At the moment I’m composing this post while being stuffed in a train, limbs awkwardly pressing against my fellow stranger’s. I’m trying my best to gracefully accept this packed, crowded stereotype that Tokyo is well known for.
In review of my day, I feel a bit disappointed that I didn’t try harder to observe my surroundings and find more beautiful things. Granted I didn’t have much time to just sit and relax, but I definitely could have put out more effort.
I do feel better knowing that I’m going to be here a week, instead of my regular go in and go out on the same day trips, which is because I love Home too much to stay away from it for too long. I am flowing at a better pace, and don’t feel so overwhelmed or constricted by time. But at the same time, it is still Tokyo. I have this odd sense of being in a different country when I’m here, and makes me feel very far from home.
But my sister is here. I don’t get to see Betsie so much because she works long hours at night, but it is indeed very pleasant being back with her. Tonight we went to a restaurant, and I had her hold a magnifying glass that was hanging from the ceiling in front of an old-fashioned light. It revived an old idea that I had for a piece. So perhaps this singular moment of interest in this hanging object will burrow it’s way to a future image. We shall see.
Today I was again caught in a whirlwind. A cruel, blustery tempest. These past few days have been full of me chasing after myself, but then running away from it as well. I fidget all day, carrying this anxious feeling within my chest, that threatens to choke me. It seems to say: When is it good enough? “It” being the art I produce, or rather, myself. I spend so much time fixated on it’s perfection in my mind, rather than production of the physical art itself. I am aware of this in myself, and it leaves me in even more suffering and guilt, stuck within a vicious circle. I tell myself that perhaps this is growth, but I find myself trapped within shell within shell, like a matryoshka doll.
Even as I type, I am fearful. Will even this be good enough? Where have I developed this abnormal fear of imperfection from? Perhaps it was something that naturally permeated and stained my being after being birthed and bred in the Japanese culture? A slow trickle of poison. Undetectable in small doses. Could that be the culprit?
Because when I was younger, I remember not fearing anything. I remember what it felt to be inspired by a piece of work rather than intimidated of or jealous of it.
Can I reclaim that sense of self? Hopefully I can find it again this year.
Photography: Reylia Slaby
Model: Hikaru @ Trouver Models Osaka
Hair/Make-up: Yui Hirosawa
Hi everyone! I have some exciting news to share!
This year marks Adobe Photoshop’s 25th anniversary, and in honor of it, the Adobe team has been searching the globe, looking for 25 artists under the age of 25 to create a piece in celebration of it. Among them are digital artists , photographers and even typographers. I’m super excited and honored to say that I’m one of the 25, and this is the piece I created for them.
To read more about adobes 25 Under 25 project, please check out the links below!
A HUGE thank you to the Adobe team, for all their support and advice, and a big congratulations to the other 24 selected! You guys earned it!
I’m also taking over adobes Instagram for about two weeks! Would be so wonderful if you could follow, like, and comment on there! Link below!
Also thanks so much to all my incredible friends, family, and viewers for their support and encouragement! You truly are my rock. And a shout-out to the model, Dagny! You were so amazing on the shoot! I can never thank you enough.
Here’s to 25 years of creativity!
the box, the box.
who opened you?
not I, said the heart.
nor I, cried the mind.
for the keeper of the key
had long since died.
the box, the box.
where feelings are stored.
who opened you?
you had vowed,
that you would never be
I’m feeling something new tonight. Disappointment never felt this sweet before. I realized that the more I embrace this feeling, the more it fades. It’s unfortunate that the same applies to people.
Self Portraits&poem by Reylia Slaby