|Psychoanalytic space composed of the rasping voice of a radio,
the projected slide images and an old chaise longue etc..Slide pictures are projected to the surface of the pillow on the chaise longue, and the pictures are switched at 8-second intervals.FM radio receiver broadcasts over the airwaves receiving the recorded sound waves from another place.
The sound is in the Loop reproduction of 2 minutes and 7 seconds.
This work tries to generate a transference place
It intends also to combine our parts of memories into something whole.
We cannot remember the truth of others as our own memories,
Torus Dreaming, Spring Special exhibition, Osaka City Central Public Hall,Osaka January 2013
One of the images of slide
installation view (2013)
From the Radio voice
written by Akiko OKDA
Ah, ah, ah…Can you hear me?
Let me start broadcasting now on this very day!
I asked: “Where should I go to find (it)?” “It is where your mother is”, was the answer. So I am here now. I just remember.
Where am I now, though? My mother wouldn’t move from here. Mother, why on earth do you persevere in staying here?
Should I find someone here, or rather, some narrow path where I should follow?
I wonder what would let me pass that way…if not a certain torus.
It seems to be very dangerous, doesn’t it?
I wonder how far I would return when I pass through it…Maybe far beyond my mother, up until something that had been waiting for my mother.
Was there anyone who had expected such a thing to occur?
It occurred in spite of any expectation.
How can one remember it?
How can one remember what one has never expected to occur?
Then am I supposed to remember….remember what they could not retain in mind and what my mother has already forgotten?
Well, I do. I remember, for I see now a piece of smoke. And a hand through the smoke.
Now I know, mother. It is because you cannot remember it that you say you like this place so much.
Should I remember it instead of you?
When I remember it, I pass to somewhere.
It would let my wish pass, or my love pass.
It would pass to where it lets it pass.
Here it is you who are telling me:
“You have come to…”
“Do you know where you are now here?”
“Do you know the name of this place?”
“Can you remember what has come from here?”
Can I remember what? It is he that would come to the couch instead of me.
Instead of hello, he licks the fingers of my foot with his small tongue.
(He had ears sticking out on the head.)
This is what I had better not to tell anyone.
Look! The smoke, can you see it?
Who are you for me? The most important person, aren’t you?
They say there are varieties of love, but what is important is this love I feel for you.
I will keep it somewhere. Do you laugh at me if I say like this?
Look! I wonder whether that bird has been watching in this way.
It was the figure of my mother crouching that was kept in that box.
“I have endured the unendurable and suffered what is unsufferable.”
This was what my mother was saying all the time.
What have I made my mother endure and suffer? How have I given distress to her? I cannot remember despite me.
Look at that smoke!
In fact, who was enduring and suffering?
Do you remember?
The slit lets another slit pass.
A window another window. From a pupil to another pupil.
Is it from a radio that one started broadcasting?
Does it mean an intense dream?