Roots from a Leaf
One day, after pruning my Ficus umbellata, I placed a cut leaf in a clear glass bottle filled with water, simply because its shape looked beautiful.
After a while, small roots began to emerge from the leaf.
I felt a quiet surprise seeing roots grow from a single leaf, and I was moved by the persistence of its life.
I felt a quiet surprise seeing roots grow from a single leaf, and I was moved by the persistence of its life.
In the following weeks, the roots continued to extend, and the leaf remained a vivid green.
When I looked into whether it should be planted in soil, I learned that even when roots appear on a leaf stem, the leaf itself has no growing point.
It can draw water and try to stay alive, yet it cannot regenerate.
Its fate is to wither gently, following the natural span of the leaf’s life.
It can draw water and try to stay alive, yet it cannot regenerate.
Its fate is to wither gently, following the natural span of the leaf’s life.
Perhaps that fragility is what makes it beautiful.
I found myself wondering if there was a way to preserve it just as it is now.
I found myself wondering if there was a way to preserve it just as it is now.
Landscape of Noto
While driving through the Noto Peninsula, an impulse made me leave the highway.
I parked the car and began walking without any specific intention.
I parked the car and began walking without any specific intention.
After a short distance, an open field unfolded before me beneath a winter sky stretching far into the distance.
Tall grasses, touched by the cold wind from the Sea of Japan, swayed quietly in the open air.
Tall grasses, touched by the cold wind from the Sea of Japan, swayed quietly in the open air.
Standing there, I felt as though I had momentarily become part of the landscape.
The tightness I had been carrying in my heart loosened, settling into a still, gentle calm.
The tightness I had been carrying in my heart loosened, settling into a still, gentle calm.
In that quietness, I pressed the shutter.
The Question of Presence
Encasing an object in clear resin preserves its material presence—
it is undeniably there.
it is undeniably there.
A photograph or video also records its presence in time.
And yet, even if a moment is held forever, it is never the same.
And yet, even if a moment is held forever, it is never the same.
When I look at it later, drawing on memory and the senses,
my response differs from the one I felt at the moment of capture.
As time accumulates, the gap grows even wider.
my response differs from the one I felt at the moment of capture.
As time accumulates, the gap grows even wider.
I began to wonder what presence truly is.