It started from conversations with my grandmother.

For as long as I remember, she was a dreamer. There was a very faint line between being a dreamer and being diagnosed with dementia when I think about my grandmother.

I always loved how she created the story in her brain and then told us everything as a beautiful memory of her own; most of the time, they are utterly different from the fact yet.

This is one of the many reasons why I am fascinated by memory.

For the ongoing 'recollection' series, I am focused on the process, the organic accident, and the material's appreciation.

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It may be a series of mountains, waves on an ocean, or floating clouds - a scenery you have seen somewhere sometime. The vague memory, you find the beauty in it.

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It loses the original shape during the process of weaving; it creates new forms during the process of weaving.

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Tokyo, where I was born and grew up, is packed. You see a busy, bright city and relatively calm residential area very close to each other.

It is not stars that shine there; they are the lights from buildings or the headlights from driving cars. The ridiculously bright artificial lights made the other part looks darker than it was. You might find it easy to be calm and enjoy the solitude while you are in the middle of the bustle of a big city.