Have [you] pretended to have knowledge of everything as a metaphor about blood and internal organs visually? Girls realize the life and eager for death by bleeding. Blood is proof of living, and and that death is nearby existence. the worries many young people hold are included Under the brown fog of a winter dawn?
Don’t young people hold anxiety every kind of time? It isn’t only today that it’s difficult to live. The young people who don’t have anxiety are unwholesome. it is not a mere uniform for them,
but By this, and this only, we have existed?
A sailor uniform is an important motif for me rather than a female high school student. In Japan, while a sailor uniform gives us an image which is different by each time, it is a universal icon symbolizes a girl. While expressing purity, and youth and cheerful, sexual and a momentary image are evoked. And it is not a mere uniform for them. It is an item for being cute which asserts itself, and is arms. It gives the element which receives an attack in many cases rather than estimated that it is individual that it is conspicuous by their community. In Japan where such peculiar human relations exist, the sailor suit can serve as a very symbolic motif.
its universal icon symbolizes a girl, not a prisoner of [your] reason? We’re always a prisoner of something. We stick to exclusive education system as school, the attention to build the smooth human relations, material possessiveness and desire for recognition. And the jail where girls are seized is filled in urgent worries. The wish to sneak from there is short limitlessly and submits to its situation. [Your] father was a carpenter, so do [you] offer [your] impulses toward perfection? I saw the father’s back and grew up. The work to prepare material until late evening and not to compromise was being done. I have often gone out to play in a workshop. And I could inflate an image using the tool and an ingredient which is there. I inherit the disposition as the craftsman. In Seeing hell in his mirror, how it was changed to the present style? A style of my picture puts a basis in the realism. I’m not abundant in a sense with the color and can’t also express uniquely in grasp of the form. My starting point is to draw realistically. It’s fun to draw a cute girl above all.
Their eyes as it grew lighter is an important motif?
Their eyes looks cheerful seemingly, and I find suffer and anxiety to lie in the deep inside. The eye and dull brightness are a motif important to express their feeling.
what could be more beautiful than a sailor uniform?
Sailor uniform are only the clothes in which they’re wrapped, but their social viewpoint is shown. More beautiful ones aren’t clothes, is they themselves and the image which wells up from there. not a mere uniform
Had driven him crazed?
A sailor uniform expresses the complicated situation that the girls who live are put in present-day Japan. Without the explanations surplus for Japanese in particular, it can be understood. That also makes them feel the sex appeal at the same time as it’s a pure symbol.
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
so the landscape embodies it, or nah?
We carry it in our hearts, in our eyes, and on our faces there is no living thing that can escape this. Treasures do lie, right here in plain sight. Whole worlds contained in a tiny grain of sand… in a gesture, in a glance, in a dried reed in her hand — And my imagination grows, with the echo of distant crows, through the pinpricks in the curtain, or the through the cracks of arid sand. The trick is having the vision that opens all these doors, to hear those distant voices that breathe life into the land. The world is being and the dust is flowing blood, but there’s something even deeper that I’m always thinking of. It’s alive and effervescent, like the feathers on a bird; a hidden thing made visible through the prayer of a word.
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
but how else can one speak powerfully without words? Until I fashion my dreams into being and give form to my thoughts with my hands I won’t know how the ocean and desert speak powerfully with storm and sand. The stillness of a forest, with its ancient noble trees, gives wordless silent testament to the earth and all that’s been. The world is always singing, its thrum too big for words, and teaches us to fill our cups so we might too be heard. We cannot pour a single drop, what has not first poured in — we cannot give a look of love, if in-love we’re not really in. Be something to say something that resonates with truth For whatever is in your heart you’ll find is in everything you do. No passage is overworked into a selfish prayer for light? Like Rembrandt’s self-portraits, or Albrecht Dürer’s watercolors — the subjects can be simple, not fantastical at all, but something about the particular quality of the light that they capture, and the rich complexity of their execution, make for sublime pictures that go beyond just the objects themselves.
A visual language is emerging now. To whom shall I hire myself out? It’s the magic bonsai tree you bring down from the mountain and it requires, and is deserving of, your patience, nurturing, and careful pruning.
the grass is singing—but
That’s not why [you] paint,
is it now?
They whisper their song that life persists beyond our own, but we no longer care. I want to bottle the lighting that cracks through the air, the lightning that’s actually there. To give lasting form to a meaning that would slip through time if I weren’t there. A monument to the moment when heaven touched the earth, and the air grew thin, long enough to break the spell and to feel our own mortality. One generation bleeds into the next the old man dies and a child is born… and the winds come like wolves howling to scatter our ashes. They rattle the fences and rattle our bones, leaving no trace of Man or Art behind. Is there potential to communicate meaningfully in an Unreal City? There’s no worse feeling than betraying yourself, and inversely, there’s little that can compare with the pride of knowing you stood strong for your beliefs. So sing bravely, with conviction, and at the top of your lungs, and don’t worry if you’re all alone — because it’s your uniqueness that makes you special, your courage that will inspire others, and your heartfelt conviction that really moves us in the end.
When do you long to return to the
for a bit of beauty and consolation in this world, and wrenching our necks to catch even a g construed as sacred, like the scent of an unseen flower, or the architects hand in a home, or we find in the brick and mortar and the bone and the means and the matter and the mund an echo of that initial shout that started it all turning, that’s alive and breathing, and invisible artists and poets have been chasing since the first cave paintings in France, since the first ha and gasped in awe, and who’s presence looms thick in graveyards and in birthing rooms, tha but goes on living and dying, and passing away before our eyes, like leaves on an immort some great port where the ships never stop coming and the going, departing and emanati unknown, to the undiscovered country, the final great mystery that Is it worth it to “Lose all companions.” to coura This is not necessarily a good thing, it just is. It happens and it hurts and it’s a hot fire that’s al be this is why so many artists are nuts and why many walk alone. It’s a cross we must bear…o in our own lives. Noone can do this for us…and in this sense, we truly do walk alone. This com — they’re so open and intoxicated with a raw awareness of things, and perhaps are the le the surplus of such feelings… I see it as an overflowing, an overabundance of life, and you c somewhere to go — Art is the bloom on this tree, the flower that results from the pain. I always breaking — and the heart is a dangerous fuel to burn, and yet, it is part of our calling over the moment you were born, and the time le the objects are just the beginning o The sun beats down without pity or shame, as does truth or fire and flame. The bones of o winds that reveals them by name. Layered beneath eons of sand and time our structures ruins that litter our world, like gravestones awaiting their fate. They hum and they tremble w to come take your place. A long gray line that that the stonemasons built to which soon I will halls now written on souls, will wander the world in our place. Time before time, th
e meditations upon unknown thought?
glimpse at something that might be even its substanceless residue that dane material of this world, to catch and tangible, the essence of which and ever gestured towards the stars at rounds our little lives with sleep, tal tree, that hovers like fog around ing out of the ether, into the infinite t has not yet been explained away? ageously express a genuine vision? lways greedy for fuel to burn. Mayone we must confront and reconcile mes at a great cost to creative types east prepared with how to deal with can’t bottle it up forever, it all needs If you know love, then your heart is to do so. The hourglass was turned eft to do one’s life’s work is fleeting.
of A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun?
our deeds lay bare and open to the lay buried in wait. The modern day with sad ancient songs that bid you l add my own name. Those echoing he pitiless sun has watched them all laid to waste.