I hold the clay, bury my fingers in it, dig holes, throw my selves into them and then, moving here and there, right and left, carve out a negative image of myself there. After projecting, transferring and printing myself into it, I leave.
The traces that are left behind have dried, are covered with ashes and minerals, then burnt and solidified into an object.
Are these traces just imprints of my selves?
They record and remember moments of my act, which even I, the very person who passed them by, was unaware of, and these moments are semi-permanently congealed there in the clay.
It can be said to be the residue of my forgetfulness in those moments, but on the other hand, these condensations continue to reverberate my willlessness that stood there, endlessly deepening the depth of that forgetfulness. To continue to sit in that reverberation is what I call meditation here.
The objects exhibited here were indeed the traces of my meditation, but here they are traces that have already left me and stand alone now. Therefore I think that what is here should be called “Meditation of The Traces”.
- Kosi Hidama