Installation Art

"WE CAN SEE EACH OTHER ANYTIME"(2024)

Exhibition Size: H 4000mm × W 2000mm × D 3015mm
Work Size: Screen: H 2500mm × W 2000mm × D 50mm

Display Stand: H 900mm × W 900mm × D 900mm
Medium : Looped video (2 minutes), pipe, Ricoh PJ WX4152 projector, 4 iPads, agricultural polyethylene, artificial grass, artificial flowers, clock, styrofoam blocks, soil, display stand, lamp

A few years ago, on my birthday, my grandfather—who had been suffering from dementia—passed away.
At his funeral, my family decided not to display a portrait of him. I was surprised by this choice, but later learned that using framed photos as memorial portraits at funerals only became common in recent decades, with the spread of photography.

We often think of a memorial portrait as a framed photograph capturing the person's smile and energy while they were alive.
But this experience made me wonder: what if the way we preserve someone’s memory—what we consider a “portrait”—could evolve in the near future?

This work is an artistic proposal for how we might memorialize loved ones in a near-futuristic way.

① I closely observed my grandmother for several weeks, recording her everyday actions and gestures. I also interviewed people close to her and asked them to reenact behaviors she was known for. These moments were recorded on video.
② I 3D-scanned her body to digitally preserve her form.

By projecting these recordings of my grandmother, moving as she normally would, onto a transparent screen, this installation creates the experience of being able to visit her as she was—whenever I want.

What I regret most about my grandfather’s funeral is that I had no moving images of him from before his dementia.
As his condition worsened, he was moved to a care facility, and in his final years I only saw him bedridden. The last time I saw him, he was lying stiff and emaciated in his casket—there was no trace of the lively person I remembered.

While a few cheerful photos from his life remain, I can no longer recall his voice, his catchphrases, or his subtle mannerisms. Now, I can only try to mentally reconstruct what kind of person he might have been, relying on secondhand accounts from my parents and grandmother.

If I had a video of him from when he was well—walking, speaking, laughing—I could revisit those memories even after forgetting.
This installation was born from that wish: to preserve not just an image, but the living presence of someone we love.

Process

In 2021, I once collapsed from heatstroke and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. During that experience, I felt every nerve in my body—my blood vessels, muscles, and tendons—at their maximum tension. It felt as if someone was strangling my neck and heart, and I truly believed I might die then and there. My body remained rigid and immobile for a while, and I stayed in the hospital for six hours.

Since that experience, I began to think deeply about "death" and recalled my time studying abroad in high school in the United States. At that time, the only schools accepting international students were Christian high schools. Because I was not a Christian, I often found that conversations with my classmates would not align.

For example, reincarnation is commonly believed in Japan, but when I attended the Christian high school in the U.S., no one believed in reincarnation, so we couldn’t understand each other on that topic. I realized that people's views on life and death vary greatly, and I speculated that the fear of death might be alleviated by the specific beliefs of their religion.

Death is the one thing that is equally given to all humans. No matter how wealthy or healthy, everyone will inevitably die. Humans cannot resist death. While we construct our views on life and death through religions and other beliefs, none of us truly know what happens after death while we are still alive. This fact intrigued me. No one has experienced the afterlife, and since it has never been scientifically proven, it remains an uncharted field beyond science, yet each culture or person holds their own unique perspectives on life and death.

Towards a New Form of Memorial Portrait Project

I remembered my grandfather who passed away on my birthday. He developed dementia when I was in the upper grades of elementary school. My mother described dementia as a state where “the soul has half gone to heaven.” Day by day, my grandfather lost the behaviors that reflected his personality and eventually could no longer recognize me. It felt as if he was gradually approaching the afterlife.

The one thing I regret the most is that I was unable to record videos of him while he was still healthy before the dementia progressed. After his condition worsened, he was admitted to a care facility, and for the last few years before he died, I only saw him lying in bed. The last time I saw him alive was when he was in his coffin—extremely thin and rigid. There was no trace left of the vibrant grandfather I once knew.

I can no longer recall my grandfather’s mannerisms in detail. However, if the lively presence of my grandmother, for example, can be recorded like this, it would be possible to revisit those memories anytime. Currently, memorial portraits are commonly photographs, but I believe that by preserving memories in video form, one can “visit” the vibrant presence of a loved one at any time. Recording my grandmother’s behavior and presence may itself be a manifestation of a certain perspective on life and death.

The concept of life and death perspectives (shiseikan) expresses human understanding and values regarding life and death. Many cultures and religions place importance on “memory” and “leaving traces of existence.” For example, graves and memorial portraits symbolize remembering the deceased, and rituals or stories serve as means to pass on the proof of one’s life to the future.

Recording my grandmother’s daily behaviors as video is an act of preserving both her “living time” and her “very existence” for the future. This is more than just documentation—it is an act of “connecting” her life itself to the future. Through this, I realized that this could become a new form of life-and-death perspective that I myself am shaping.