SANA KOHMOTO 幸本紗奈
unseen birds sing 個展

Although Sana and Kalina are young and not yet at all well-known, I found their works communicated their ideas in a way that was remarkably clear, despite the fact that none of them had a “message” per se. The brief statement accompanying Sana’s photos was more of a reminder to herself of how she wants to live: 

Birds are singing outside the window.
I have never seen them singing, but they are there.
I still don’t understand the nods and winks – the signs hidden in everyday moments.
If I can, I want to gather sense and sweetness from the darkness – with a bit of expectation.

Perhaps this statement was also an invitation to others to join in her practice of seeing through artist’s/love’s eyes. I certainly felt my heart and curiosity opening in expectation.

Let’s look at one. At first glance, the contents of this one seem ordinary, a view looking across a street where no people or vehicles are present to a building with an external staircase leading up to what appears to be a gated doorway. A lonely tree in the corner reaches for the sun, not quite catching it in the play of light and shadow. I can’t see anything in focus, so I think Sana likely took this photo hand-held with a very slow shutter. 

Hmm, why might she have done that? When I look at it, I feel there is something quietly mysterious, even mystical about it. The blur creates a softness. Even though nothing much is here, this lovely light is here. Just as she must have paused to take this long-exposure shot, I find myself pausing in this soft, dappled light. 

And pausing here, I start to wonder who might go up and down those stairs. Do the building’s occupants also pause to enjoy this light, quietly bathing in the beauty of this otherwise seemingly unremarkable and unimportant location? Might they have even chosen to live or work here in part due to this redeeming feature? Are they lovers of beauty, perhaps painting away inside? Harried and weary workers for whom the moments coming and going, or stepping out for a quick break to smoke or call the kids after school, offer the only moment of respite in their relentless days? I can’t see them, but I can imagine them there in the before and after, hear the echos of their footsteps, unseen birds singing in the tree….

Sana’s approach reminds me of these words by Rainer Maria Rilke from his Letters to a Young Poet: 

“If you will stay close to nature, to its simplicity, to the small things hardly noticeable, those things can unexpectedly become great and immeasurable.”

Here’s another one, a still-life of an apple, a common subject. But the apple is out of focus while the background is sharp. Was this a mistake?! Let’s assume it’s intentional. Why would Sana show a blurred apple? It appears to be on a little gold pedestal or coaster of some kind on top of a table or counter. Someone must have gone out of their way to display the apple there like that. In the background, we can see a partially open door, but the area behind the opening is pitch black. Hmm, my mind is more drawn to that.

There appears to be a black curtain draped over the top of the door, neither completely covering the doorway nor fully out of the way. Was the person who arranged it that way in a hurry? Why cover the door with a curtain? Is it a doorway to a photographer’s dark room, perhaps Sana’s own? To the right of the door, there appears to be a cabinet or appliance or something with an illustration of some kind on it. There’s not much else to catch the eye so the illustration, despite being mostly obscured by the apple, stands out. Except for the apple, it appears to be a completely uncluttered room. 

By taking something familiar, a still-life of fruit, and using depth-of-field to draw the viewer’s gaze away from the fruit to the background of the image, Sana confounds our expectations. Confused, we pause and look again with eyes of curiosity, giving us the opportunity to take in something more, something new. In fact, artists have long depicted still-life subjects, not because they are obsessed with table-top arrangements, but because they can serve as a means of inviting reflection on how we see, how we create images, and how the techniques and attributes of representation interact with our perceptions to give rise to the meanings that we impart to images.

Just as in the previous photo, no people or animals are visible, but their presence outside the frame of the photo seems to be implied, invoked. This image also invites us to pause and wonder about who lives or works here, someone who doesn’t like clutter but who does value images and doing things with intention, someone who would think to arrange an apple on a gold pedestal to transform it into something aesthetically satisfying, perhaps an artist or art lover or Sana herself. Interesting. It seems that Sana uses photographs not only to get us to linger and reflect but also to stimulate us to imagine what is not visible and what came before. Being with her works reproduces in our minds something of the actual experience of a place and moment that she herself had. Photographs are flat, but Sana’s photographs immerse us in a four-dimensional reality as if we are mind-melding with her.

Let’s look at one more. What in the world? Did she take this one by accident? There’s just a big black shadow in front of what looks like a fence with some people behind it but their heads are cut off. Hmm. Is that a beak? Maybe it’s a closeup of a black bird? But it’s so underlit. There could be some feathers on the top of its head but the rest is pure black. No eyes are visible. Still, I’m pretty sure it is a bird. It’s not that sharply in focus. Is it inside a cage? But then why would the photographer be in there with it? It really looks more like a fence than a cage. 

Even though I can’t really see the bird’s expression, I feel its presence. The blackness weighs on me. Fenced in, and obscured in the darkness, it feels solitary, lonely. 

Since we can’t see the faces of the people in the background, it feels as if they are disconnected from the bird. Probably, they don’t even notice it. I feel much closer to the bird than to the people. Maybe the photographer has foregrounded the bird and depicted it in darkness in this way precisely to encourage us to think about its feeling, its point of view. What might it be thinking? Does it feel lonely? Does it long for other birds, perhaps a mate? For the disappearance of fences? Are there other birds around just out of frame that it can’t seem to get together with, or is it simply content to be apart for the moment? Sana said that, in fact, there were other birds nearby, but only this one was by itself. She, too, had asked herself these questions.

How wonderful that a photograph of what might initially seem like a “bad” photo of an unremarkable scene prods us to imagine what it’s like to be a bird! And a solitary bird behind a fence, at that. I don’t know if I would have paused to wonder what a bird might be thinking if I hadn’t paused to take in this photo. 

“The function of artists is to keep people childlike in a positive way. To keep open to the world.” — Viggo Mortensen

Isn’t it also amazing that a photograph like this was able to provoke in my mind the same thoughts that the photographer had when she was there? In fact, each of her photographs accomplished this and revealed to me something meaningful that was unseen in the process. While considering all of this, I felt more energized and open, more playful, and when I think of it again now, I feel the same way. 

Sinking into each of Sana’s photos with her, I felt that we shared something really deep and special. Sana agreed, telling me, “From the words that you saw and spoke with your eyes, I made many discoveries, and it was a very fulfilling time.”

Kalina told me that her father is a gay, very feminine American man raised by adoptive parents in Seattle. Her mother is Japanese and overly protective and controlling. They fought a lot and divorced. Kalina had a hard time but nevertheless appreciates her childhood, especially the gentleness that her father demonstrated as a man, and the kindness and love of her paternal grandparents. She realized at a young age that love is based on choice, not blood.

As a half-Japanese growing up in Japan, Kalina was bullied in school and grew up alone and lonely. She wanted to transcend her upbringing, not be scarred or determined by it. Wishing to grow and express herself and connect more with others, she took up drama in high school, but just when she was opening up, an abusive situation traumatized her and triggered her depression.

For a time, Kalina withdrew and could not go outside or interact with the world. To protect herself, she hid away her feelings. Taking photographs through the window became her way of engaging with the world from a place of safety. Rather than trying to convey any particular message or philosophy, she sought to express her mental state and continue to engage with the world to the degree that she could and find a way out of her depression.

Later, when she began to share her photographs, people told Kalina that the photographs captured their own depression. Some said that the light in her photos helped them to reconnect with their desire for recovery. The photos helped them to heal. Kalina had not taken them with the idea of helping others, but by working through her own depression and sharing that work, she realized that she was, in fact, helping others. She realized the value and power of her art, and she wants to continue. Today, as her work with WOMB and our two long conversations testify, she is able to function in the world again, to enjoy her life, and to engage deeply with others.

Kalina wanted to be in a band when she was younger, but she didn’t learn to play any instrument. Working with WOMB gives her an opportunity to be part of a creative team. The four current members collaborate to create the magazine without hierarchy. They decide on a specific theme, and then each creates her own work independently. Each of them responds to the theme in her own way. Both Sana and Kalina enjoy the process of being surprised by what the others create and being exposed to different interpretations or articulations of the theme. Sometimes, it is a little uncomfortable, but in a good way that helps them consider new perspectives and grow.

Sana says she had an unexceptional childhood and family life overall, but there were typical stresses and disagreements. Her grandmother was not always so understanding and sometimes became angry with her choices. Sana said she learned something really important from that. “When I saw her angry face, it was such a scary thing for me because I felt that it was a mirror.” Sana realized that her own anger was simply being reflected in her grandmother, and she didn’t want to have that anger. Looking at her own anger, Sana thought it stemmed from becoming frustrated that she could not express herself well. She wanted to become better at it.

She recalls fondly that her father loves reading, and she, too, developed a passion for reading as a means of self-reflection and self-development and connecting with reality in another, deeper way. Her sister encouraged her to be more ambitious and imagine a happy and fulfilling life for herself beyond the confines of their rural traditions. She said her sister opened her eyes to the larger world and supported her decision to pursue art.

Like many young creatives, Sana works multiple jobs to make ends meet. Her reading and creative practices have taught her to be curious about everything. She has learned to find inspiration rather than dissatisfaction all around her, including at her outwardly ordinary jobs. Her inner life has prepared her to explore and relate to the external world.

Later, I came across another passage from Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet that I thought spoke to her curiosity and determination to identify with her surroundings and find the wonder and life within:

“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place.”

When I shared these words with her, she responded, “These words that Rilke wrote to a young man have saved and encouraged me also many times since I was young. I always carried a thin book containing Rilke’s letters in my bag when I wanted to concentrate on my works.” Writers like Rilke and Franz Kafka have shaped the way she lives. 

Rilke, she said, described people as being absorbed and distracted by their thoughts due to their fear of death, preventing them from really taking in or understanding one another and the world around them. The artist’s role, then, is to undo or at least relax that thinking in order to experience the present and receive some inspiration that the artist can transform into art that may inspire others to have a similar experience. She also pointed out that Rilke expressed that it is difficult, if not impossible, to fully understand what a tree might be experiencing, much less a rock. But animals and trees and rocks cannot articulate what they are experiencing either. However imperfectly, we can use our gifts to attempt to express what they cannot, and in the attempt, we can come closer to experiencing our own truth. Artists like Sana and Kalina, like Rilke before them, demonstrate that there are riches all around us and that the key to recognizing them is replacing judgment with curiosity, with love.