Lost In Time
I painted Lost In Time after reconnecting with a close friend from my college years, more than a decade after we last spoke.
I had left Japan without saying goodbye, overwhelmed by life and quietly slipping away. For years, I carried memories of my friends with me, especially during difficult moments. I imagined returning someday, sitting together again, talking as if time had paused.
When we finally reconnected, the feeling was not what I had expected. Our conversations felt distant. His words were brief, unfamiliar. I found myself searching for the warmth I remembered and wondering where it had gone. I couldn’t tell whether he had changed, or I had, or whether time itself had placed something between us.
While I was painting, that uncertainty stayed with me. A single red mark moved through a muted, sepia-toned space — a presence trying to locate itself inside a place that once felt alive and known.
Weeks later, another old friend joined our conversations. Slowly, something shifted. Familiar rhythms returned. The distance softened. What I thought had been lost began to feel different — not gone, but reshaped by time.
Lost In Time came from that in-between moment, when the past feels close but unreachable, and understanding arrives gradually, without erasing what was felt before.
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