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Tsutomu Takasaki


A fleeting, decaying thing.

When the time spent in the city was about to exceed the years in his hometown, he moved to a city full of greenery. You will be made to experience the changing seasons again, remember the 20 years that you have run through in a hurry, and inevitably think about the time to "live". In the winter, when the shadow of the recession came to me and I had a lot of time in exchange for anxiety, I took a leisurely stroll through the suburban forest. The dead leaves of various trees depict the feet of a quiet and beautiful landscape that has abandoned the colors of other seasons. When I picked up one of them, there was a mysterious warmth, and I felt an indescribable attachment. At first glance, the veins that look flat are functionally curved and beautiful. The branching veins seem to be a microcosm of the parent tree. Attracted by its beauty, I took some of them home and took pictures by the window at dusk. And a few days later, they returned to the same forest after having a short detour. Eventually they scatter in the wind and return to the soil. The color is uniformly assimilated to the color of the soil. The ultimate "beauty" must seem to be condensed in the appearance of those who played their respective roles. And I think that there is a primitive issue of how we must live in the future.

It seems that beauty dwells in things that go through time while achieving their goals in the flow without going against nature. The same may be said for humans. Instead of looking at the dead leaves of the roadside trees that usually fall on the paved road, it may be okay to just relax the rushed steps. Tsutomu Takasaki

The moment when it seems to decay at any moment.

It seems that ephemeral and beautiful things coexist. Glasswork that is thin and transparent, and is likely to break with a handful. A soap bubble that flutters in the air and eventually breaks and pops away. Dead leaves must be one of them. Aoba, which shines in the midsummer sun, clings to the branches firmly even when strong winds blow. When the green leaves become dead leaves, the veins become delicate shaped like lace knitting. When I put dead leaves on my palm, it seems to break with a loud noise. This decaying process may be beautiful.



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