When walking my dog in the mountains behind my home, I sometimes encounter Japanese serows.

Standing silently within the forest, so still that I often do not notice them until I am very close, they are sometimes called the “sages of the forest” because of their calm and composed presence.

Even when they see me, they do not panic or flee.
They simply stand there, quietly gazing back at me, as if seeing through the heart of someone wandering while drowning in countless emotions.

I can approach them closely, yet there always remains a subtle distance that can never truly be crossed or touched.

Whenever I encounter them, I find myself questioning what it is I truly wish to live for, and for a brief moment, it feels as though time itself has stopped.

Assigned many roles, measuring my worth through countless standards, anxiously aware of time slipping away without knowing how much remains, I often look at the world with an overburdened mind.

I sometimes wonder how such a way of living appears in their eyes.

I wish to cherish instinct and sensation more deeply, to preserve a sacred inner sanctuary untouched by anyone, without wearing down my spirit, and to continue painting for the rest of my life.