Born in Darkness, Painting the Light — My Upbringing and the Inner Compass of Creation
Adapted from the text written for my first solo exhibition in 2023.
The world had always appeared gray to me.
It felt as if I had been wandering endlessly through a dark, deep forest with no end in sight.
I never understood why I was born, or what I was living for.
For as long as I can remember, I have been asking myself those questions, quietly, over and over again.
Before I was even aware of the world, my parents’ relationship had already been broken.
My father had other women even before I was born, and my existence was the reason they married.
But he continued visiting other women’s homes and eventually abandoned us.
My mother, devastated by his betrayal, turned to alcohol. She stopped working and began to lash out violently at home.
“You’re the reason my life became like this,” she would shout.
When I was in elementary school, I would sit outside the house until she fell asleep, unable to enter.
I felt like I wasn’t supposed to exist in this world.
My grandmother on my mother’s side took care of my younger brother and me.
But in an attempt to support our struggling household, she fell victim to a real estate scam and was left with a huge debt.
Our already difficult life became completely desperate. Debt collectors came often, and every day we lived in fear of the next knock on the door.
When I became a student, I started working part-time jobs.
After becoming an adult, I worked alongside my grandmother—sleeping only three hours a night—to cover our living expenses and repay the debt.
It was a life that simply drained both body and mind.
My grandmother had a heart condition, yet she refused to rest.
She never went to the hospital or bought medicine, and eventually she collapsed.
After that, she never left the hospital again.
She developed dementia and often wandered off, disappearing from home.
We would search for her many times.
In the end, she was placed in a facility where her hands and feet were restrained, simply waiting for death.
She no longer recognized me.
As the years passed, bedsores covered her body, her swollen limbs oozed with blood, and she lay unconscious.
The staff repeatedly asked me, “Do you still wish to continue life support?”
By then, I was mentally and physically exhausted from years of caregiving.
I think I had lost my sense of self.
I had lost nearly ten kilograms, and I didn’t even realize it until someone at work pointed it out.
At that time, my mother was also hospitalized and continued to shout abuse whenever we spoke.
I wasn’t in a state of mind where I could ask anyone for help or even speak about my grandmother’s situation.
I struggled alone and, in the end, said the words, “It’s enough.”
A few days later, my grandmother passed away.
The silence and regret of that moment still remain in my heart.
I couldn’t bear the guilt of feeling that I had let her die.
There were times I even thought about following her.
I believed that I no longer deserved to be happy.
Losing the only person I could rely on left me completely alone in the world.
As my family continued to hurt one another, the house filled with hatred, resentment, and despair.
I felt as if there was no salvation anywhere, and my heart became filled with emptiness and hopelessness.
I lived under the heavy belief that “I am someone who should not exist.”
And yet, somehow, I survived—because music, the only light I had, never left me.
By chance, I once sang at a small live show, and for the first time, I was able to confirm my own existence.
That moment made me realize I wanted to pursue music someday.
Even when life was exhausting and I had no time to listen to music,
even when I felt completely alone and hopeless,
music was still there—pure and untainted.
Through it, I began to face myself and wanted to live sincerely, in honesty with both life and sound.
After my grandmother passed away and my mother slowly regained her independence,
I finally started making music seriously.
That was the beginning of Presence of Soul.
Music saved me.
Through the band, I tried to express the depths of my emotions,
and naturally my sound became darker and heavier.
Yet what I truly wanted to create was the beauty that lies beyond all of that darkness—
perhaps because the more I experienced despair, the more I longed for light.
And so, I began to explore the contrast between darkness and light.
Maybe that’s why I eventually wanted to shape what I had expressed through sound into something more tangible.
My visuals and artwork gradually turned monochrome—worlds of black and white.
When COVID-19 spread and we were forced to stay at home,
our band activities slowed down.
One day, without thinking too much, I picked up a pen and began to draw.
When I finished the first piece, I felt the same spark that music had once given me.
It was another form of creation—another me born from within.
Without realizing it, I began to draw more and more.
I had never studied art and lacked any technical skill, but like music,
each piece I created felt like a reflection of myself—
and somehow, I could only express that world in monochrome.
Since childhood, something nameless had always been stirring inside me—
an emotion, a will, a way of thinking, a set of values.
To understand it, I had to find my own identity.
Everyone has that feeling to some degree;
some choose to ignore it, while others spend their lives searching for it.
Through music, drawing, and design,
I try to give shape to those invisible things that lie deep within consciousness.
I believe that’s where something essential resides.
Many artists have given me that kind of experience—
moments that made me notice something within myself,
that made me think, reflect, and sometimes change.
The drawings and photographs I’m showing for the first time in this exhibition
are, like my music, a reflection of myself.
If someone sees them and feels even a small tremor in their heart,
that alone would make me happy.
That is why I decided, with courage, to hold my first solo exhibition.
I sincerely thank the space owner and everyone who supported me for giving me this opportunity.
The forest I had been wandering through was deep and endless.
But because of that darkness, I can now hold the light in my hands—
and with it, the quiet joy of creating.
日本語はこちらからお読みいただけます。
Read the original Japanese version here
→ https://note.com/yuki_pos/n/n1a937f0eeb62
© DEEP SILENCE Art Projects
