At my childhood home in Shizuoka, there was a large camphor tree that had been toppled and uprooted by strong winds, yet had not died. To my young eyes, the exposed roots of the camphor tree looked like sheer cliffs, and I still remember how, since my family's home was near the sea, the tree became the home of countless crabs that burrowed and gathered there.

Just as we usually cannot see the condition or very existence of a tree's roots underground, I feel that what we can see in our daily lives is similarly limited. This is akin to the feeling that as we go through life, we cannot fully recount our own past experiences or upbringing. Even in today's world, where diversity is celebrated, there are still many things beneath the surface that remain complex, tangled, and unseen, like the roots of a tree.

After toppling over, the camphor tree continued to live with dignity despite its unwieldy appearance. Instead of being a sign of its downfall, the exposed roots became an ideal hiding place for the crabs, taking on a new role.

I am aware that there are "normalities" that cannot be taken for granted. It is not easy to endure unbearable suffering or inescapable misfortune. However, this childhood memory has taught me that there is always some kind of meaning and beginning in everything. All things are relative, and their meaning can change depending on how they are perceived.

Just as Marcel Duchamp's act of altering the orientation of a urinal gave birth to modern art, I believe that we witness a fundamental shift when we begin to see what was previously not visible. Facing my various struggles head on, I explore the possibilities of expression that transcend modern limitations and frameworks in the form of paintings made up of color and brushstrokes. I know that even if I fall, as always, it is the beginning of something new.


Mitsumasa KADOTA  (August 2024)