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A bed is a place that reminds us we were born and will eventually die. It is a place that we realize we are helpless. It is a place that we come back to ourselves and realize that life has been given to us.
We make love, we are born, we rest, we are comforted, we gain strength and we die on a bed.

Drop of blood running down from fingertips of various people is a symbol of a water clock that is continually ticktocking. It is also a symbol of sharing our lives with each other because blood contains “life” of that person. It also shows that real prayer can not exist without sacrifice.

In our lives, we are surrounded by people. We encounter people, we talk with people, we spend time with people, we give to people, we are receive from people, we cry together with people, we laugh and we say good-by. These elements form our lives.

This art work is formed by people who have a relation with me - my mother, my mother’s colleague who passed away and my mother’s colleague’s mother. My mother’s colleague was like a daughter to my mother. My mother was so devoted to her work and she spent more time with her colleague than with me when I was an adolescent. They were spent time together like a real mother and daughter. My mother’s colleague possessed the time with my mother which I should have possessed. When she, who embraced the time with my mother, had passed away, that time had stopped. And I felt like part of me died together. This art work is a memorial of her and also a memorial of my self.

The red water in the blood transfusion bag hanged above the bed contains my blood. The water dropping from that bag is ticktocking. The bag contains 30 liters of water, which is the same with the average amount of water in a Japanese adult female’s body. This represents the weight of one’s life. The red water spreads on the white bed, making the bed a canvas. The expansion of red color is the length of that time.

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