Photographer Masafumi Shirakami
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While lying on the ground of the Municipal Ballpark when I was young, I still vividly remember the dreamlike time of being embraced by Koumi.

I remember it was the first and last time I was taken by my parents. Even so, every summer, I was absorbed in looking into the binoculars from the veranda toward the small, shimmering light sea.

And from when, I started to travel around various light seas with my camera and tripod.

At first, I was absorbed in releasing it, but eventually I started to feel something different and unsatisfactory.


Of the many photographic expressions, nothing is more moving than the act of condensing time with super-second exposure.

What is stationary exists only quietly, and moving objects drastically change their morphology. The lump of iron is softly distorted like melted wax, and the light that cannot be grasped clearly records its trajectory as if to prove the existence of a moment.

By applying artificial blurring during exposure, the stationary body becomes a relatively moving body, and when a dimension-constrained blurring is applied to the moving body, it is embodied as a complex transformation that transcends human perception.

Sometimes it grows densely like an ancient coniferous tree, and the heartbeat of the fetus floating in the amniotic fluid is superposed on the synapse of the hippocampus, becoming a sailor floating in the deep sea like a meteor wandering in the light sea.

By the mixture of macroscopic and microscopic scales that are spun out endlessly, one day he quietly asks what he sees about the life of life.