“To borrow the sharp eye of critic WILLIAM CORWIN in Gallery & Studio Arts Journal, I’m “a specific kind of artist who collects ideas and forms, and unites them in strange shimmering and glistening combines which force contradictory things into close quarters”. My work thrives on tension: the jarring juxtaposition of beauty and brutality, the sublime tangled with the political. One minute you’re gazing at the majestic serenity of Mount Fuji, the next, you’re staring through the plexiglass visor of a police riot helmet. I’m essentially a painter—but not the quiet, contemplative kind. I believe in the big canvas, the heroic gesture, the kind of painting that doesn’t whisper from the walls but grabs you by the collar. My hope? That by enveloping viewers completely, these works might just nudge a few minds and hearts. The themes I tackle are not always polite dinner conversation, I’ve been fusing Picasso’s “Guernica”—arguably the 20th century’s most haunting anti-war statement—with Japan’s sacred Mount Fuji. Sounds disruptive? Perfect. Fujiyama, for me, isn’t just a picturesque volcano. It’s a post-war symbol of peace in a nation that once embodied imperial aggression, only to emerge from the atomic crucible committed to pacifism. Imagine stitching together Guernica‘s anguish with Fuji’s calm: two protest images rubbing shoulders, creating something more—something not quite reconciliation, not quite revolution, but charged beauty. Contradiction isn’t just tolerated in my practice; it’s the driving force. Because in visual art, paradoxes don’t cancel each other out. They radiate.