The wind crossing the sacred trees of Meiji Jingu felt so good that I wanted to hold on to its afterimage… When I take up the pen, my body begins, with my breath, to place dots of its own accord…

The particles, before they become wind, surface and vanish on the pastel ground, surface and vanish… Chasing a shadow about to disappear, the time of placing dots in time with my breath is the time of emptiness…

Nothing can be seen there, and yet it is the source of life… So I follow those particles of life, and simply place the dots…