葉山葉山

A time of chaos and silence. In 2021, I visited a seaside bus stop near my home every day. Through windy days, rainy days, and the changing seasons, I kept recording fragments of that year. It was not a time when I could do anything significant, but this was one thing I could continue — a small, steady act. During that period, when even brief contact with others required caution, the bus stop overlooking Mount Fuji became one of the few places where I could still sense daily life. The scenes that appeared there were quiet and restrained, yet the place itself never felt closed. Even in scenery that seemed unchanged, time left faint traces — the trembling of light, the presence or absence of people, the subdued rhythms of everyday life, and the faces of those passing by in masks. Watching these small shifts day after day, I began to notice that this bus stop reflected the texture of that time. Perhaps the same was true elsewhere : in Times Square in New York, in a temple in Bangkok, or in an alleyway in Beijing. In those days, when the world was wrapped in a shared sense of unease, the contours of “the world” could be sensed from almost any vantage point. In that sense, this bus stop, too, may have become a fixed point from which to observe the world.

2021+ overview.pdf