The collection of her dream houses is a new seriese of works : a pair of text and drawing.  The text come from repeated dreams of the artist's mother which illustrate her seven ideal houses. Takaya makes one drawing responding to the each of houses. As  following the rule that she makes a work without making any practice drawings, she has been exploring a method that can  realize ellements of a deam; we have it by chance without any controll.  

 

Writing from the film 'her paternity' (2014)

 

 

 

I was born in 1992.    I have my own body.   I am a perfect human.

 

She is not my other self.

A soul, utterly independent and individual,

It is the one and only real existence in this entire universe, released from the gene chain. 

 

This is what my father said. 

I still remember the time when you still knew me.

 

She is a stranger at first, suddenly a daughter, then back again to where it was.

Zero to One to Zero. This strict extremeness distinguishes her. 

 

All that lies between her and I is merely a thin piece of thread

A thread that has to be loosened to keep it from snapping until the day it shall be used.  

 

The thought of her has never appeared inside of me.

It is avoided

By will, by force, it has been tagged “estranged” and pinned down to the wall very far away.

 

This is what my father said. 

I still remember the time when you still knew me.

 

She is very demanding; not only towards others, but towards herself.

However, at times she seeks time to indulge herself. 

In between two different phases, her curiosity is floating.

 

This is what my father said.

I still remember the time when you still knew me.

 

What has come and gone, should have assembled three definitions of love.

But three different love forms, have each spoken for itself.

Even now, it is only when I face you that you become my father. 

Although paternity can be found in those eyes, your love will no longer surround me, for you have gone.

 

I had been waiting for you, realizing that you can breathe but I can’t breathe 

because I am afraid to take a breath.

  

You are perfect humans. 

I love you but you are sometimes someone I do not really know.

 

oh, love. (oh, love. )

It never leads me to somewhere I long for. 

The origin is ephemeral.  

 

It is almost impossible to know  how I was born either,   although I thought it was possible.

I feel my body does not belong to me or to anyone anymore.

It is utterly disrupting

I am not who you think I am.  I might not be who I think I am. 

There i s no longer there. Here is not here.

I am painfully free. 

 

You are perfect humans. 

I love you but you are sometimes someone I don’t really know.

I am a perfect human, 

You love me but I am sometimes someone you don’t really know.

 

Today, too, I experienced something that I hope I shall understand in few days’ time.

May be, here should be here. 

 

 

 

Writing for the exhibiton 'Plastic Rendez-vous' (2014, London, UK) 

 

 

 

I’ve grown my nails, hurting my hands, but its mysterious shine makes me not want to let it go.

From her lashes, that she has grown for an ambiguous figure, she cries knowing that he will wipe it from her face.

My eyes, your eyes, their eyes. Nose are plastic. Everything is plastic, nothing belongs to me. Coffee tastes of plastic.

My body might also be plastic. The scars on my arm are shallow compared to those inflicted on my heart, so making it beautiful.

The view from the footbridge is somewhat beautiful. Red, green and yellow lights, all beautiful. Artificial beauty.

Nature, beautiful too. Not that I know anything. 

Tokyo, paradise of the affluent. The tears on my brows blur the night lights and I am safe in the knowledge that there is an escape without cigarettes and alcohol.

Plastic me, plastic hotel, plastic toys, your love is plastic, so its safe. You and I, we’re both plastic.

2014- 15

Work of oil paintings - from  a study of afterimages 'Plastic Rendez-vous' (2014, London,UK)

works of  photographs 2009-2012