Yesterday, a wild tanuki was found dead under the eaves

This phrase became the title of my exhibition, drawn directly from something I shared with a friend living in the heart of the city. Their reaction to this story encapsulated the profound sense of the divide between humans and nature, as well as the chasm between wild animals and people. The death of a single tanuki brought these thoughts sharply into focus.

At the same time, the tanuki, curled up as if sleeping beneath the eaves of my studio, seemed neither to have been struck by a car nor to have met a violent end. It felt as though it had chosen this spot by its own will, as if it had lived and died entirely on its own terms.

After burying it and clasping my hands in prayer, tears welled up naturally. In that moment, memories of the blood coursing through my own body from childhood resurfaced. It was as if the energy of two lives―the tanuki’s and my own―had come into vivid contrast, pressing upon me with undeniable force.

In a corner of the bustling city, this moment became a meditation on the coexistence of life and death within our daily lives, embodying a reverence for the pulse of living things.