C - The Art Issue #130

Issue #130 | 2024

C - The Art Issue

This issue was conceptualized as a means to display the varied talents of Japan’s international community. Members come from many different creative backgrounds and take on new artistic mediums while still in Japan. Enjoy their work and check out each contributor’s links for more.

Issue Concept and Design Cover Design

Kristen Camille Ton

Kristen Camille Ton

Find Us Online Editors

Dianne Yett, Sage Olges, Jessica Adler, Nabeela Basa, Thomas Coleman, Sierra Block Gorman, Kalista Pattison, Jón Solmundson, Holly Walder, Nomfundo Amanda Zondi, Tori Bender, Sofia de Martin, Kaitlin Stanton, Zoë Vincent, Becca Devoto, Pitta Gay-Powell, Sophia Maas, Ryon Morrin, Kianna Shore, Kristen Camille Ton, David Spencer, Aaron Klein, Li Chu Chong, Quinlan, Marco Cian, Abigayle Goldstein, Veronica Nielsen, Valerie Mercado, Jenny Chang, Kimberly Matsuno

Disclaimer

Neither National AJET nor AJET CONNECT magazine owns any of the work displayed here. Everything in this issue was published with the permission of each contributor and should not be used for any other purposes outside of the issue.

Contact information for each contributor has been provided at the beginning of their spread, so please address each contributor individually with inquiries.

Photographs and vectors used for written submissions are sourced from royalty free websites.

Facebook Instagram Twitter ISSUU Vectors by Freepik.com

Letter from the Arts Editor

ello and thank you for reading this year’s Art Issue from CONNECT Magazine. As the Arts Editor, it has been my pleasure and privilege to spotlight the work of foreign artists living in Japan. We’ve got some truly excellent submissions this year that I am excited to share with all of you. The works span many mediums and genres—from ceramics to poetry to collage—but what they all have in common is inspiration from the lived experiences of people like you, who came to Japan and made a home here.

The Arts section of CONNECT makes it a priority to not only highlight the many excellent opportunities for art appreciation that can be found in Japan, but also the work of artists who have endeavored to cross cultural boundaries. In moving to a new country with a culture and environment that differs from our own, we are allowed to see both the world around us and ourselves through fresh eyes. What we learn from that lens is individual and personal, but the value of those perspectives is universal.

As my time with CONNECT Magazine comes to an end, I find myself reflecting on all I have learned in my work here. I have encountered so many valuable perspectives that have informed and transformed my own. There are as many ways to experience Japan as there are people in Japan. The beauty of art is that it allows us a glimpse into the lives and minds of others. Though I am but one

person living one life with just one perspective, through art I can expand my horizons and discover aspects of life that I could never find on my own. I think the most valuable thing that my time in Japan has taught me is how to look at life through another person’s eyes.

I would like to thank all the wonderful artists who submitted their work to the Art Issue. Thank you for letting us into your world. I would like to thank the CONNECT team, who have worked so hard to put this issue together, and who have been a source of support and camaraderie throughout my time with CONNECT. I would like to thank all the contributors who wrote for CONNECT this year. Sharing your words and wisdom is what CONNECT is all about. Finally, I would like to thank you, our readers. Being scattered across Japan makes it all the more important for us to connect as a community. CONNECT would not be possible without you.

As you enjoy this year’s Art Issue, I hope you can find both familiarity and new insights in the work of your peers. If you can come out with a better understanding of yourself and the world around you, we’ve done our job.

Thank you for supporting CONNECT Magazine.

Sierra Block Gorman

C - The Art Issue

Ana Nicole Vigueras

Truluck

PHOTOGRAPHY

John Tran

Yamanashi

Pearl Fuji

Early Spring Mornings

Yamanashi Drift

Rainy Tokyo Nights

A Sea of Prayers

Bullseye

Tranquility

A Dance of Ages

John Tran (he/they) is a photography hobbyist residing at the foot of Mount Fuji in Yamanashi Prefecture. Living mere meters away from Mount Fuji, many of John’s works revolve around the ever-changing views of the iconic mountain. Besides landscape photography, he shares a passion for photographing cultural events. As an avid traveler, he strives to capture unique events from across the country. With each photo he aims to capture the emotion or atmosphere behind the lens.

PEARL FUJI

YAMANASHI DRIFT

John Tran

A SEA OF PRAYERS

John Tran

John Tran

CREATIVE WRITING

Doc Kane

Hyogo Kōhī

NOBUO STARES AT THE STILLNESS of his coffee—perched above it as if he’s waiting for some sudden movement that will set things in motion. A ripple, even, would feel like an improvement. It’s 6:59 a.m., which means his old Sanyo alarm clock will soon ignite, just as it has these last 21 years since retiring, and the last four he’s spent alone without Michiko.

click. . . “Ohayō, Muroran!”

The immediate high-pitched chatter of the radio morning show host is a bit more grating than inspiring, and if the radio weren’t across the room on the countertop, he’d wish to turn it off as quickly as it started.

The freight train just out of Jinyamachi Station zooms past at its appointed time, shaking the wire legs of the kitchen table as it barrels by. Finally, some movement. Time to head into the day. There is goodness at its end, he assures himself. Down goes the coffee. . . his long-held reflection in it, now a thing of the past. The remaining cold egg, one of a pair he boils to near doneness every morning, he leaves behind for lunch. It’ll be okay, he figures, unwrapped in the fridge.

When Michiko was there with him she would, of course, never have allowed such a thing. Neatly wrapped, it would go into its own small container barely big enough to contain it, no matter its size. Unlike other wives in the neighborhood, she never had more than five or six bento boxes, always content to challenge herself to finding the correct fit for whatever needed to go into whichever box. There was always enough room. And, maybe a little extra even for the proper amount of jostling of the chopsticks when diving in for the first scavenging bite.

Their life together was a fairly quiet one when viewed from the outside—Nobuo was always as proper as could be, despite the physical nature of his work. He wore a collared shirt with a tie to work each day under his overalls, no matter the

weather, and in Hokkaido, that was often an advantage. Despite appearances, the two shared a vibrant personal life. Without kids, their weekends were filled with outings to the local izakaya, their nights at home with a bounty of Michi’s cooking (better than the izakaya anyway). There was always lots of drink, the occasional bit of dancing here and there, and a robust sex life. They lived for each other only, and did everything together— especially pedal.

“Hang on! You’re going too fast. . . .”

“Ahhh, Mi-chan, you’ll be fine, I promise— I’m as strong as an ox! And my balance is unmatched!” I’ve got you. . . just grab my waist. . . you’ll be fine!”

Grabbing a boy’s waist in 1939 wasn’t exactly something a nice girl wanted to be seen doing in public in the little town of Horomoe-chō, but Michi did like Nobuo and his confidence, and she figured well, why not. And, so away they went down the hill in their escape from school, weaving along mottled sidewalks, and past the makeshift gardens in town. They sailed out and alongside the river, soaking up the view of those beautifully tall cedars, and the lush meadows as they neared the sole Sakimori-chō cherry tree. For a half-hour they rode, Nobuo pedaling as fast as he could, and as strong as possible when he wanted to show off and force Michiko to grab him tightly, and more slowly those other times when he wished to feel her soft breath on the nape of his neck.

This first ride, past the sparsely dotted hills of their Hokkaido home, would be the first of many they would take together, and the first where they would share a coffee at a roadside kissaten. Nobuo always paid for the cup, and never took the first sip. Once he started working a part-time job, and had a little extra money, he’d buy two, and they’d offer one another an enthusiastic “Cheers!” pretending to be the adults they were too eager to become.

There were rides through the mountains, and rides through the city. After graduation, to celebrate a special occasion, or to forget a loss, they’d journey together on long Sunday jaunts to Etomo-chō, or start out just before darkness to see the sunset as it fell on Cape Chikyū. No matter the day or time, they always made time for pedaling, and for each other. Even through the war and its aftermath, they found occasion to ride, though necessity had them borrowing a bike from Mrs. Tamura, the bicycle shop owner—each of theirs having been destroyed during the bombing of the port.

“I like this,” Michiko said one rather somber day in March of 1946 still long before they could afford another bike of their own.

“What’s that, Michi?”

“Riding behind you on this single bike. It reminds me of that first day we rode together, when you scared me so with your weaving through the streets, and I had to hold onto you so tight like there was nothing in the world but the two of us.”

“The war was long.”

“It was.”

“I’d like to keep doing it this way.”

“You mean on one bike?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’d love that.”

And, for 50 years, they rode this way. . . Nobuo pedaling in his straight and passionate manner, always catering his movements to thrill and comfort Michiko at the same time.

Showa.

Michiko’s illness. Nobuo’s dashed career hopes. The building of their new house. Their shared misfortune of not being able to have kids.

They rode through it all.

Decade after decade they rode those regular roads, always on one bike, and stopping at least once, sometimes twice, for a coffee. The advent of vending machines made their trips even more enjoyable, and they could travel even further out from their homes knowing a coffee was always within reach. Michiko liked hers black, Nobuo preferred his a little on the sweeter side.

He missed those days. He missed her.

It had been a long time now since she’d ridden behind him, shared a coffee with him street-side—the bike resting against the machine, or, in the country just lying in the grass where he’d like to toss it. There was something about that bit of abandonment in him that he appreciated.

He still longed for her presence, even to this day.

At 86, Nobuo can still pedal with the best of ‘em—strong legs from decades of squatting along the factory floor makes for a sturdy constitution, he’s always said. And so, with the coffee that has kept him company for so long this morning a distant memory, Nobuo locks the door behind him, takes the bike lock key out of its special pouch, sets free the wheel, tosses back the kickstand, and pedals away.

He dashed past the neat rows of homes that fill in next to them in their 70 years together. . . through the expanded shotengai with its tea roaster, the overflowing drug store, the flower vendors, and the vegetable hawkers. . . along the seaside, and into the less desirable part of town where he finds himself traveling now each morning. . . and through the somewhat deserted old shop district that was once a lively part of town. It is early, as it always is when he departs—this routine being the only way he knows to shake the loneliness that chills his soul before noon.

Each day, he stops at one of the four vending machines that pepper that final street before he parks, pauses, then, with less verve, makes the return trip back home. He still buys two coffees, zippering each tightly within the key pouch as he pedals that final stretch.

As always at this hour, the non-descript green building marking his final destination rises just below the sun. That large van that never seems to budge remains sheltered beneath, in its single parking space. Quiet, it is.

He walks toward the sliding door. At this hour, its opening mechanism is disengaged, and he has to muscle it open a bit, squeezing his 86-year-old body through a gap just wide enough to pass. Behind him, he drags it shut as he does each of the seven mornings he makes this trip, with the engine that normally propels it forward with grace fighting him the entire way.

Inside, he bends around the corner to the left, keen on smelling what is on the fire for breakfast. Smells like shoyu tamago today, he thinks. . . a little stewed daikon, and definitely some saba. He likes saba in the morning.

A quick hello to the chefs, and a few more steps into the dining room. There is Sana and Yono and Hitoshi. . . up early as always. They can be a real hoot, those three. And, in the corner, with the biggest smile on her face, Michiko.

Nobuo pulls out the two cans of coffee from the key pouch he carries with him into the nursing home and sits down. One at a time, he silently places both on the table, and offers Michiko that slightly upturned eye over his glasses that she loves so much. He opens hers, then his. She reaches out and touches his face. He smiles.

Kansai resident Doc Kane is co-founder of the Japanese literature publishing house, Maplopo, and co-creator of Maplopo’s language-learning program, which helps advanced learners strengthen their Japanese through the power of story. Learn more about Doc’s writing and Maplopo here

Featured photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash.

ART

Aya Borucki

Mie

Kakigori Dragon Green Eyes Comic Ida, 2023

Aya (文) Borucki (they/them) is an illustrator and printmaker living and working in the deep south of Mie, Japan. They make work exploring topics of nature, queerness, and their lived halfJapanese experience in the forms of illustrations, comics, and more. You can follow Aya’s work on Instagram here

VISUAL

KAKIGORI DRAGON

IDA, 2023

Borucki

PHOTOGRAPHY

Mark Christensen Fukuoka

Nagasaki Lantern Festival

Spider-lily and Swallowtail

Miike Path of Light

Yanagawa Ohinasama Water Parade

Life and Death

Domengawa Sakura

Mark Christensen is a fifth-year ALT from Snohomish, Washington in the United States. An avid photographer and traveler, he has a passion for documenting nature, culture, and cosplay. He currently resides in Omuta, Fukuoka. You can follow his adventures on Instagram and Twitter!

Christensen

NAGASAKI LANTERN FESTIVAL

SPIDER-LILY AND SWALLOWTAIL

Mark Christensen

MIIKE PATH OF LIGHT

YANAGAWA

Mark Christensen

LIFE AND DEATH

Mark Christensen

DOMENGAWA SAKURA

PHOTOGRAPHY

Rem Dean Miyagi

Afternoon Outing at Goshikinuma Lights in the Darkness Thank You for 150 Years Rushing Through the Sakura Sakura’s End

Rem Dean (they/them) is a fifth-year JET living in Miyagi. They frequently photograph various locations around Tohoku. They dabble in landscape, portrait, and wildlife photography. Since coming to Japan, they’ve been working on improving their technique and exploring different subjects and themes in their work.

AFTERNOON OUTING AT GOSHIKINUMA

LIGHTS IN THE DARKNESS

THANK YOU FOR 150 YEARS: THE LAST HOUR AT KOIZUMI ELEMENTARY SCHOOL BEFORE ITS PERMANENT CLOSURE

RUSHING THROUGH THE SAKURA

SAKURA’S END

ART

Bryce-John Dana

Gunma

Jack

Edinburgh Castle

The Night Watcher

The Warrior

Lily-clad Rabbit

Bryce John Dana (he/him) is a block print artist residing in Gunma Prefecture. His chosen medium for carving is rubber erasers, building on the modern Japanese tradition of eraser stamp carving. Though erasers are thought of as cheap and are not as respected of a material for block printing as wood or linoleum, Mr. Dana hopes to reframe perceptions about things that are easily discarded.

VISUAL

Bryce John Dana

JACK

THE NIGHT WATCHER

Bryce John Dana

THE WARRIOR

Bryce John Dana

LILY-CLAD RABBIT

PHOTOGRAPHY

Jón Solmundson

Hokkaido

Cold Weather, Warm Memories in Takikawa

Dark Night, Bright Glow in Takikawa

New Year, New Me in Yubari

Jón Solmundson (he/him) is a long, gangly man, composed primarily of disorderly hair and vague, exhausted noises which make him seem much older than he actually is. Of the thirteen Latin characters you see representing him now, you notice only twelve are on his birth certificate, though the interloper meets your gaze with wide, pleading eyes that beg you not to reveal it as a stowaway. “Ho, friend! I’m currently living in Nanporo, Japan, teaching English by day and collecting travellers’ tales by night. You can find more of my writing here!” Jón says, offering you an old, lightly used hyperlink.

Jón Solmundson

COLD WEATHER, WARM MEMORIES IN TAKIKAWA

DARK NIGHT, BRIGHT GLOW IN TAKIKAWA

NEW YEAR, NEW ME IN YUBARI

CREATIVE WRITING

Jón Solmundson Hokkaido Mantrap

[Content Warning: depictions of violence, gore]

SAITO WAS THE FIRST TO SPOT the tips of his sister’s rigid toes poking out from the red snow. Together we scraped back the thin blanket of frost until we uncovered the contents of the beast’s stash. A pit of chewed limbs and the remnants of Mayu’s head. Just enough to know it was her. Only fear kept me from screaming—the thought that if I made a sound it might come to butcher me too, and hide me away in pieces just the same.

We bundled her into a linen sack and made for home, a crimson trail dripping behind us. Twice I heard soft thumps in the snow. I told Saito to keep going and fired a half dozen shots into the moonlit woods behind us. Something roared when I pulled the trigger for the final time, and we ran.

***

The blood on your leg has frozen solid. The gash still stings when the snow melts against it, but for the moment you can ignore it.

Far off, the gentle light of a hearth flickers in the windows of the homestead, casting tall shadows from the silhouettes of those within. The wind carries their voices, along with the smell of the food they took from you.

They sing an old song. A sad song.

Your stomach growls, but there are too many there now to risk going down into the valley. You decide to wait.

It will be a long winter. Or, perhaps for you, a very short one. ***

I started a fire when we both could run no further. Saito took water but not food, his eyes as empty as they’d been from the moment we first found her.

I hated myself for envying him a little. His gaze didn’t dart between the trees, desperately looking for the shining eyes of a predator in the dark. He just stared forward, oblivious to the world, drowned in his loss.

When the silence had finally become too much for me, I told him that we would at least be home before sunrise, and then we could mourn Mayu as she properly deserved. I didn’t mean to lie then, though I would have said the hollow words just the same if I knew.

You lie at the edge of the treeline, once more examining their wooden den as the sun rises. The wind buffets its windows, roaring through the valley with unimpeded force. In the lives you lived before this one, the trees held back the worst of the gale. Now their sturdy trunks are piled high against the side of the shelter in small pieces.

This is the way of the standing ones lately. They worry the fire will die tomorrow so they hew down another tree today. They catch every fish and hunt every deer, then salt the meat so that even the worms cannot reclaim their excess. When they wake up each day, there is less of their world than there was before, so they push upon its horizon until their world itself is larger. They push and push until its noisy, hungry borders have overlapped yours.

So the snow arrived and you were not ready. The bushes were barren, the streams were empty. Had you given in to the call of the winter sleep, you would not have awoken on the other side. A waking winter is no less hopeless, but your gurgling stomach will not afford you the dignity of a simple, quiet end. Instead you pilfer the scraps the standing ones pile outside their den, and—when it is safe—strip what little fat you can from their bodies.

I couldn’t look at Saito when they called the vote, even as my hand rose up to betray him. I heard him sob bitterly, unable to say a word, even as we took the bag from his hands.

The sheriff said the words we needed to hear: It made sense to bait out a man-eater with the flesh it had already hungered for, but he spoke only to those he’d already convinced. Two who had already lost someone to the creature shouted and pounded on our backs until a few of the older men dragged them off, but I think even if they had come at us with daggers we would not have stopped. The devil bear’s paws had blades enough for the lot of us, and it killed without mercy or reason.

As with their dens, now too their traps grow stranger. You watch as they take the pieces of the one they stole back from you, only to scatter them at the entrance.

Perhaps such a strange ritual is to ward off daemons, but what good is that? No daemon walks the valley in winter. What need is there of misery when the summer herself has abandoned the world? The cold and starving create misery enough. They need no assistance.

Hot air curled off in long wisps from the beast’s snout. It raised its head to the orange sky, drawing the vapour back in with a long breath.

The young man beside me cried out in quiet, snarling panic, giving voice to my own fear as my heart threatened to break through my ribs to find safety elsewhere. Saito screamed as he pulled the trigger.

in contemplation, to try and devise some escape, but the misery of their trap is that it pretends a choice.

Yes, it might be avoided if you turn back or travel around its edge, but what is there behind you except starvation? Either way, their trap kills. You stand now with your paws free, but already its jaws have closed around you.

You roar in anguish, in hunger. You roar an old song. A sad song.

The response comes not from a voice, but a crack like thunder, and a splash of warmth on the snow.

Your stomach burns now, your gaunt body curdling into a poison that threatens to wrench your spirit free. You have watched

Featured photo by Courtnie Tosana on Unsplash.

Madeline Allman

Gifu

Sunny Boi

Madeline (she/her) is a ceramic artist and English teacher living in Toki, Gifu, Japan. When she isn’t running lessons and making students laugh, you can find her in the local pottery studio that may or may not be haunted. You can find more of her work on her pottery Instagram, @tokidokipottery!

VISUAL ART

SUNNY BOI

PHOTOGRAPHY

Fadzma Ariadna

Yamaguchi

Kintaikyo at Dawn

Ariadna (she/her), known to her students as Tammy, is a Filipino JET living in Yamaguchi Prefecture. Living in the countryside of Japan has given her a life that’s filled with peace and happiness she always thought was far from her reach. She hopes to cherish this time in her life and share it with the world through photos.

KINTAIKYO AT DAWN

ART

Ashley Dorrell Osaka

Purple Stone Pendant With Twisted Gold Wire

Rose Quartz Pendant With Square Wire

Rose Quartz Pendant With Square Wire (Different Angle)

Ashley Dorrell (she/her) is an accessory maker who also enjoys painting. She lives in Osaka, Japan with her pet fish. She enjoys creating works that showcase natural gemstones with fairytale and fantasy themes in the メルヘン (Meruhen) style. You can find more of her work @AdornedxAsh

VISUAL

Dorrell

PURPLE STONE PENDANT WITH TWISTED GOLD WIRE

ROSE QUARTZ PENDANT WITH SQUARE WIRE

ROSE QUARTZ PENDANT WITH SQUARE WIRE (DIFFERENT ANGLE)

ART

Kalista Pattison

Oita

Celadon Vase

Froggy Cup a lil ghost and his pet pumpkin

Kalista Pattison (she/her) is a ceramicist living and working in Oita, Japan. Her ceramic roots are in Arita-ware from Saga Prefecture, but now she works mostly with stoneware in Beppu, Oita. She enjoys bouncing between traditional and experimental designs with a focus on quality and longevity. Her future goals are to return to porcelain clay and to start creating her own glazes.

VISUAL

CELADON VASE

Kalista Pattison

A LIL GHOST AND HIS PET PUMPKIN

Kalista Pattison

PHOTOGRAPHY

Holly Walder Gunma

A Happy Family Portrait Staredown at the Onsen

Ancient Emoji :(( Broken and Beautiful

Kannonsama Regards the Flowers Smirking Street Drummer

Holly Walder (she/her) first picked up a camera to document her time in Japan, but has since fallen in love with amateur photography as an art. She particularly likes all the extraordinary stories you can find by capturing ordinary scenes.

A HAPPY FAMILY PORTRAIT

Holly Walder

STAREDOWN AT THE ONSEN

ANCIENT EMOJI :(( BROKEN AND BEAUTIFUL

Holly Walder

Holly Walder

PHOTOGRAPHY

Lara Weber

Aichi

Summer Festival, Tenno Matsuri Fall Festival, Aki Matsuri Fall Festival, Aki Matsuri Winter Festival, Omitosai Winter Festival, Omitosai Spring Festival, Wisteria Spring Festival, Wisteria

From Alaska to Tsushima, Lara (she/they) has been capturing the life of the city as she travels throughout Japan. Adventure is a joy and the “everyday” can be an inspiration if you let it. Although photography is her tool of choice, she also likes to explore other creative paths like calligraphy, writing, and digital abstract creations in her free time.

SUMMER FESTIVAL, TENNO MATSURI

FALL FESTIVAL, AKI MATSURI

FALL FESTIVAL, AKI MATSURI

WINTER FESTIVAL, OMITOSAI

WINTER FESTIVAL, OMITOSAI

SPRING FESTIVAL, WISTERIA

SPRING FESTIVAL, WISTERIA

ART

Peyton Wong

Osaka

Nagasaki Lantern Dragon

Osaka

The Journey Our Calling

The Riot

Peyton Wong (she/her/they/them) is a Chinese-Canadian multidisciplinary artist currently residing in Osaka, Japan. Her practice revolves around themes of cultural exchange, expression, and mental health by drawing upon the dragon, a creature of mythology, and the frog, a character Wong seeks solitude in. You can explore more of Wong’s work through their Instagram @tapupeypey

VISUAL

Peyton Wong

NAGASAKI LANTERN DRAGON

OSAKA

THE JOURNEY

Wong

CREATIVE WRITING

Sophia Maas Saga Soup

Stock Tokyo

TONIGHT, YOU’RE GOING BACK home. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. But before all that, before tearful goodbyes and future promises, we’re hungry, so let’s eat a meal. A metal tray, white ceramic cups of soup, bread. There’s tomato in mine, but you can’t eat tomato. There’s mushroom in yours, but I don’t like mushrooms. This is why I love you.

The soup is here, the soup is gone, the soup is a distant memory. We’re here, there are people, but we’re alone. I snap a picture, freeze the moment. It will last as long as I dutifully shift the data to the next phone that will become a memory, the next computer or hard drive. Of course, I could print it, but I’ve gotten used to the intangible.

Tonight, you’re going back home. What is a meal but a way to freeze an instant? What is a memory but a meal? I’ll wave you off from the wrong side of the ticket gate, I’ll hop trains and buses alone. I’ll think about our meal together. Let’s think about it together. We can drag our memory out further, remember the meal, the changing of coins. The way the cashier flipped through a book of allergens to determine if your cream of mushroom soup had tomatoes in it. Let’s feel the warmth as long as it fills us. Embrace the tragedy when the next meal comes and we eat it alone.

In the future, you buy me a recipe book so I can make the soup on my own. Without the store, without the tall glass buildings, without the buses and trains and nightly phone calls. On the other side of the world, in places and with people I can’t imagine. Without you. A book lasts a long time, and I love making soup. Thank you for leaving a piece of yourself with me, to comfort and nourish and keep.

Let’s do it again soon.

Sophia Maas (they/them) is, ostensibly, a writer of some definition. You can find more of their work through the appropriate channels of carrier pigeon, psychic messaging, emails, and so on.

Featured photo by George Pagan III on Unsplash.

PHOTOGRAPHY

Finlay McBride Kagoshima

Sunsetting in Ushinohama, Kagoshima

New Blossoms in Kaimon, Kagoshima

Finlay is a first-year ALT based in Kagoshima City. Alongside a passion for writing, he also enjoys uncovering Japan, spending time in nature and training in jiu-jitsu.

SUNSETTING IN USHINOHAMA, KAGOSHIMA

NEW BLOSSOMS IN KAIMON, KAGOSHIMA

Finlay McBride

Ana Nicole Vigueras Kagoshima

Common Language

Hyphenated Living

Harajuku’s Butterfly Building

Henji ga Nai

Ramen From a Hawaiian Travel Guide VISUAL ART

Ana Nicole Vigueras (she/her) is a mixed-media Mexican-American artist who has lived in Japan for about five years. Around three of those years were spent in Kagoshima (2021-2024) where Ana experienced a profound connection with the prefecture’s people, culture, and landscape. It was in Kagoshima that Ana discovered her passion for the arts and developed an artist’s practice, working every morning on her art. Ana enjoys detailing the human-animal connection, interdisciplinarity, and the power of languages in her collages. To find more of Ana’s work, please visit her Instagram

HYPHENATED LIVING

HARAJUKU’S BUTTERFLY BUILDING

Ana Nicole Vigueras

HENJI GA NAI

RAMEN FROM A HAWAIIAN TRAVEL GUIDE

Ana Nicole Vigueras

CREATIVE WRITING

Catherine Truluck

Aomori

“Why am I here?”

she asks a full room that’s empty except for herself and her thoughts, bustling with busy people, business to do, but quiet like wet starch— not quite milk but not transparent, the silent loud of an upset parent— and suddenly the room’s upset by a screech of a chair slid backwards onto a backpack strap.

She wonders how many scoops of starch she can spill before their lips stretch wide and mean and they ask her, “Why are you here?”

Catherine Truluck (she/her) is an English Teaching Assistant living in Aomori, Japan. Her writing is inspired by her other hobbies, from traveling around Japan to watching VTubers online. You can read her blog posts about Japan’s sapphic spaces here.

Featured photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash.

Truluck

Liz Mudry

Fukui

Sazanka

Liz Mudry (she/her) is a visual artist and elementary school ALT living in Fukui, Japan. Through her art, she draws attention to the natural elements of her environment using bold colors and fantastical imagery. You can find her work on Instagram @lizith__.

VISUAL ART

ART

Michelle Boivin-Carriere

Hyogo

Postcard from Toyooka - Shinkoro and Arikoyama Castle Ruins

Postcard from Toyooka - Takeno Beach and Nekozaki

Nengajo 2022

Nengajo 2023

Nengajo 2024

Currently in northern Hyogo, Michelle Boivin-Carriere (they/ them) is a Canadian printmaker. For their art they take inspiration from rabbits, nature, and their community. They are passionate about using snail mail to connect which is why recently they have been focused on creating postcards. You can find more of their work @michelleboivincarriere

VISUAL

FROM

POSTCARD

TOYOOKA - SHINKORO AND ARIKOYAMA CASTLE RUINS

NENGAJO 2022

PHOTOGRAPHY

Aiden Carey Kagoshima

Clouds

Sunset, Gamouzaki Kanko Park

Ceylon Blue Glassy Tiger Sunrise, Honohoshi Beach

Aidan (he/him) is a first-year ALT from Canada, working on the island of Amami. He mostly takes landscape and wildlife photos, and is currently working on a photo book of the island. When not taking photos, he can be found either watching obscure movies or practicing magic.

CLOUDS

Aidan Carey

SUNSET, GAMOUZAKI KANKO PARK

CEYLON BLUE GLASSY TIGER

Aidan Carey

SUNRISE, HONOHOSHI BEACH

Aidan Carey

CREATIVE WRITING

Marco Blasco

Aomori Smoke and Lukewarm Coffee

An excerpt from Blackstone Chronicles: Prologue

THE SMELL OF SMOKE WOKE ME.

I stared at the ceiling, my legs moving through the rough sheets. The light of the spring day filtered through the balcony doors, catching the dust floating around the room. The breeze drifted through, once again carrying with it the scent of smoke and the smell of the morning air. They fought for dominance of my senses before I remembered last night.

I pushed myself up in bed. My apartment was small, but I was happy with how I had arranged everything. The bed was in the center of the room. Tall bookcases stood across from me, and a small desk and chair took over the corner of the room. The kitchen—if you could call it that— was little more than a nook with a small burner and a sink.

I suddenly smelled freshly brewed coffee. I must have missed it amid the smoke. I let my eyes wander over to the balcony.

Hana stood, leaning against the railing, the trail of smoke leaking from the cigarette in her hand. She looked out upon the park below. My eyes followed the trail of clothes that littered the floor from last night. She had only dressed in her underwear, despite stepping outside. Her black hair was tied up, the wind catching only the few stray hairs near the side of her head.

Stepping out of bed, I found my shirt and pants strewn across the ground. I pulled them on, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup. I sighed as I took a sip, then went to meet Hana on the balcony.

I leaned against the railing next to her. Below us, Hirosaki Park stretched for miles. It was the fourth weekend in April. The weekend of the Cherry Blossom Festival. The sun shone warm overhead, but in the distance, I could still make out the snowcapped peak of Mt. Iwaki. The locals called it Tsugaru Fuji for its similar shape to the most famous mountain in Japan.

The pink blanket of the cherry blossoms spread vast in front of us. It reached the corners of my vision, and then spread even farther. Despite the earliness of the morning, the crowds had already begun to filter through the entrance way, bringing with them the excitement of a phenomenon left entirely to the whims of nature.

Hana put her cigarette to her lips. “Good morning,” she said quietly.

I wrapped my hands around the warmth of the coffee cup. “About last night, I. . . .”

I said the words without thinking. I didn’t even know where to begin.

She shook her head. “I don’t remember a thing.”

I squinted at her. What did that mean?

Another puff of smoke. “Will you go to the festival today? It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day.”

I swallowed. “Will we go together?”

Her laugh was higher pitched than I remembered. “Do you think that’s possible? Really?”

I didn’t answer her. Below us, I watched a couple getting out of a taxi in front of the park’s entrance. They seemed young, maybe high school age, maybe college. The boy had an old-style Fuji Camera around his neck. The girl was dressed in a floral one piece. They hadn’t even entered the park before he ran excitedly to the sakura tree in front of the entrance. He gestured excitedly for her to stand in front of it, bringing the Fuji Camera up to his eye.

Click.

They held hands as they walked into the park.

“So, what will you do?” I asked.

Marco Blasco

She didn’t answer my question. “Everyone looks so happy,” she said.

“Well, it’s the festival today.”

“I never understood why people are happy at the sakura festival.”

“Why?”

“Because the sakura come. They come like a lion, roaring and beautiful. And then they’re gone. Two weeks at best. If the rain or wind comes, they’re gone even sooner.” She looked at me then, and I realized it was the first time she did so since I woke. “At their most beautiful, they die.”

She put her cigarette between her lips again.

“At their most beautiful. . . .” I mumbled.

“Spring is a time when we think life is beginning. But look at them,” she gestured forward, the smoke flowing from the cigarette between her fingers, “is that really a beginning, when they fade so quickly?”

I stared ahead, looking towards the park as if I could see the individual petals on the trees. “At their most beautiful, they die,” I repeated.

“Just like us.” She smiled at me then.

I never knew what to do with her smile. She always smiled at the wrong times. When most people would have cried or sighed, she smiled. It was unnerving, probably a bit socially inept.

I couldn’t help but love it.

“Were we at our most beautiful?” I asked.

She tilted her head, as if contemplating her answer. “I think so. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” I said truthfully.

“What if there were more beautiful times ahead? Then wouldn’t that have been our most beautiful?”

“Ahh”—a puff of smoke—“well, I guess we’ll never know that.”

I watched more people enter the park. The crowd was getting thicker now as the mid-morning buses and taxis filtered through the streets. Families, lovers, cousins, co-workers—every sort of relationship was probably present underneath the sakura trees today, I thought.

Up here on the balcony, there was only smoke and lukewarm coffee.

Read the full story here .

Marco (he/him) is a writer and storyteller living in snowy northern Japan. Ever since he took his dad’s yellow legal pad to write at the age of six, he knew that he was meant to pursue storytelling. Find more of his fiction and Japanrelated writings here

Unsplash.

Featured photo by Masaaki Komori on

Marco Blasco

ART

Sofi Dittmar

Gunma

Ritual

Collection of parts

Sofi Dittmar (they/them) is a multimedia artist living in Gunma, Japan. Their work centers around themes of time, materiality, identity, and isolation of the body. Their process synthesizes digital photography and digital processes with obsessive, handdrawn marks. Their work can be found on their website

VISUAL

COLLECTION OF PARTS

Jo-Anne White

Tokyo

Waiting for Someone.

Jo-Anne White (she/they) is an ALT English teacher and an illustrator/concept artist currently based in Tokyo, Japan. Her work focuses on emotional narratives, with either paranormal or sci-fi themes, and is inspired, often, by the wonderful people that surround them. You can find more of her work on Instagram

@Sometimessoupp

VISUAL ART

WAITING FOR SOMEONE.

Jo-Anne White

PHOTOGRAPHY

Lauren Suna

Fukui

Matsumoto Castle Sunset

Mt. Fuji Street View (Film Style)

Mt. Fuji Kawaguchiko (Film Style)

Mt. Fuji Kawaguchiko With Fisherman (Black & White Film Style)

Matsuyama Castle With Sakura

Lauren Suna (she/her) is a third-year ALT in beautiful Fukui Prefecture. In her free time, Lauren enjoys traveling, hiking, finding the best ramen in Fukui, playing the guitar, and playing games. You can see some more of their adventures on their Instagram account, @adventuring_suna_or_later

Lauren Suna

MATSUMOTO CASTLE SUNSET

MT. FUJI STREET VIEW (FILM STYLE)

MT. FUJI KAWAGUCHIKO (FILM STYLE)

125 Lauren Suna

MT. FUJI KAWAGUCHIKO WITH FISHERMAN (BLACK & WHITE FILM STYLE)

MATSUYAMA CASTLE WITH SAKURA

Lauren Suna

Cyrus Yongbanthom Kagoshima

Still Figuring It Out

Cyrussx

Cyrus Yongbanthom (he/him), a 27-year-old songwriter based in Kagoshima, Japan, is pursuing their lifelong dream of making music for a living. His songs are both on Apple Music and Spotify under his stage name “Cyrussx.”

Photo by Sai Harish on Unsplash.

VISUAL ART

Nomfundo A. Zondi

Hokkaido

Garden: Self Portrait

April 2024

Nomfundo (she/her) is a second-year ALT from South Africa based in Hokkaido. She studied Dietetics and Human Nutrition in university. She enjoys creating art, writing poetry, going to art galleries, going to live concerts, and being in nature. In her spare time she produces her podcast, “The Sun in Japan,” to help uplift others through storytelling. Connecting with people is her passion, as is learning more about the world and what brings us together as a human race. You can find more of her work here: @nazondee, @wordsfromthesun, and Spotify: The Sun in Japan.

CREATIVE WRITING

Nomfundo A. Zondi

Hokkaido

Garden: A Self Portrait

MY THOUGHTS

My thoughts are a blooming garden

In their Spring, inspiration pollinates

Sweet honey oozes onto these pages

My thoughts are a raging storm

Destroying old patterns that have lingered too long

Providing a clearing to start anew

My thoughts are the barracks I run to

When life wages

My thoughts are gentle snow falling

Silent in their beauty

Resolute in their being

Coming and going.

- My Thoughts

GIRLHOOD

My friends speak in tongues of adoration

Telling me they love me

“I saw a tree and it reminded me of you”

Words no lover has ever uttered

“Thank you for spending time with me today”

Each word enveloped in love

I tread home carefully

Making sure not to spill

That which has filled me to the brim

Alchemy

Light work

Girlhood.

- Girlhood

SINCE

Today I realised I haven’t felt tired

Since I left you

Since I broke my gaze from your glory, gory

Since I took off the shackles of loving you

Since I snuffed out the candles at your alter

Since I stopped mistaking self-abandonment for love

Since I stood up and realised I wasn’t drowning

Since I breathed in, listened and finally

Heard myself.

- Since

A POEM A DAY

If I could write a poem a day

Could I paint you a picture

Of what it is to live in this skin

See through these eyes

Breathe in and then out and then in again

With these lungs

If I could write a poem a day

Would it suffice

To show you all it is to be a human

Loving in the morning

Loathing in the afternoon

If I could write a poem a day

Should it keep me from losing my mind

Will the letting of these words

Be my reprieve

For what feels like a senseless passage of time

A waiting room

For our curtain call.

- A Poem a Day

THE TRUTH

I’ve always hated how men sit

Legs spread with full permission to be

Close your legs!

The tagline of every young girl growing up

Why don’t you tell me the truth mother

Tell me to close my legs

Because if I don’t, I take up space

The audacity of me to exist

Tell me it is because men are not taught to understand no

No’s are for little girls who dared to be born

Whisper to me the truth

That my body is a crime scene.

- The Truth

MRS.

HARRIS

I remember Mrs. Harris

Mrs. Harris with her gentle “girls”

Coaxing us to read poetry

“Ugh, poetry!”, we would shudder

Poetry, a word vomit none of us could make sense of

Perhaps we needed the wounds of adulthood

To help us

To help us understand

I remember Mrs. Harris

Her face

A flower peeking out of her hijab.

- Mrs. Harris

FOR ONE WHO DOESN’T ALWAYS LIKE THEIR ART

You do not have to love everything you create

Slumber is for rest

Healing is for pain

Tears for seeds long sown

Sometimes we do not eat the fruit we bear.

- For One Who Doesn’t Always Like Their Art

Featured photo by Tomoko Uji on Unsplash.

PHOTOGRAPHY

Mike Dinsmore Osaka

Flower Portrait Series: Sweet Pea

Flower Portrait Series: Orchid

Flower Portrait Series: Narcissus

Flower Portrait Series: Lily

Shapes and Lines Portraits Triangle No.2

Shapes and Lines Portraits Square No.1

Shapes and Lines Portraits Triangle No.1

Mike Dinsmore (he/him/his) is a portrait and fine art photographer based in Osaka, Japan. In these series, Dinsmore uses nude models juxtaposed with geometric and organic forms. In Shapes and Lines Portraits, the human form is contrasted against the harsh edges and flatness of geometric shapes. In Flower Portrait Series, the human form is secondary while macro photographs of flowers fill the frame.

THIS CONTENT CONTAINS NUDITY

FLOWER PORTRAIT SERIES: SWEET PEA

Mike Dinsmore

FLOWER PORTRAIT SERIES: ORCHID

FLOWER PORTRAIT SERIES: NARCISSUS

FLOWER PORTRAIT SERIES: LILY

SHAPES AND LINES PORTRAITS TRIANGLE NO.2

SHAPES AND LINES PORTRAITS SQUARE NO.1

Mike Dinsmore

SHAPES AND LINES PORTRAITS TRIANGLE NO.1