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2016 - 2018

ASH LEXICON-SILVERPLATE

WWll-era film canisters (filled with a burnt Japanese dictionary), charred 2 x 4 in. stud, 2-ch audio composed by Andrew Paul Keiper

Installation: 8 x 8 x 10 ft.

Ash Lexicon (stand alone installation)

WWll-era film canisters (filled with a burnt Japanese dictionary), charred wooden desk

Installation: 24 x 48 x 15 in.

Ash Lexicon contains 108 film canisters from 1940s filled with ash from a burnt Japanese dictionary, one that is identical to the one once owned by my grandfather. On August 6th, 1945, at 8:15 AM, my grandfather, Takeshi Ito, witnessed a great tragedy that destroyed nearly everything in Hiroshima. He survived the bombing yet he died from cancer when I was 10 years old. He once told through his book, upon returning to his home after the bombing, he found his cherished Japanese dictionary incinerated, and saw that the ink had turned white on the blackened pages, as if it were rendered into a photographic negative. At the same time that the radiation from the atomic bomb was inscribing itself into my grandfather’s genes, the flames from the bomb burned everything in Hiroshima, including the Japanese dictionaries my grandfather greatly cared for. This archive of history and culture became ash, thereby recording the destructive force of this new human technology.

 

The two-channel audio component, composed by Andrew Paul Keiper, is a soundscape inspired by the specially modified B-29 Superfortress heavy bombers used in the atomic attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Dubbed Silverplate Series, these planes not only carried and dropped the bombs, but performed other aspects of the missions, including scouting and observation.

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2016 - 2018

ASH LEXICON-SILVERPLATE

WWll-era film canisters (filled with a burnt Japanese dictionary), charred 2 x 4 in. stud, 2-ch audio composed by Andrew Paul Keiper

Installation: 8 x 8 x 10 ft.

Ash Lexicon (stand alone installation)

WWll-era film canisters (filled with a burnt Japanese dictionary), charred wooden desk

Installation: 24 x 48 x 15 in.

Ash Lexicon contains 108 film canisters from 1940s filled with ash from a burnt Japanese dictionary, one that is identical to the one once owned by my grandfather. On August 6th, 1945, at 8:15 AM, my grandfather, Takeshi Ito, witnessed a great tragedy that destroyed nearly everything in Hiroshima. He survived the bombing yet he died from cancer when I was 10 years old. He once told through his book, upon returning to his home after the bombing, he found his cherished Japanese dictionary incinerated, and saw that the ink had turned white on the blackened pages, as if it were rendered into a photographic negative. At the same time that the radiation from the atomic bomb was inscribing itself into my grandfather’s genes, the flames from the bomb burned everything in Hiroshima, including the Japanese dictionaries my grandfather greatly cared for. This archive of history and culture became ash, thereby recording the destructive force of this new human technology.

 

The two-channel audio component, composed by Andrew Paul Keiper, is a soundscape inspired by the specially modified B-29 Superfortress heavy bombers used in the atomic attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Dubbed Silverplate Series, these planes not only carried and dropped the bombs, but performed other aspects of the missions, including scouting and observation.

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© 2023 by Kei Ito.
Created on Editor X.

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Sungazing

2015 - Ongoing

108 of 8”x10” prints, Scroll: 12” x 150’ to 220’ depending on the edition

On August 6th 1945, at 8:15 AM, my grandfather witnessed a great tragedy that destroyed nearly everything in Hiroshima. He survived the bombing, yet he lost many of his family members from the explosion and radiation poisoning. As an activist and author, my grandfather fought against the use of nuclear weaponry throughout his life, until he too passed away from cancer when I was ten years old. I remember him saying that day in Hiroshima was like hundreds of suns lighting up the sky.

 

In order to express the connection between the sun and my family history, I have created 108 letter size prints and a 200 foot long scroll, made by exposing Type-C photographic paper to sunlight. The pattern on the prints/scroll corresponds to my breath. In a darkened room, I pulled the paper in front of a small aperture to expose it to the sun while inhaling, and paused when exhaling. I repeated this action until I breathed 108 times. 108 is a number with ritual significance in Japanese Buddhism; to mark the Japanese New Year, bells toll 108 times, ridding us of our evil passions and desires, and purifying our souls.

 

If the black parts of the print remind you of a shadow, it is the shadow of my breath, which is itself a registration of my life, a life I share with and owe to my grandfather. The mark of the atomic blast upon his life and upon his breath was passed on to me, and you can see it as the shadow of this print.

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