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Gravity and Return: The Universe as Eternal Home

In 2019, as the COVID-19 pandemic spread, I found myself stranded in the countryside of New Jersey in the United States, revisiting my diaries and sketchbooks from my time in Japan and reliving the state of mind I had then. During that time, I passionately contemplated the human and global issues of the twentieth century, such as materialism, the degradation of human nature, environmental destruction, and the future of the cosmos. I pondered over these issues as if I were an extraterrestrial. Reality often felt constraining, but the stars in the sky were always like guiding lights, illuminating my “ramble in the cosmos.”

On April 9, 2020, I wrote: “Finished reading my dozen or so sketchbooks. They contained my pursuit of drive, talent, openness, and uprightness along the way—riding on the kite of my hometown, steering the spacecraft of human childhood across romantic horizons.” Based on the plans outlined in these sketchbooks, I created several gunpowder drawings, including the three exhibited here. Resuming making drawings for the Projects for Extraterrestrials series after a twenty-year hiatus, in those explosive instants of creation, I was coming face to face with my past self, returning to the bosom of the cosmos—the eternal homeland of this “young painter.” Unbeknownst to me, this paved the way for my NACT exhibition Ramble in the Cosmos.


#37
Peaceful Earth: Project for Extraterrestrials No. 18
2020
Gunpowder and ink on paper, mounted on wood
230 x 232.5 cm

In 1993, I was invited by UNESCO to create a proposal for the millennium. I proposed that during the last second of this century and the first second of the next century, all inhabitants on the earth would turn off their lights and participate in creating a moment when the earth would fade into darkness. Due to time zone differences, each country would coordinate to turn off all their lights one after another at the moment they cross over from one millennium to the next. Through this act, people would realize more than ever that there is no “center stage” on this planet and that our societies are connected to one another. Ultimately, organizing such an event was beyond our capacity, and the project never saw fruition, which was a great pity. It takes countless generations to experience the turn of the millennium.

In the face of the impending historic moment, several institutions invited me to create an explosion event, expecting me to light up fireworks for the new millennium. But all I wanted to do was switch the lights off. At the time, I wrote, “Seen from space, the earth glitters each night. In the last century, humanity has consumed enormous resources to light up the world. Hence, at such an important moment as we enter the new millennium, we should let the earth rest, return it to the universe, and revert to the same darkness and peace as other planets. This will also allow the planet to step across time and space and connect to its past self from one thousand years ago, or even its primordial origins.”


#38
Nostalgia for Homeland: Project for Humankind No. 4
2020
Gunpowder and ink on paper, mounted on wood
230 x 310 cm

Since 1990, I’ve been dreaming of building a cosmic telescope by constructing two gigantic lenses. People passing by could look up and transcend light years instantly. That is the Galaxy and even the Universe—the homeland of itinerants. There and back again.

#39
Humanity’s Epitaph: Project for Extraterrestrials No. 13
2020
Gunpowder and ink on paper, mounted on wood
230 x 465 cm

In my 1990 artwork proposal, I envisioned creating a tombstone- or coffin-shaped block of frozen sea water containing organic matter, microorganisms, and other signs of life, to be sent adrift in space. I have transcribed the work’s description several times. Every time, it was as if I were the artwork, floating through the cosmos.

In the Dark and Freezing Universe
An ice cube, pure white, wanders through the boundless expanse of time and space; it contains the code condensing the composition and history of life in the earth’s seas. The ice melts when it encounters another distant planet, making the cosmos its new home. The light from another sun holds its funeral.

When it meets with comets that fly forth, it will be deeply drawn to these new companions—perhaps marrying one of them with embraces and loving caresses, perhaps becoming the beloved of another star, perhaps being reduced to a bead of sweat on the body of a giant, perhaps bearing children and helping a society to prosper. If it breaks into another civilization, if it finds guidance and makes its way into another atmosphere unharmed, settling into a new abode, then it will become the darling of that other world’s thinkers. Everything will be understood, nothing will be said. The efforts and anxieties of its friends, the ones who originally lifted this gift out of the atmosphere and sent it on its lengthy and turbulent journey—how their work will profoundly shake that other noble society!

Of course, even if this one-in-a-trillion chance is not realized, the ice block will rest quietly alongside the cosmic rays, occasionally receiving a greeting from another star’s glimmer and deriving some comfort. It will drift hither and thither in the ever-expanding universe, recalling memories of all that has transpired since 4.5 billion years ago. (Re-transcribed in the dead of night on May 6, 1992)