I often had comments for my work like it is sensitive. One day, I had an another one like it is fragile. I was glad when I heard the latter one.
I lived and worked in a traditional Japanese house, where the old construction for drying clothes was equipped on the first floor's roof. The steel flame was rusted, dilapidated, and its form was slightly bent. And furthermore, only some plastic boards remained on the floor. So when I once came into the place, I had to concentrate my steps to try not to breake the brittle, pale plastic and the rusted steel. I thought that it was a beautiful place, as I felt materials and myself at every step. In other words, it was quite the place where I felt myself, a part of environment, being fragile.
I often associate the worry of changing with something fragile, but I'm sure that the dialogue with something fragile tells me occasionally the another side of changing, the pleasure of changing.
In January 2017, I moved to an about century-old traditional house in a countryside of Fukui prefecture, and would like to think something fragile enjoying with being inconvienient and troublesome.