sakura, silk gauze, cotton thread and sound recording
TEXT FROM THE 20TH DAY OF MARCH, 2018 IN TRANSIT BETWEEN TOKYO STATION AND SHIN-OSAKA.
SILK GAUZE AND COTTON THREAD FROM THE 31ST DAY OF MARCH, 2018, AT ARAKAWA, TOKYO.
SAKURA (CHERRY BLOSSOMS) FROM THE 2ND DAY OF APRIL 2018, AT YANAKA CEMETERY IN TAITO, TOKYO.
After getting on a plane to Japan, my mother told me she thought my father needed to be living in a nursing home.
I spent the next 2 months mid-March through mid-May, watching the sakura bloom and contemplating his life.
I was the farthest distance from my childhood home, observing trees turn from nothing to pink to green. Their short bloom celebrated in order to remember the beauty yet fleeting nature of life itself.
Once the blossoms fall, they are not left to wilt, but cleaned off the streets and trashed. Their full cycle of decay is left in plain sight only at cemeteries.
I walked to Yanaka every day collecting fallen blossoms, sitting with their sweet, rotting smell in my studio.
My father raised me. Captive between what I can identify as PTSD that later became complicated by dementia.
Living in his mind and his reality. It feels I have mourned the loss of him over and over.