners of the gallery were away, so I was all alone and bored for a few days. I, myself as Japanese, jumped onto them to just TALK. It turned out that the gentleman was a ceramic artist, visiting NY from a rural district in Kyoto for a group show of ceramic art, which was hold in a Japanese gallery. They both seemed to be very shy, but warm and friendly. A faint and shyly smile revealed their good nature, which is really rare to see in this city. " Tonight, we will have an opening reception, so please come by," they humbly invited me. Though I said yes, I was not sure if I really would. “Oh, tonight was the night to stay home with a hot soup,” I said to myself. However, the fact that they came to NY all the way from countryside in Kyoto and happened to be in the gallery in the Siberian weather made me stand up. So I did. 6 Japanese artists exhibited the ceramics, some were conventional, and some were funky. The guy’s work was conventional and I liked it the best. “ It takes 3 days to bake ceramics and you never let the fire go out for 3 days,” he explained. “ Wow, sounds like having a new-born baby,” I said and they laughed. The big round plate caught my eyes. It was a brownish plate with circle patterns and turquoise blue was appeared in parts. “This is like the universe!” I was excited. “ Indeed, I actually named this piece the universe,” his girlfriend smiled back. “ Depending on the season, a temperature of the day, a fire degree, the work changes its face, though I use the same materials,” he added. After looking at them carefully, I mentioned that I would buy teacups. (I wanted to buy the plate, but it was over my budget and no storage to put it.) “ Please don’t buy. We were really happy that you started talking to us in the gallery today, so we were thinking about giving some to you,” they mumbled. It was touching. I was the one who were dying to talk to somebody and they happened to be there. Getting know that they were happy about chatting with me made me feel really happy. I felt as if flowers were blooming inside of me. Their remark made me feel like buying it more. After negotiation, we were settled down my purchase with a small gift from them. I found them and was found by them. Yes, the city endlessly gives us a chance for meeting new people, whether you pick up or ignore it. Interwoven by spontaneous chance, the city itself becomes a treasure. On the way back home, I felt warm inside, walking against the bitter cold winds. Life is beautiful, isn't it.

food and love

2006-12-05T17:05:00.000-05:00

The other day, I visited my dearest friend's house and she cooked dinner for us. I have known her here for over 4 years, so she is my best and longest friend in NY. Sometimes, the moment you see somebody, you already feel as if you knew the person for a long time. That was the case with her. Sometimes, there would be a time to lose in touch with a close friend, but it doesn’t mean that the friendship dies. So, that was the case with us. Recently, she broke up with her boyfriend, so she has become more available to me now. She is a very spiritual person, practicing meditation every morning. In fact, she just came back from 2 weeks retreat in Arizona. " I can't stand eating out these days, as I had so much good quality food in Arizona." The menu that night was soybeans Indian curry with Brown rice and Japanese radish salad. All the ingredients were organic. The food was just mindblowing. I could not believe how just the food made one feel so much better. I puked up the previous night and I wasn't feeling too good, yet immediately I could really sense that my body was relaxed and happy. The organic ingredients as well as her affection for cooking made everything tasteful. For me, the food was the third among main human desires, sleep, sex, and food. I used to eat to satisfy my stomach and take supplements, period. Now, I have been paying more attention to what I take in my body. Then, I have realized that this would be nothing but about love. "What is love?" I had been asking to myself. " I can't love myself," I had been feeling that way. Love is not theoretical. Love is not something to think or ask for. I don't still know exactly what it is, yet the very intention to start doing something good to your body would be just love. Right, this is very simple, and even kids know that. Yet, the simplest thing can be easily forgotten. I myself forgot. The casual dinner with my good friend made me recall the simple yet important fact in life.

endless

2006-12-03T23:19:00.000-05:00

I could not hold myself the other day, so I cried at the work place unknowingly. Feeling needs for frantic and endless endeavor just overwhelmed me. Needs to improve English in general, to study more Art History, to catch up with art scene now, to get connections with so-called " certain people," in art biz, and to cope with what needs to be done in everyday life matters. How hard I try, I canÅft feel that I am and will be good enough. It seems that feeling good about myself is just too far to reach. Yet, why do I need to do all in the first place? Will it be certain that I feel confident and satisfied with myself, if I get all? Am I then now really a useless human being or loser? Since when has innocent curiosity or ambition become just painful struggle? Since when have what I am and what I will be become an enemy to each other? Since when have I become a victim of social context? All those questions exploded all at once. It is often said, “ Nobody besides you judges yourself.” I can’t agree on this. The phrase should be like this, “ You judge yourself and stop it. Some judge you, but who cares? “ Yes, I know I am hard on myself, which doesn’t help the situation but make it worse. Yes, I know some judge me and I do have to stand up and be strong enough to say to myself, “ Who cares?” Desire to learn will be endless and so will judgments from others and myself. I can’t drop the desire, yet can drop judgments off. More importantly, always I have to remember that I am a loving and loved human being without reasons.

Japanese spirit 3: final

2006-11-16T18:59:00.000-05:00

While the artist and my mom were into their serious conversation about Mt. Koya and Shingon Buddhism, I was taking a picture of everything in his studio. I was totally like a tourist inside of his house. Right, after having been away from Japan for a long time, I have been missing this kind of Japanese spirit. Or, I have been looking for it even before then. I never liked Tokyo. I was not comfortable with the society and life style, like fully crowded trains, robot-like people in a same type of clothing in a same routine, hierarchy, and so forth. I had been physically, mentally constrained and suffocated. Every time I went back to the city, the feeling of confusion and hatred towards Tokyo became worse. The appearance of the city has been changing radically. New modern architectures, and hundreds of hundreds of new boutiques have been built up. It has been absolutely disgusting to observe. Why do we need so many boutiques? Surely, people seem obsessed with fashion, yet to me, they don't look happy with even a fancy, high-end dresses. Above all, everyone looks the same anyway; men with a cheap looking suit, women with a same style of make-up, hair color and fashion. I hate that almost every women die their hair in brown. I hate the fact that though they are so much in to fashion, too afraid to be individual. Why like this? Since when? Every step I took, this question mark is banging my head and upsetting my stomach. What happened to our beautiful traditions in this country like Shrines, Temples, Kimono, Black hair, sense of beauty, and sensitivity in people? Did we all lose them, as we lost the war? Was the US invasion only the reason? Then, do those Japanese living in Japan who are desperate to be like westerns know about the western culture beside the fashion? I was questioning why our great things were left behind and became something to just view, not to live or cope with. I am not saying that we need to live like in the ancient manner, yet at least; we could take and use some of them in a daily life. A daily life level, yes, which is it. That's exactly what I am missing and exactly what this artist is doing. Though he is not living in a traditional house, or not wearing Kimono, he is accommodating the forgotten traditions to contemporary life. He takes over what his grand father as a Miya-daiku has left in this country, the great spirit of the craftsmanship. Lost his parents in his young age, he had to carry what all his ancestors tried to tell. I assume that it would not have been easy path as an artist or as a human being, yet he found the way. Then, this spirit deeply manifests through his work. Thus, the work becomes genuine, touching one's heart. His work doesn’t need any explanation. After my mom and I left, we are speechless for a while. We didn't need to talk about it. Given some important ritual stuff from Mt. Koya by him, she was grateful. The first thing I did for art in Japan wasn't only about art. It became the most significant event in my entire trip this time. Since I have been in NY, I myself have been ignoring Japan. Now, this event gave me an opportunity to face it again, evaluate it again, and identify myself as Japanese. More importantly, it woke me up to the point where my feeling of passion to bridge the gap between forgotten and now, and west and east became much stronger.

Japanese spirit 2

2006-11-11T21:34:00.000-05:00

"My intention for making art is to convey invisible light," he said and continued. " I was once meditating at a full moon night in Mt. Koya and I saw the moon-like light within myself, and that was what I tried to embody in my latest work." Then, he took me to his studio. The first thing that caught my eyes was a household Shinto alter. All the tools and books were in a perfect order as the grandson of Miya-Daiku. " I was taught by him to take special care of the tools as a person who makes something," he explained. The air was sacred and clean. Then, there were 2 huge painting-like wax sculptures, emanating the dim light through the wax. They were absolutely stunning and have a dignified presence. I felt as if I heard the sound of a temple bell. The work was made by wax and oil paint. The size of each work is about 1.2 m x 1.2m and 5cm thick. One has a big full moon-like circle in the middle. The other has a set of small circles, some in full, some in crescent or decrement forms, setting in a symmetrical circle. The moon-like light emerging from the semi-transparent wax looked as if they were alive. The more I saw, the more the light started moving around like the real moon. According to him, wax shrinks or expands, depending on the temperature. My feeling of excitement reached to the point where I needed to ask my mom to come. I felt that she had to experience this. She is a devout Buddhist, who got retired a few years ago after her almost 40 years of career in fashion, who brought me up all by herself. Now, she has been in a transition for life. My instinct was telling me that this artist and she would have something to share with. When she arrived and saw the work, she was speechless for a while. He and I were looking at her back against his work. " Everything disappears," she commented. "Nothing exists," she added. "What do you mean?" I asked. " Light disappears and you will be united into the work. This is the kind of work that I want to view alone," she was really into it. So, we left her alone in his studio....

Japanese spirit 1

2006-11-07T19:44:00.000-05:00

The first thing that I did for art in Japan was an artist's studio-visit. On the third day of my arrival in Japan, feeling a bit of jet-lug, I headed to the studio, the studio of Kisho Mukaiayama. (It would be hard to get this, but already his name gave me an impression that he would be someone who has a Japanese spirit. ) He picked me up at the reception of his apartment building. " I heard that you were a grand son of Miya Daiku," I said after greeting him. "Yes, and I was brought up in Koya-San," he replied. “ All Right,” his remark hit me. Miya-daiku are highly skilled wooden builders, who build ancient and traditional architectures like Shrine and Temple. The number of Miya-Daiku gets less and less, so they are considered as a national asset. To become Miya Daiku is like to be a monk, requiring a great deal of training, patience and self-discipline. So, a grandson of Miya-Daiku means something here. Then, Koyasan is a mountain where a great monk," Kukai," was settled down and founded a temple for the study and practice of Esoteric Buddhism twelve centuries ago. This is the very spiritual place where my mom regularly has gone to practice over 3 decades, and I have been for 3 times. Something was clicking my mind. As I expected, his place was absolutely neat and well decorated. A white leather sofa, white coffee table, his painting-like white wax sculptures, Japanese traditional furniture, Joseph Beuys’s posters, all are well fitted into his modern apartment. With my excitement, a tea set that he served knocked me down. In a small Japanese traditional tray, everything from the teacup from some cookies and chocolate was placed in a well-deliberated manner. It was like a Zen garden. At this point, even before seeing his art, I already got a great sense of who he was and I felt that I was meant to get to know him as a person. He had Japanese Spirit, which we are missing or losing now, which I was really longing to see. “My mother needs to see him,” I kept thinking, the moment I met him. My soul, loving to connect people to people, had been banging me....to be continued.

missing home

2006-11-01T19:51:00.000-05:00

I came back from Japan last Monday. Besides the fact that I had a good time there, somehow I feel a bit lost now. I cannot still believe that I was in Tokyo... until 2 days ago, I was in the different air, smell, and sound. It is amazing that 13 hours of the flight could put me in such entirely different worlds. One might say, " Come on! You just came back from the trip. It is natural that you feel strange." Right, yet going back to hometown differs from some trips where nothing could be familiar to one's eyes, doesn't it? My base has been in NY, but Tokyo where I was brought up is also my home as well. The moment I opened the door of my house in Tokyo, I could naturally accommodate myself. Without opening my eyes, I, for instance, knew where towels or toothbrushes or cups were. Everything around me in Tokyo hasn't really changed. At the same time, I had to admit again that I could not fit myself in the society of Japan. I was a stranger even in the familiar surroundings. On the contrary, though I belong to NY at the moment, I am not sure if the city is ever my home. Then, the question is raised up. "What defines home? Profession? Family? Friends? Familiar buildings? " "Which city do I really belong to, the city where my dearest mother and my friends live, but I can't find a way to fit in, or the city where I put so much energy on accomplishing my career, but not many close friends live?" I don't know the answer. Perhaps, I may be just missing warmth in my hometown, which I cannot really find here. Home might not necessary be the place where one belongs to. Perhaps, home is in the deep center of oneself where everybody is coming from. The invisible place where we all can share love and nobody will not have to feel lonely or lost. In either case, I am still missing home.

love

2006-10-04T20:31:00.000-04:00

There is sometimes a day when you just and suddenly feel nothing but love. I was visiting my dearest friends, Lia and Facundo and their kids, Carla and Noak. They were renovating their house, making a room for Carla and Noak. Paints, toys, stuccos, tools were all over..... It was a total mess. Then, the kids were of course making a big mess over the mess. While the daddy, Facundo was fixing the wall with stuccos and the mommy was trying to clean the mess, the 2-year-old son was driving a toy-car in the mess with irresistible smile. There was background music of a cry by 4-year-old daughter who tumbled or the son who consistently needed his mommy’s attention on and off. Then, the mommy and daddy were arguing in Spanish. Nothing was in order, but I just felt so much love inside of this chaotic house. While they were arguing, I just said to them, " you guys are the best parents that I ever met." It wasn't sarcasm. I meant it from the bottom of my heart. They both are artists and they are not rich. They have to sacrifice what they used to do for the kids and they are trying to find the way to balance out in between family and the individual needs. Though nothing in the house was fancy, almost everything like a bed and table for kids, a bath and a kitchen, was their hand made. The house is like a mechanical factory, which reminds me of a movie by Hayao Miyazaki. On the birthday for the kids, that’s the time for Lia to express herself as the artist. The cakes that she made, a tropical fish-like cake for Carla, a lion-like cake for Noak,were absolutely funky and sweet. Just staying at their house makes me feel love. Just seeing them makes me feel love even in the middle of the mess and mess. After Facundo left the house for his counseling appointment, Lia was a bit bitching about the mess that he left. I just said to her, “ you guys are amazing,” and I started crying over feeling love. We laughed together after all. This form of the family was my dream, since I was little. I never had that, as I was always alone at home. Nowadays, people have a nanny for kids. People are too busy for kids. What they manage to do, despite their struggle, is precious and beautiful. That night, the least I could was to cook for them. We, Lia, Carla, Noak, and I, had dinner together and danced together. I was completely soaked into water called love that day.

When Something not Special becomes Special

2006-09-24T21:17:00.000-04:00

On another usual day of last week, I received a spontaneous call from a friend of mine to have dinner together. We went to a Chinese restraunt near by my house and we had 2 plates of dumplings. Nothing special. "I realized that I have not many friends here," I said. " Who has in the city, the city for Biz, my dear." he smiled and added. "You have me." "Right, but you are leaving soon," I replied. " Still, I am you friend, right?” His departure would not be so special. I already had enough farewell parties for my friends who had left the city for good. We clacked fortune cookies and both got nothing-special-proverbs...something like "success follows by efforts." What a special wisdom! As the usual course of after dinner thing, we had a cigarette and coffee. 5 fire trucks were speeding away with their sirens wailing as usual, letting all know about someone's suffering. Then, when they all pulled over my street, it became a little special. We followed them like curious onlookers, but nothing was happening. Right, we forgot for a minute that America loved making a big drama out of nothing. We headed home and had a chat about art with a few cup of tea. After we parted, I watched "Sex and City," as a part of my adgenda nowadays and went into a bed as usual time. On that day, nothing was really special. Then, when I woke up in the morning on the following day, I realized that this kind of nothing special IS something special in the city. More over, the fact that he, a German artist who has been here for 7 years is going to leave for China within a few weeks to start up a new life made the night more special. Sometimes, in life, one familiar affair becomes more meaningful than an occasional special event. Surely, it was the night when just one usual dinner with my friend happened to become special.

"You need to protect yourself in US,"

2006-09-18T22:54:00.000-04:00

often, people give me such advise. Is it true? Do we really need to protect from ourselves? If so, what a sad world we are living in. My ex often told me, " Once you show your weakness, people start taking advantage of you." He trusted nobody. The other day, when I told a friend of mine that an editor had offered me to edit my blog site for potential publication in the future for free. Then, he warned me that he might claim some fees or a percentage afterwards and he concluded that this is the US, good or bad. I understood what he meant. But, I did feel sad about the fact that people are too prepared or accustomed for not trusting anything or anybody. People often tell me like,"Oh, you don't know anything about the world,” or "You are so naive." Am I? Really? Is trusting somebody's word so stupid? Let's say he was right, and then what would I lose anyway? I would pay the editor, if he asks. He will be the one who loses credit with me, but not me. Of course, nobody in the world wants to be betrayed or taken advantage and we all have to be cautious. Yet, trusting nobody or being too cautious is not the solution. Are we all going to become closed-mind like a dead shell? "We are in the world where no dignity exists. So, welcome on board and face the reality" Is that is? Even if people think I am stupid and naive, I would rather the one who is deceived not deceives. Even if I lose, always I will learn something important from the experience. That experience will become wisdom, which nobody can steal from me. Still, I believe in the world and myself.

"Close your eyes,

2006-09-11T18:18:00.000-04:00

and tell me what do you feel secure about your self?" a friend of my friend whom I just met asked me the other night after I'd told her that I was really insecure when it came to romacne. I closed my eyes and thought about it for a while. It was easier to tell what I feel insecure about myself. After a few minuets of silence, I said to her, " Perhaps, my thoughts or how I feel. " "OK, then stay there for a while, and whenever you feel shaky or nervous, simply go back and stay," she smiled at me. I didn't know exactly where to be. They are not some random thoughts in everyday life. They are some thought, like the articles in my blog, when I am deeply thinking or analyzing in general. The thoughts are ultimately connected to how I see from my eyes and hear from my ears. I wonder though if these are coming from my upbringing or culture or the educations or experiences? If one's thoughts are all originated from those only, then they would be limited.
When I was around 26, I was suffering from major depression, feeling lost. I thought and thought how I could get out of the hell or find real myself. I went all the way back to my childhood where I was really happy with myself. Then, I started sorting the things out like the things that I did to expect others and so forth. I didn't read any self-help book. I myself found the clue to get in touch with my soul. Some years later, I came across a psycology book, which talked about how you find yourself. There, it talked about exactly what I did for myself. I cried in happiness. It confirmed that I wasn't so wrong. It proved me that I was not only the one who felt the way I did. These thoughts came not really from me. I rather feel that they come from the same place where I and we were born. Then, when I closed my eyes again, more and more, I felt secure. More and more I felt like staying there. The practice has been helpful since then. I feel protected and warm, whenever I close my eyes. Almost, I could feel that nothing matters at the end of the day. Well, not quite there yet to be honnest, but will get there.

"you are thoughtful today,"

2006-09-04T17:42:00.000-04:00

my friend, a DJ and scientist, Lele said to me, when I saw him briefly the other day. " Is it a good thing or bad?" I asked. "Neither, you just look thoughtful today," he said again. He was right indeed. " Well, perhaps because I have been spending alone these days, sort of disconnected from the world," I excused myself. "Tell me about it. You know, here in the city, nobody really calls me to say bull-shit, everybody calls me to ask something," he turned his eyes away. He also added that he had been missing Italy, his home country, and nothing stopped leaving NY besides his girlfriend. " Call me, when you want to drink sometimes,” he left. On the way home back, I asked myself, "What really stops me leaving NY?" It would be nothing but work. I don't have a boyfriend. Most of my friends are couples. A few of my close friends already left the city. Over the summer, how many phone calls for talking about stupid things did I receive? Not many. Today was Labor Day. Again, I find myself alone over the holiday. Walking along the river, I passed by couples, family, and a group friends. I was lying down on the grass looking up the autumn sky. White clouds were running through the sky, drawing lines and circles. " I am leaving the city as there is no such intimacy here," my friend's cite was carried by winds over the river. "Please stop," I said in my mind. Sometimes, I allow someone's comment or the standard idea in the society to have more power over my real thought. I am aware of my feeling loneliness wishing I could be with somebody whom I really care for, yet it doesn't mean that I want to leave the city yet. I know that there are a few friends, which is enough. Wherever one goes, no matter how many friends or lover one has around him or her, life is basically a solitary journey. Surely, I had been thoughtful these days. You know why? I got my period today. A woman is made in a very complicated manner.

Fear

2006-08-31T20:02:00.000-04:00

I had a nightmare and found myself sweating the other night. I don't remember the details, but do remember the feeling of fear. I examined what I really fear for. Here are the lists of that I am scared of or worried about: being mugged or attacked, being shouted by people for no reason, walking under some construction, getting on an airplane, a boat and NY taxi, facing close people’s death, being rejected, dealing with the close people getting grumpy or angry, a needle, a mouse, a barking dog, an unpredictable cat's action, judgmental eyes from strangers, sudden noises at night, disappointing people, lightning, earthquake on and on.... I have been timid, since I was little. I know why I am like this. When I was little, a shocking incident froze the whole country in Japan. A crazy guy killed 7 or 8 people including a little baby by a knife on the street in the middle of the day without reason. I was terrified with it and walking on the streets. This incident convinced me that the world was cruel. I concluded that even if I had behaved well, or tried not to be hated by people, I would still have had a chance to be killed. I asked my mother, "If I happened to be involved with a similar situation, what should I do? "If you were with me, you just ran and ran," she told. " Nooooo, you are the one who has to run and run, as I don't want to be left all alone," I cried. I was scared of not only this kind of incidents, but also the fact that I would have ended up being an orphan, if my mother had been involved with those incidents. I would rather die than being left alone, as I would not be able to deal with losing her. I still remember the face of the killer who affected my life up until now. One day, in my mother's absent night, I was holding a knife at the door all night when I heard some noises outside of our house. Nothing happened. It might have been a cat's act. Now the world is more dangerous than those days. I am still alive, yet I am the same. I get scared of just walking on the streets. Sometimes, I truly wish I were in a total safe place, which would not exist in the world. I look up the sky, wondering if there is utopia up there. My friend said the other day, "the world is full of happiness." I replied to her in my mind, "with sadness as well." I can't ignore that.

a date

2006-08-27T23:46:00.000-04:00

It has been wet and gray, raining on and off in the city. If not going out, I like it, giving a great sense of tranquility. This weekend, I had a date with myself. First I took myself to the MOMA to study art history especially in 40's to now all over again. I took a long time to view each painting. After one round, I started back again. Though I am working in art biz, I was ignorant, having a smattering of art history in the University where I had been. "Without knowing the background of general or art history, one cannot appreciate art, “ often be said. Before I was not really for the notion, as art should speak itself. In other words, art should be strong and aesthetic enough to convey universal understanding. Yet, I was totally wrong and too idealistic. Without knowledge of any art or historical movement behind, one will never get the point of "ready made," by Duchamp. It is not about whether one will like it or not. It is about the history. So, this time in the MOMA, I for the first time felt as if I understood overall art history, then even enjoyed some paintings that I never was captivated before. With my light steps, I left the museum, feeling that I took one step closer to some enlightenment. Then, for this reward, I fed myself a hotdog with a coffee in Central Park under the cloudy sky. For the rest, I cooked and read a lot. Today, more quiet. I joined some Qui going class this morning, came home, and stayed home, studying again art history. I felt a bit lonely, but tonight some visitors unexpectedly visit me. Ladybugs.... five of them. (If they are 5 of cockroaches, I will die in a heart attack.) They look like one family, as the sizes are variable. The biggest one, which I think the dad, is moving here and there, while the rests are staying together. They put my face smile. Rains calmed my mind and the ladybugs brought warmth. My date was very romantic in the end.

What makes an piece of art

2006-08-25T14:35:00.000-04:00

so special? To answer the question is, I guess, as hard as to find out how a human being was born in the first place. The other day, with a friend of mine, an art collector, I went to two museums; the National Philadelphia Museum and the Brandywine River Museum in Philly. Among so many master pieces that we saw, there was one painting that etched into my mind and still remained clearly in the back of my head. It was "Snow Hill," by Andrew Wyeth. It depicts several of Andrew Wyeth's models (including Bill Loper, Helga Testorf, Adam Johnson, Karl Kuerner and Ann Kuerner) dancing around a May Pole in white field and sky for the background. It was breathtaking for me. Right, his technique was great, but there were so many artists whose technique was killer. Surely, art is all about one's taste, period.... Really? Is that ever all? This feeling of, " Wow, I love the piece," is actually similar to that feeling of, "Wow, I crashed on HIM." Why the him and the piece? What clicks you and why are you so sure about it? In that sense, art is a living creature, even though it doesn’t hold or kiss you. Coincidentally, an established artist whom I met recently told me about his dream last night at dinner, " It is hard to make an art that can move people, so my dream is to create something that can move just myself." I listened, thinking about Weyth's painting in my mind. "I think that art or a painting is not only about the surface. I believe that art is about something deeper in some energy levels, " he continued. " which is ironically invisible," I added. I do agree on him. Still, my question is not clearly answered in words. Perhaps, it is better to leave like that. In life, there is always something that is impossible or unnecessary to explain. However, we know always that "something," deep down.

summer vacation

2006-08-06T18:28:00.000-04:00

It is not so easy to do nothing especially in the city, right? Everybody is going away for summer, as the city is not the place to have a break. Then, only some tourists who have a great ambition to do something in the city are really busy. Like everybody, since August, I am really having a summer vacation, getting a tan, reading books, and feeling relaxed. One thing that differs from everybody's vacation is that I am not in South France, Caribbean Islands or no else. I am right here in the middle of the busiest city. I actually found 2 great getaways in a walking distance from my new nest: the garden in a church and Hudson River Park. I knew about the garden in the church, as I always passed through on the way to the gallery. Like Gramercy Park, I didn't expect it to be open to the public. Surprisingly, it WAS open from Monday to Saturday. Since I figured, I have been there every 2 days or so. What is great about it is that there is almost nobody. Surrounded by the historical architectures, the big trees are swinging softly. It is so tranquil that you will completely forget that you are in the city. Then, here is Hudson River Park. I have been in NY for 4 years, yet I was not aware of the development of the area. I was the east side people and I hardly came all the way to the west before. I was stunned by the fact that how the park became organized and clean. People are running, walking, skateboarding, riding a bike, or lying on the grass with bikini along the river. It is like California! So, those two places are my spots, plus my new nest. It is strange to say that I feel very new in NY all over again. As I said in the last article, I am still not getting used to the west side. Every time I walk around the neighborhood, I find something new. Also, I was really working hard this year. Therefore I forgot how to stop or how to do nothing. (It is like a-bird-who-forgets-how-to-sing-situation.) When I don't do any productive things, I feel a bit guilt and uneasy. The commotion of the city intensifies my feeling that way. Yet, people need to have a break once in a while. Life is not only about working. Walking slowly gives us a space to find a tiny flower on the corner of the concrete street, recognize the beautiful sky in the sunset and the smell of the air. Feeling a bit out of balance, I have been forcing myself not to doing anything. Well, I've started remebering how to sing a little by little.

I assume

2006-08-06T12:15:00.000-04:00

that every single person, more or less, has some peculiar and inexplicable habits that can't be got away with. In my case, when it comes to walking with somebody, I do need to walk by the right side of him or her. Otherwise, I feel uneasy. Likewise, I feel insecure, whenever I go to the West Side of the city. My living situation in Manhattan had been always in the East Side, whether it was uptown or downtown. As a consequent, areas where I hung out were also in the East Side. Here I am now though, last week, I moved in the West Side. Well, I sort of needed to move for some reasons, which is too complicated to explain here. This apartment was love at first sight. What is great about it is the view from the windows. The windows are facing the interior garden and gigantic trees stand over the building. The trees are so tall that I can almost touch the trees from the windows. In my former apartment, on the other hands, I had no views what-so-ever. I was on the ground floor and all I could see was gigantic ventilation machines in the buildings, which polluted airs were blowing off continuously. So, I am quite happy now, seeing the trees with the birds singing. However, this is about the apartment, not about the east-west side fetish. I, in fact, extremely feel off-balanced in the neighborhood, as I mentioned. I am missing the former neighborhood, which was Gramercy. I lived there for 3 years, and my life in NY really started from there. I loved Gramercy Park, which I never was inside. I loved the street, Irving Place. As much as I hated Third Avenue and the Third avenue-people, I felt safe there. I was pretty much grounded in the East Side. It isn’t easy to leave something that you are so accustomed to. Yes, I am the one who wanted to move. Now, I see this as a practice. Like the principles of Yin and Yang, anything can’t be only in one-side, which is the unviersal law of nature. The energy has to flow. Therefore this could be the lesson to balance myself out. Like this: once in a while, you force yourself to switch a shoulder for having your bag. (Well, for my walking fetish, I can’t compromise though!)

the finale

2006-07-30T20:59:00.000-04:00

The last day of my yoga retereat, I left the ashram around 3. I was taken back to the invisible bus station. As I wrote in the last 2 articles, I was a bit nervous about going back to the small town. My fear was betrayed. It turned out to be a Jewish neighborhood...well traditional one, you know. The street was filled with the Jewish in a black suit, hat and beard and sideburns. It was almost 90 degree outside, by the way. I was stunned and it was absolutely unpredictable. Even in a pizza place, the Jewish was working. I felt as if I were watching a movie or something. I am sure I was very outstanding there, waiting for the bus at invisible bus station. I was wondering if the bus ever found me. Then, here it was. The big bus appeared in a distance and I was jumping, waving my hands, shouting in my mind like, "let me get out of here." Surprisingly, all the way to Monticello, all the small towns passing by were the Jewish towns. I caught a scene where the Jewish kids were playing in a forest park with all the daddies with the black attire, all the mommies with a hair cap and classic one-piece dress. It was like the scene in a myth in ancient times. I wondered what is America? People emigrated from another continent, but what happened was that they were building up their own country all over again? "Where are we?" the bus driver said. "Yeah, right." The bus driver's cite woke me up from my feeling wonder. Then, everybody in the bus said to the driver with the name of the bus station. All right, his question had nothing to do with my thought. He was really asking exactly which bus station we were...what kind of bus driver by the way? Anyway, it was an interesting experience all the way. "Shflkl ajsd dkfdjf." ladies, the western people in the ashram who are dedicated an Indian god like Siva, the traditional Jewish in the forest, ponds like Monet’s water lilies painting, Macdonald, Burger King...nothing was merging together. All were separate from each other, and then we call this America. When the bus entered into the chaos again, I kept my experience in the hill in the ashram locked in my mind. I , in a way, found myself missing the city, to the point where all the ethnic cultures are slightly closer to each other. That, we call New York City.

tranquilty

2006-07-26T23:30:00.000-04:00

After hustle and bustle of my travel, I finally got to the ashram. All I could see in my eyes was nothing but green. The rain stopped. The sun emerged from the thick clouds. The birds were singing. The winds were sighing and playing with the leaves of all the trees. The place was located in the hill, surrounded with the forest and the Catskill mountain ranges in a far distance. The panoramic view of the mountains was just marvelous. After leaving my bags in a small room, I was just happy, soaking myself into innocence of nature. Yes, that's all I wanted. At 4pm, the yoga class started in an outside facility. It was such a precious experience to do yoga, looking at the sky and mountain with music of the birds and winds. Here was the daily schedule, wake-up call at 5:30, a meditation and talk at 6 for 1.5 hours, yoga at 8 for 2 hours, brunch at 10:30, free time from 11 to 4, yoga at 4 for 2 hours again, dinner at 6:30 and the meditation and talk at 8 again. I stayed for two nights. It was $75 per night for a private room. So, it was a good deal indeed. Well, what I donÅft like about this kind of place, so-called new age or spiritual institution, are often people. People who are really into spirituality related things or one specific belief aren't really open minded: they act as if they were so special and different from so-called ordinary people who are really new to those fields. I am telling you this, as a person who experienced those type of places enough out of curiosity or feeling despair. As of the case, people in this ashram were not too open, which wasn't surprising. However, I wasn't there to meet people. I was there to be completely alone. Then, this place was perfect. In the glass field in the property, I was all alone with a book. I even sneaked to smoke a few cigarettes and had a piss without need to hide. (They were the sins that I made.) In fact, I somehow took advantage the place. I saw the sunrises and sets. I saw the blue sky filled with diamonds-like stars. I smelled the earth. My heart was really uplifted. My body was warmed up as well as cooled off. I need it desparelatly. I need to be rejuvenated from all the dramas that I went through last few months. I looked up the blue sky and could not stop thanking the innocence of nature. After 3days of my vacation, I was sort of ready for the siren of an ambulance, muggy and stinky air, walking and making my way around...? Well, there was no choice. One thing that I was concerned about though was to get back the small town to wait for the bus.... to be continued...again.

From babylon to...

2006-07-23T21:55:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, I took a yoga and meditation retreat in Upstate in NY for 3 days, wanting to cleanse my body and spirit. Despite my genuine desire to go to somewhere peaceful, to get there was already stressful. From one of the most chaotic place in NY, Port Authority, I took an express bus to Monticello. The bus was full. A lady behind me was talking loud with her cell phone for a long time. Then, somebody was shouting at this lady to shut up. At Monticello, I changed into a local bus. The local bus was a funky ride. First, at a bus station in a gigantic food mall, Russian looking ladies were holding many shopping bags, which were full of foods. "Where are you going?" the bus driver asked. " Vbjdie sfiijf akjhdj kl." They spoke non-English. The driver asked the same question. Here again, "Dhe sdksjh akjdjh skkjf.." They were three ladies and talking to each other like a sparrow. The driver then raised up his voice. Still, all everybody in the bus could hear from them is "lsk fghjh skjkja kdjh." Somehow, they managed to settle, which took a while of course. I enjoyed a typical American scenery, which is the big road with MacDonald, Burger King, diners and National bank of America. Then, in the middle of nowhere on the street, in rains, Mexican guys sanded and waved their hands on the street. The bus stopped and they got in. Is this hitchhike bus or what? I was a bit worried. Anyway, in the bus, "ksjfid skd skds"and Spanish languages were on max volume. The bus was already taking a small road. The small towns looked very poor. I will say Rockaway in the forest version. Again, I was a bit concerned about where I was getting off. My intuition was right. I was dropped off in a small town. There was no bus stand. It was raining crazy. All shops were closed. (All? There were just only 5 shops.) My phone was not in service. There were no people on the street. The public phone was broken. Feeling freaked out, I was desperately running with a big knapsack to a gas station. I needed to call an ashram where I was staying to be picked up. I was soaked waiting for someone from the ashram. I felt as if I were an orphan like a story of "Anne of Green Gables." When the car arrived, I was jumping out of the gas station….the story will continue.

Making one goal

2006-07-10T19:16:00.000-04:00

is such a big deal in Soccer. On the other hands, in the games of basketball, you see the goal almost every 5 seconds. When it comes to the soccer though, for about 2 hours, there are no goals sometimes. In my case, I am glued to TV screen, yet I have a bad fortune to miss the goals, like when I go to bathroom or look down to check something. What a misery.... As you all may know, watching the soccer can be just frustrating, breathtaking and heartbreaking. However, this is the sport that I can't stop loving. I always look down people who watch a baseball in a sports bar, yet for the soccer, I am the one in the sports bar and admire all the viewers. The world cup soccer 2006 was over yesterday, bringing the victory to Italy. Ever time I watched the games, I found myself losing a bit of my weight and sanity. I even ask myself why the soccer is so special? Why are so many people attracted this frustrating game? 1, the soccer has both aspects of the baseball and the basketball. The baseball is so systematic that it can be just boring. The basketball is too fast to watch and has too many goals. The soccer has a combination of the systematic plays and fast continuous actions. 2, the soccer is the only sport that handles a bowl without hands. Due to this restriction, it becomes very special. When the players pass around the bowl by only their legs or heads, it looks complicated but incredible beautiful and magical. I feel as if I were seeing an art. 3, the soccer is a psychological game. It depends on physicality, but also continuously immediate decisions, intuitive actions, deceptive trick, teamwork, individual role and play. 4, the soccer is like sex. As it is such a big deal to make just one goal, the moment players make the goal, it gives you just ecstasy or orgasm. To get to the point where the kicker make the goal, all the players have to set up the moment. When the finale: the goal comes, therefore, you can't hold yourself any longer. The only thing that I don't like about the soccer is PK. PK kills the point of the games. What was the players’ struggling and running around the field for 2 hours about then? It is all about the goalkeeper and his pressure becomes too heavy. So, yesterday, I was watching the final for the world cup at an Italian cafe with Italian fans. The game ended with the PK. Of course, I wasn't happy with the contents of the final game. The semi final was the most beautiful game for Italy. Anyway, all the way, I watched the games alone or with some people. I sometimes left the place with my angry face, because of the loss for a team I was for. For all day, I became cranky for the game that I watched. I jumped out off a chair and screamed at a café alone. Yep, it certainly made me emotional like a relationship. What did I get? Nothing. Yet, even after I become grumpy and nasty for the soccer, I will find myself going somewhere to start watching the game.

Be back!

2006-07-06T22:03:00.000-04:00

I went to Canada to get the visa. I ended up waiting for more than 12 hours in Newark airport. My flight was cancelled and I was on a standby, which I could not get. I booked another flight in another airline in Laguardia airport. Half-hour later, I was about to head to the airport, yet it turned out that the flight was again cancelled. Then, I stayed to get the last flight. I was patient enough. Even in the airport, with a book, "The places that scare you," by Pema Chodoron, a Buddhist monk, I sat on the floor like a rock and tried to stay relaxed. However, when I heard the announcement of the delay on the flight, I almost screamed and broke something. GREAT. Everything seemed against me or my intention to stay in USA. I felt like going home and pack all the stuff and going back to my country. Having breakfast, lunch, dessert, dinner and lots of coffee in this airport, I was drained completely. When I arrived in Canada, it was already 1 am and everything was hidden in the darkness of the black night. Yet, all the negative feelings in a way were gone with relief. Yap, I forgot that I liked being in unknown place. In fact, for 2 days, I had fun, walking around the riverside, the national museum and small marches. The air was fresh and the greens brought easiness. The rains drops heal my mind. Sitting on the grass and listening to the sound of the winds, I felt something deeper than something: not easy to tell, but something deeper within myself. I assured that I didn't need to hold on to one place or one thing. For a month of June, I was physically in NY, yet not mentally, due to the visa situation. I felt as if I were homeless. That I could not sleep, that I cried over, that I ran around to ask for help, and all were over like bubbles. This experience made me tough and free. I saw the sunset over the Hudson river from Chelsea today, I felt I was back to NY. Commotion of the city was absent. Waiting for a bus, the elderly lady started talking to me, " It was beautiful sunset, wasn't it." " Yes, I was gazing at it actually. " “ Does it mean the end of the world?" " don't know, yet it could be better to have that day, perhaps?" We saw the sunset together until the bus came. The end of the world? Somehow, I am fine even with it. Why? Cause I can live anywhere in the universe where no paper is required. After saying good bye to this lady, I said to myself, " All right, I am really back to be in NY in the mean time!"

rain and tears

2006-06-10T21:02:00.000-04:00

The city was crying and I was crying for a week. Walking in the continuous rain, I, for the first time in my life in NY, thought about going back to my home country, feeling drained. My application for a working visa failed. Last Friday, I was told that the immigration shut down for any application earlier than the expected day. When my lawyer sent it, it was already too late. I cried like a baby on that day. I could not tell my mother for a few days, as I didn't want her to be too worried. This incident turned my life upside down. Since that day, I have been running around to get any helpful information regards to the visa. I worked, but could not focus too much. I prepared all the documents for another kind of visa. At night, in my bed, in the dark, I cried, feeling terrified weary and lonely. For one week, my stress level reached to the maximum. In order to just stay in this country as a foreigner, you have to rely on something or someone, unless you are super-famous or important. However, nobody can secure your life. I wondered if it's better to accept this and leave this country. Maybe that could be my fate. It was too much to bear this fact all alone...At the same time though, many people tried to help me on this, giving me some information, coming to see me and encouraging me. Everybody is busy in this city, yet people made an action just for me. I cried for that as well. There, then I felt that I could not leave here for that only reason. I have my life and beautiful friends here. That fact makes me more feel upset with this situation. I just don't have a paper...JUST a paper to be officially accepted by the government in this country. I know that everything happens for a reason and the outcome would do the best, so I will have to see soon if my fate is still in in this city or not. Especially now, there is nothing that I can do about.

Memorial day

2006-05-30T21:13:00.002-04:00

Last Saturday. I, for the first time, sold a piece of art at the gallery where I have been working. It was one of war rugs made by Afghanistan women in Afghan. It is absolute hand made. The subject matter is wars and arms such as fighters, helicopters, and guns are patterned in the rugs. From a far distance, you will not know what the rugs are about. When you see them closer, you will see those patterns. They are contradictorily beautiful. They are not to fantasize the wars. They are just Afghanistan reality or our life. When you confront on them, you are actually exposing the reality: you might almost hear sorrows of Afghan women. The buyer was a young artist who was stunned by the image and beauty of the rugs. I didn't expect him to purchase it, but he did one week after he had seen them. I was really happy about the first sale However, I was even happier about the fact that my first sale was the artwork by the anonymous people, the fact that the buyer genuinely appreciated the value of the work. I shall say, he got art for art's sake, not for any other reason like as an investment. It gave me such great feeling. I was a mediator. The rugs came to NYC from Far East, Afghan and I connected it to somebody in the US. That is the business where I am. I felt, "yes!" I am not selling a car, clothing, a tobacco, or a poison. I am not sure about the necessity of arts, but for sure, I am selling beauty. I am selling artist's children. It will not matter for me whether the artist is first-rate or an anonymous. It was the memorial weekend. The Memorial Day was for the soldiers in the US and I sold the rug from Afghan. Couldn't it be more coincidental or contradicted? Plus, That was my first sale. Indeed, it was my memorial day. Pray for peace and will not forget the day.

Intersection in life

2006-05-24T20:39:00.000-04:00

"Is he an Italian artist, isn't he? ...yeah, he made maps? Boetti?" On the way to the dentist last Monday, when I was reading a biographical book, " Alighiero e Boetti, Shaman-Showman," on a bench at Union Square station, a guy sitting next to me started talking to me. "He died young, right?" "Yes, for his brain cancer." Our conversation continued from the bench on Union Square to 8th street on N line. I told him that I am working at Esso Gallery, where 3 shows of Boetti were exhibited. He knew Esso in the former place, which was in LES and often went to see the shows. He didn't know that the gallery had moved to Chelsea like every gallery, so I gave him the new address. We shook hands and he got off the subway. It was like 5mins talk, yet was surely precious and very NYish. This kind of encounter would happen every corner of the streets in the city. It is just an encounter, but who knows this will be the significant meeting later! In fact, almost 3 years ago, I met an Austrian guy in a supper market in UPE and we sort of fell in love with each other immediately spending together for a week. He left, as he was in the middle of traveling. However, we kept in touch by email for a long time and became really good friend, even though we've never seen each other since then. I met Mr. 99 on the bus station and now he is my editor...! Of course, some people were passer-bys, yet I never forget the feeling of the people. Life is totally unpredictable and here “unpredictable” can be anything. I have no idea who he is and I may not see him ever again. I just LOVE this coincidence and always wondering like, if I hadn't read the book, if I hadn’t left my house on that time, if I hadn't been working at Esso, if I hadn’t had huge toothache, if I hadn’t' come to NYC in the first place, (I have to stop here, but I can go back until the fact of my birth) I would not have met him and had the conversation.... isn’t it crazy? At least, this made me a day! Thanks to the great and world widely well-known Italian artist, Boetti, whom I hadn't known until I started working at Esso, brought this incident. He connected his creation, Afghan culture and world together in his map embroideries. Like that, here in NYC, we, New Yorkers, interweave our stories and drama in layers and layers and become invisible yet sensible art works, which is why this city is beautiful and we can’t stop loving.

When night comes,

2006-05-21T22:00:00.000-04:00

my mind becomes calm. I guess that is because I was born at night. On Sunday night, without any plan, I am home, writing this with a cup of tea and jazz music. What a luxury night. Especially in a city like NY where people never stop, cutting myself from it brings a sense of exclusiveness. The only thing is lacking here would be a view from my windows. I am on the ground floor and the view from the window is a building and gigantic radiators. No natural light, no sky. It is not romantic at all. Well, we need to compromise one thing in NY Apartment. My dream is to live in a house with windows that have natural scenery. Then, I will not need to put up paintings home. There, I will have seasonal views through the windows, which will never be the same. All I need there are a huge wooden table and my computer. I easily imagine myself writing something there, looking at the views. I am happy now, although I wasn't during the day. I have been ill for two weeks having so much pain in my body. Waking up already feeling pain, I distracted myself doing food shopping, cooking and cleaning. I was annoyed with not having enough quarters for laundry and rejection from Duane Read to break one-dollar bill to quarters. I was annoyed with myself not being in a good condition for a long time. Ha, Emotions are such unpredictable. Like the whether in NY, yet it is natural to have emotions' swings. If the windows that have all seasons and all the weather look beautiful to me, me becoming really emotional would not be so bad. I may just desire to be really humane. Well and yes, having said that, I am happy to the point where I can feel what I am feeling.

just one phase

2006-05-19T19:00:00.000-04:00

I happen to be in NY now, getting involved with art business. That would be one phase of my life. 5 years later, who knows what I will be doing. I am saying this, as I played various roles in life...like an uptight girlish girl, a manger for an American football team, a surfer, a hippie, a depressed girl and woman, a dj and etc. There are, in the world, two types of people: people who know the mission of life in their young age, and people who get it later along their long journey. Needless to say, I am the latter. Since I was little, I was already sort of depressed. I found life hard and sad. Without knowing what I was doing, I was putting a mask in order to fulfill other's expectation, especially for my mother. Those times, I was just sad and deeply lonely without any friend. I could not go on like the way I lived, so I flew to Australia. There, I felt spark of light and freedom for life, seeing many inspiring and ambitious people. At the same time, I felt left behind from the world and still didn't know much about life. At my age of 26, I finally figured what was wrong with myself. I realized that I was completely faking myself and depending on outside sources for happiness. That was like a huge thunderstorm. I felt embarrassed with myself and it was too late to start all over again. From that point, though, I tried to do anything that would excite me from deep inside in order to know who I really was. First, I jolted down things I liked and disliked on a note pad. Then, I got crazy: ACTIONS. I traveled to Asia. I started surfing. I took whole bunch of drugs like E or L in rave parties for a while. I lived in a remote island where it took 26hours by a boat, which was the only way to get to. (I seriously thought I would be a hippie, yet obviously it didn't last.) I went to countryside to look for a farm job. I had different type of meditation retreats and attended many New Age sessions. Stupid? I can laugh at the facts that I changed so much, but I was fxxking serious. I just WANT to know what I WANT to do for life. Only that curiosity made me live. After feeling tired of moving and doing, I took any job opportunity that came along through my friends. I was a curator and a manager for an Australian singer. I did a lot of volunteer jobs for the international artists' organization and Dalai Lama's office in Tokyo. Whatever. I was an outsider. I keep some and left some. Now, I am here. Someone like me who never stayed in one place for more than 7 months and who never was consistent has been here for 4 years. Why? Not because I liked NYC, but my determination was solid to the point where I felt that this would be the last chance for me to keep on one thing. I still don't know who I am and the true mission for my life. However, I am not searching for it any longer. That will come along. Surely all those experiences and actions enabled me to see things openly and feel people closely from their point of view, as I played the roles fully wihtout doubt at the time. Plus, I learnt two things that 1) full involvement with whatever you are doing takes you to the next step, 2) whenever you realize what you are doing is not so right, then accept it and make immediate and elegant shift without holding onto it. I don't know when but I know that I will be given another role when the time comes. Could be a monk? Could be a mother? Could be anything? I only surrender, but fully conciously.

What if?

2006-05-08T16:11:00.000-04:00

Well, I talked about me being an observer yesterday; so let me explain it much deeper. Once in a while, I stop, as these thoughts or assumptions come to my mind. " What if what I have been experiencing is just illusion or a big joke?" " What if I wake up and find myself in a total different planet?" " What if the earth explodes right now and right here? " It may sound stupid, but I am serious. If we are not capable of answering even by now the universal mystery: the question of which comes first, the chicken or the egg, you cannot completely deny all those what-ifs. Then, those what-ifs lead me to wonder, " What's the point of me being too serious about life anyway? All the struggles, sorrows, conflicts with others, aspiration, desire have no meaning to me. Here, the feeling of " what-so-ever, “ gives me both pessimistic and optimistic perspectives. I feel like being a monk, which is apparently extreme point of view. As the optimistic side, I see life as a theater. In other words, I can be anyone and do anything. So, I stop, wonder, imagine, think and feel either depressed or energetic. Always the order is same. What are sure and consistent are that those undeniable what-ifs certainly give me a sense of objectivity. Even in the middle of my emotional upheaval, 1% of myself, quietly and coolly, is there to observe 99% of uncontrolled myself. Do all have this kind of experience? Sometimes, I feel a bit sad about the fact that I can't be fully in all the happenings and all my emotions. However, I will leave a space in my mind for those what-ifs as a hope to be able to know unknown. Otherwise, life could be too much.

an observer

2006-05-07T20:35:00.000-04:00

I often find myself an observer rather than a participant. I am not sure if this is originated from the culture, or my upbringing, or simply my nature. Is that good or bad? Yes, it's good sometimes, as it allows me to see the whole scene or situation in an objective way. Yet, it’s bad sometimes, as I feel isolated. Last night, Mr. 99, the publisher as well as my friend, took me to an after party of a XX gallery opening. So as of the case, I was fully the observer. The party was held at a collector's house in the Upper West Side. The apartment was on the high-floor in a hip high-rise building. Paintings were filled with the almost entire walls and sculptures were placed everywhere, but I shall say that the taste was horrible.... I was rather drawn to the view of Manhattan from the windows. In fact, Mr.99 and I were like tourists taking pictures of each other with the view, which nobody cared. People looked fancy of course. I didn’t feel belonged of course. After the speech of the artist and the owner of the gallery, they announced of the artist's daughter (looking like 8 or 9 years old) playing a violin. "Here it is," I thought.... If I had known about it, I would have brought ear caps. Everybody took seats ( I was wondering where the chairs came from...too many for one's apartment.) and sort of tense air was filled in the room. " Atchoo!" Here I was, I did it in the most tense and quiet moment of the night. "Right on time," Mr.99 laughed. I made my full effort to hold my laugh. After a while, I realized that she was unexpectedly great. Her violin was so tuneful and touching that I forgot about where I was. In front of fully decked-up adults, with her serious face, she played two tunes putting her full emotions. She was more shining than the jewels on the people, more beautiful than all the paintings on the wall. I can visualize the party scene still now, but what etched into my heart were the view of Manhattan and her violin. Well, this is the kind of party where I appreciate my skill to be an observer.

"There are souls

2006-05-03T22:19:00.001-04:00

in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind when they go," by Frederick William Faber. The words traveled from Finland by mail last week. My friend, Orvokki, often, send me a letter with some postcards, scraps and so forth. This was also from her and an apt remark for me. Having felt void after my mom's departure, today I feel much stronger. The big pimple on my forehead was gone and my emotion level became calm. Somehow, my mother left me a sense of strong ness in a way. I have seen that she feels lonely but tries to live fully by herself in Japan. Here again, I am alone as well, but I am happy. I feel that the city is my home at the moment, having beautiful friends, fun work at the gallery and more. Plus, the fact that I have dear friends like Orvokki in the world gives me great strength. Time flows. Spring has come. My pimple disappeared. All the good memories are yet in my heart. I feel not bad, no...actually pretty good.

Angel

2006-05-02T20:34:00.000-04:00

After having seeing my mother off at the airport, I met Marguerita yesterday. As I wrote about her in my blog before, I visited her studio last summer to see her artworks. Since then, we have been building up our friendship and also trying to work together. She is an only child who lost her father at her young age and was brought up by her mother. Their relationship, of course, was close and tight until her mother had passed away. Because of our similar situation, besides my love for her artworks, we were emotionally connected to each other. So, we are like sisters now. The primal reason to get together yesterday was that she insisted on me taking to the clinic where she was taken care of. On the way there in the train, she asked me, " How's your mother? Are you ok?" " I am sad and tired...," I responded and could not hold my tears. She also started crying and saying, " I know exactly how you feel. I am still missing my mother." We cried together all the way. Our attmept to see the doctor failed, as I didn't have the insurance. Honestly, I knew that I would not be able to see him, yet I wanted to see her to distract myself anyway. After failing to see the doctor and getting off the subway, we cried again in the middle of the street. She apologized," I am your older sister and will take care of you." Despite her many struggles and difficulties as an artist and a wife at the moment, she still tried to help me out. On the sad day like yesterday, what I wish is true understanding or compassion. I don’t need advise, opinions or superficial kind words. I need someone like her, who deeply can put her in my skin, cry for me and be there for me. I am not so weak, so I don’t need to be with somebody all the time. However, her existence itself is significant to my life and gives me a great relief. Life is unpredictable. When I first met her, I didn't expect anything like this with her. She was sort of curt and very flamboyant. Yet, yesterday, I could not stop appreciating this mere chance to see someone like her. Thank god.

one unity

2006-05-01T21:06:00.000-04:00

My mom left for Japan after having spent for about 2 weeks in NYC. I saw her off at the airport. Although I was annoyed once in a while with her presence here, when I hugged her tiny body, my stomach was turned around and I cried again. I have been going through this parting for more than 6 times, (either my leaving for NY or her leaving for Japan,) since I moved here, yet I never was able to get used to it. It is always painful to see her skinny and tiny back and her efforts to pretend to be fine and cheerful. On the way back, seeing the city views that I had seen with her just 1 hour earlier, I wanted to shout like "Life is not fair." Why I don’t have my father? Why is she alone? Why am I an only child? Otherwise, I would not have had to feel indescribable sadness and extreme responsibility and guilty towards my mother and myself. I accepted the fact that I had been born without knowing my dad and been an only child long time ago. However, the separation like this brought me all the complicated emotions over and over again: Once I was angry with my mom, as she was not emotionally available for me, when I was little. Now, she is expecting me to be available, though she doesn't say so. I feel pain for her nature where she can’t help living for others, but isn’t given much back. I've seen her pain for life in general, but she never really showed anybody including me. Instead, she tried to be always tough and proud. I asked myself again, " Why is she like this?" She is so adorable, but she is deep down so lonely. My father left her and me and I left her. Her nature always threw me the questions that I never could figure out. “ Was it the right choice to leave her alone? No, I need to have my life. “ I am still torrned by tow different ideas; freedom and responsibility I have been making so much effort to accept my background and let all the negative emotions go. Yet, still here, I have to face pain and sadness like today. Yes, no matter how hard the situation that is given to a human being is, he or she has to accept and learn from it. In my case, no matter how hard it was for me to leave her, I had to leave the nest and go on my own life like everybody else. To do so, I have to use more energy than people who have a normail family. Buddhism philosophy says, “We are all connected as one in a soul level. No death and life in the end. We are all potential to be Buddha, as we have Buddha’s nature inside. Life is given because of karma in the past lives. Therefore, there are always lessons to learn in life and obstacles to overcome “ OK, the only thing that may can relieve me would be to really experience about this: we are all connected as one unity. I do want that from the bottom of my heart, as I am emotionally drained.

a life

2006-04-08T22:33:00.000-04:00

I spent sometime with the parent of my best friend, Orvokki, who moved to Finland last summer. They are visiting NYC from North Carolina. I have known them for one year or so. They are always so warm and kind that I can be really myself. I don’t know if I should write this, but I found out today that their son in law had passed away two months ago. It was on my birthday, February 8th. I've known that he has been suffering from a brain cancer. I've never met him or his wife who is Orvokki's sister, but I will not forget the day of his death. It would be strange to say, but I feel connected to all the family member of hers. Beneath their smile, I saw their sadness and pain, yet there was nothing that I could do or say. Life is unpredictable and death is not avoidable. However, dying at one's young age is hard to accept, especially for people who are left. The longer I live, the more I will have to face this. I looked up the night sky after I had left them. All I could do was to wish for his eternal sleep in the vast universe or as a part of the universe. May peace for somebody who passed away on the date when I was born and for the family who has been so warm and kind to me.

unexpected visitors

2006-04-07T20:48:00.000-04:00

Since I started this blog, I've been having a few unexpected visitors from time to time. For example, I had a good comment from a director of one of the big galleries in Chelsea. Last week, Mr.99, who is a publisher of an art guide magazine, whom I met about a few years ago on the bus in Chelsea, happened to visit my blog and left a nice comment. In addition, he told me that I wrote well. Yoo-hoo! Having those unexpected visitors or words IS encouraging and surprising. It is like a day when somebody visits my house without notice but with a bunch of flowers. What a nice surprise! Initially, I began this blog site to keep up on my English. For that purpose, I could have just chosen a conventional way,"diary," but then I knew that the notebook would end up being left in the back of my book shelf or under my bed and never be opened or found. Even if I kept writing, I would not be able to read my scribbling, due to the nature of keeping one's diary. So, I thought that a little possibility that somebody may see it would make myself consistent. Obviously, it is working so far. Strangely enough though, I feel more comfortable with writing in English than in Japanese. Because of ambiguity and complication of its language, when I try to write in Japanese, I sometimes have no idea what I am writing about or where to stop. Still, It isn't easy to articulate my thoughts in English, yet in order to share with as many people as possible, it is necessary. A few visitors or my friends who never leave comments on my blog but tell me a good thing about it give me strength. So, for them or future visitors, I will always keep my door open and have a cup of tea named "words" together.

It has been exactly for 4 years,

2006-03-29T21:13:00.000-05:00

since I came to NYC. I still remember hospital-like smell of the Salvation Army residence in the midtown where I stayed for the first 6 weeks. I had to wait for an hour at the waiting room for some reasons after the long trip on the airplane from Japan. People were not so nice. In fact, I was freaked out with the lady next door who came out shouting at me, when I was about to get into my room. It was around 2pm or so, but she wore a pair of pajamas. "What kind of place is this?" I wondered. I felt as if I had been in an asylum. My room was so small with the only sink and smelled like mold. I left everything in Tokyo and now was in the completely unknown world and future. I knew nobody. I felt like crying and did. I immediately unpacked my stuff and put up the photographs of my mother and friends. I did not build up concrete and solid life in Japan, but I had them and things familiar and comfortable. I was already over 30 at that time. For a little while, I regretted about my decision. I was scared of the subway, so I kept walking without knowing where to go to change my mood. It was still cold and windy. I stepped onto the streets firmly in order to really feel the fact that I came all the way. For a few weeks after my arrival, whenever I got out of the subway and walked towards the wrong direction, I didn't turn around. Thanks to the grid of the streets, I could change the direction by walking the entire block. I didn't want to look like a stranger or tourist. Now, I don't hesitate to turn around or I don't get so lost, which is not only about on the streets but also on my mind. I lit an insane tonight for the first day of NYC. I do want to say thank my decision, challenge, will and experiences first, then all the supporters especially my mother, then all the people whom I met here.