_(Un)premeditated Inheritance_ is an installation consisting of one hundred and eight 20mm anti-aircraft bullet shells filled with my hair and trinitite, a radioactive glass formed from the heat of the first Atomic bomb testing in New Mexico. I am fascinated by the idea that my very existence is rooted in two significant historical moments: the birth of the atomic bomb in New Mexico and the bombing of Hiroshima.

  
The first ever Atomic bomb exploded into the world in the deserts of Alamogordo, NM in 1945\. Two weeks later, the first weaponized Atomic bomb was dropped in Hiroshima by the Enola Gay B-29 bomber. At the time, my grandfather was 15 years old and compelled like many others to work at an ammunition factory to produce anti-aircraft bullets. It is there he experienced the blast from the bomb. He survived the explosion but later learned that most of his family did not.

  
The contents of these WWII era practice rounds, my hair and the trinitite, are grounded to the point that they resemble gunpowder; perhaps a newer form of ammunition to be used for either protection or attack. Both trinite and myself are accidental byproducts of war, as are so many others. This new fusion marks a more complete and fuller story of my origin that started long before my own birth. The two opposing moments in history come together and are still present within my body and experiences today; neither one exists with the other.

(Un)premeditated Inheritance

_Each Tolling Sun_ is a poignant and thought-provoking installation by acclaimed artist Kei Ito, where he meticulously engages with the legacy of nuclear tragedy and symbolism in a striking new exhibit. On view at the Hilliard Art Museum from July 28, 2023 to February 24, 2024, this immersive showcase invites viewers to contemplate the profound impact of nuclear warfare through a series of evocative artworks.

  
At the heart of the exhibit lies a compelling centerpiece—a circular metal sheet distorted by Ito's deliberate strikes with a sledgehammer, totaling 108 blows. Surrounding this centerpiece are 108 vivid photogram prints, each capturing a progression of orange, red, and yellow circles against stark black or red backgrounds. These circles, akin to the transformed metal, embody a symbolic journey through 108 iterations, culminating in a powerful visual narrative.

  
Rooted in personal history, this body of work traces back to Ito's grandfather, a survivor of the Hiroshima bombing. His grandfather's legacy as an anti-nuclear activist profoundly influences Ito's artistic expression, echoing a fervent plea for peace amidst the haunting memories of past devastation. For Ito, the sun emerges as a profound symbol, signifying both life and destruction. This dichotomy forms the crux of his artistic exploration, encapsulating the overwhelming power and inevitable consequences associated with nuclear weaponry.

  
Ito's frustration with contemporary nuclear tensions is palpable in his deliberate strikes upon the metal plate, symbolizing a call for global harmony and disarmament. The series of circles exhibited in the gallery space distill this frustration into representations of 108 suns, speaking volumes about Ito's vision and mission.

  
The deliberate exposure of photographic paper to sunlight between strikes captures the gradual decay and transformation of the metal—a process steeped in the significance of the number 108 in Japanese Buddhism, symbolizing purification and renewal.

  
Beyond the confines of the gallery, Ito's boundary-blurring installation extends to video and sound elements, complemented by a monumental 160 ft long banner. This expansive artwork invites contemplation on the delicate balance between life and death, past and future, and our place within this intricate narrative.

  
In a compelling convergence, the exhibit challenges viewers to reevaluate our global nuclear landscape, inviting a deeper examination of objects as witnesses, embodying profound impressions of the tumultuous history they carry.

Each Tolling Sun

_Our Looming Ground Zero_ is a multimedia installation consisting of 108 framed photograms, created by exposing light sensitive paper to sunlight, juxtaposed with 108 black plumb bobs. Traditionally, plumb bobs are commonly used in homes during construction to measure the flatness of the floor. Here, they echo the annihilated and flattened land of Hiroshima which Ito’s grandfather witnessed.

  
These painted plumb bobs are suspended from the gallery ceiling, pointing directly to the framed prints as both markers and looming ominous threats. Each photogram contains one ordinary word in stark contrast such as “Chair”, “Mother”, “Tree”, “You”, and “Me”. Together, these two elements combine to create a fleeting monument to all the things, from small and forgotten objects, systems, and to more personal items such as body parts that we stand to lose in the wake of impending nuclear annihilation.

  
_Our Looming Ground Zero_ raises an ephemeral gravesite built on top of an already existing mountain of sacrifices - including people, landscapes, and ways of life - in which our current state of peace unsteadily rests upon. Here, I offer a chance for us to come together after experiencing the recent large-scale global trauma to reflect on the ramifications of our current course, our shared losses, and to submit a prayer for the future.

Our Looming Ground Zero 

A child’s hazmat suit lays on the ground with a series of flashing light bulbs contained within, their red cables snaking out of the various openings, echoing arteries or perhaps red strings of fate. _Subject X_ is both a self-portrait and a vision of the future. This piece is me asking the question: who is and will be Subject X and can we stop it?

Subject X

_Where the Mountains Glow_ is a multimedia piece consisting of four uranium glass objects (a Peacemaker Revolver, a Native American head in traditional headwear, an arrow head, and a butterfly). I have placed these objects, relics of the Industrial Revolution, Modernization and Colonization, onto four images taken from various photographic archives such as Times Magazine and the Associated Press. 

  
A recent direction in my artistic practice is to bridge the gap in who is seen as nuclear victims. My heritage, as a third generation hibakusha (atomic bomb victim), is seen as the epitome of nuclear victimhood. However, Americans and Native Americans were often some of the first and continue to be victimized by the nuclear programs. 

  
Accompanying the objects is a 25’ long roll of paper that lists the abandoned uranium mines on Navajo lands. This collection of objects is a new presentation of a series of data and archives in a way that is monumental. The imagery, objects, and data are all publicly available but are not often addressed due to a variety of factors. Using my own identity, research, and experience Where the Mountains Glow shines a UV black light onto the invisible, forgotten, and ongoing trauma that still inhabits the land and the people. 

Where the Mountains Glow

_A Dream of Armageddon_ is a multimedia installation that explores potential apocalyptic disasters. The exhibition serves as both a warning for the future and also a mirror of our current socio-political landscape.

  
The exhibition’s imagery unveils a tapestry of model homes, both Eastern and Western, suspended in isolation. Stripped of context, these houses become potent symbols of home, representing the very essence of human existence. Amidst this isolation, the gallery space pulsates with disjointed housescapes and interwoven light bulbs, casting an eerie glow upon the frames. The juxtaposition of darkness and fleeting illumination encapsulates the fragile balance between existence and obliteration.

  
Made using Ito’s technique of exposing the objects to photographic paper and using sunlight for the duration of his breath, the works continue Ito’s artistic exploration of his own irradiated heritage as a third generation hibakusha (atomic bomb victim). When he was nine years old, Ito remembers his grandfather telling him that day in Hiroshima “was like hundreds of suns lighting up the sky.” Thus, Ito utilizes this photographic process as an homage to his grandfather’s experience and to capture invisible forces such as radiation, pain, sickness, and life and death.

  
This work delves into the haunting landscape of our shared responsibility and the dire repercussions of neutrality and inaction, weaving a cautionary tale inspired by H.G. Wells’ 1901 novel of the same name. Literature, especially the works of Wells, becomes a potent

tool, referencing and expanding upon our socio-cultural imagination. By dissecting Wells’ narratives, we gain insight into the intricate web of human behavior, societal structures, and the consequences of unchecked power.

  
Within this exhibition, the looming specter of apocalypse infiltrates our homes, seeping into the very fabric of our daily lives. The threat of global war looms large, exacerbated by the laxity in enforcing a ban on nuclear testing and the rise of self-serving political leaders. Here, inaction is not merely a void; it is a force, a palpable presence shaping the narrative of our time. Ignorance, too, becomes an active participant, its tendrils reaching into the core of our collective conscience.

  
_A Dream of Armageddon_ challenges our perception of inaction and urges us to confront the consequences of our indifference. It beckons us to acknowledge that the line between peace and war, action and inaction, is blurred, reminding us that our choices shape the destiny of humanity. As the global ban on nuclear testing teeters on the edge, this exhibition stands as a stark reminder of our shared responsibility to safeguard our world from the impending shadows of Armageddon.

A Dream of Armageddon

_Hymn for a Lost Tomorrow (The High Wall)_ is a video work that was projected on the facade of the INScape Arts Building (The High Wall) in Seattle, WA. The building is a former immigration detention center which was also used as a temporal detention facility to imprison Japanese and Japanese-American citizens who were later sent off to the internment camps during WWII.

\*The original video was made in 2019 which was later remade for the High Wall projection. Revisiting the video and _Only What We Could Carry,_ I used the prints to create this piece which presents me in front of the prints singing a silent hymn and contemplating on past traumas as a singing siren warning the future.

  

Hymn for a Lost Tomorrow (The High Wall)

Public projection at Daniels and Fisher Tower in Denver as a public art project organized by Night Lights Denver: People’s Projector and the Center for Fine Art Photography.

  
_Aborning New Light_ is a video installation from my larger _New Light_ series. The visuals were mined from archives of nuclear testing on American soil. From the declassified nuclear testing film footage, the 1000s of film stills were printed onto transparencies, exposed onto light sensitive paper and finally, he rescanned the processed prints back into a single film (sometimes objects like Godzilla figurines or Enola Gay toys were placed on the darkroom paper during the exposure process). This new video, now with my own hand and process creating an artistic intervention, is also played in reverse, the explosions shrinking instead of expanding. Houses, school buses, and mannequins are reconstructed before our eyes while time counts down to a period before nuclear weapons and their extreme proliferation across the globe.

  

Aborning New Light (public projection)

Performed at MASS MoCA (the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art) as part of the MASS MoCA Studio residency in 2021

​

_To Implore Your Light_ is a photographic series that exposes the hidden nuclear legacy embedded in many places across the United States through the contemplation of nuclear bomb victims both in Japan and the United States.

The project consists of 108 photographs documenting the projection of 108 eyes and the surrounding building that the image is projected. This collection of 108 eyes belongs to 54 American Downwinders and 54 Japanese a-bomb victims; stares out unblinking, homogeneous and anonymous. The original images were curated from books, video interviews and images I gathered from my own family album.

I modified a camera flash into a temporal projector, where I can insert a 35mm slide film to project the image onto any surface just momentary; it reflects the countless A-bomb survivors’ stories describing the explosion as a single blinding flash. The projector is synchronized to the camera where I can record both the projection and the building that the image is projected to, making the photograph a record of the temporal monument.

This project was first conceived during my studio residency at MASS MoCA (November 2021) where I learnt that most of the buildings where MASS MoCA currently resides belonged to Sprague Electronic during WWll. The company was commissioned by the US government to develop a special capacitor for making the first Atomic Bombs which was then tested at Los Alamos, NM and later dropped in Japan to end the WWll. I decided to project these eyes of nuclear weapon victims from both sides of the conflict to the museum exterior.

  
_To Implore Your Light (Photo Book)_

2024

11 x 10 x 1 in. (262 pages)

  

To Implore Your Light 

_Zen for a Dying Planet_ is a series of unique chemigrams made with honey and various oils. My grandfather was a survivor of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima - an event where numerous survivors recorded that they treated their burns with honey, cooking oil, and even motor oil. This trauma extended not only the human bodies of the survivors but into the very land itself. Today, nuclear and environmental disasters are just around the corner.

_Zen for a Dying Planet_ is the artist’s contemplation of our current trajectory which acts as a warning to us all.

Zen for a Dying Planet

_Burning Away_ is a long term project started in November 2020 which utilized honey and various oils on a sun-fused silver gelatin paper in a recreation of the numerous stories by survivors seeking to heal the charred trauma.

​

The materials used to form this imagery is rooted in my generational trauma of the Atomic Bombing of Hiroshima, which claimed many lives including my grandfather. The moment the bomb exploded in the sky of Hiroshima, it created a giant fire-ball reaching the surface temperature of 7,700 degrees matching the temperature of the Sun itself. The heat wave vaporized the people near ground zero and left devastating burns on those left alive. I found many stories of survivors treating the burns with honey, cooking oil and even motor oil due to the scarcity of even the most basic medicine.

The blinding heat was indeed a great threat; however, the invisible threat of radiation is what makes nuclear weapons truly devastating. Many of the survivors were unaware of the invisible threat that was implanted within their bodies, like a second bomb waiting to go off. It was their children and grandchildren who were witnesses of the effect of radiation.

By utilizing the same substances described in their accounts to desperately heal the charred trauma, these prints symbolize not only the memory of nuclear fire, but also the disappearing voices of the survivors. The pattern of the print depends on the type of oil used on the paper, creating various microscopic like images that may remind one of cancer cells.

Burning Away

_Can There be Shadows within a Flash_ is a series that acknowledges the complexities of identity within the context of historical traumas, finding strength in shared histories while honoring their unique individuality, and shedding light on the invisible scars left by radiation within the framework of cultural heritage. Through the fusion of personal narratives, cultural symbols, and artistic expression, this project endeavors to create a profound impact on society, inspiring dialogue, understanding, and a collective commitment to embracing the richness of identities amidst the shadows of the past. May this project not only heal the charred trauma but also illuminate the path toward a future where diverse identities are celebrated, respected, and cherished.

  

Can There be Shadows within a Flash

_The Unknown Citizen_ is a multimedia installation that contains various elements that contrast individuality with a crafted collective ideal. A sweeping spotlight slowly reveals every new element hidden behind a swath of unmarked canvas – lists of numbers, ghostly impressions of various clothing items, and a series of flashing light bulbs – and acts as a search light hunting throughout the night for any escapees, groups to be potential next victims, and echoes our own searching through the past.

Featured are columns of identification numbers from the 127,000 prisoners of the Japanese internment camps juxtaposed with the imprints of various pieces of clothing, and a series of ten flashing light bulbs – representing the ten internment camps situated in the United States from California to Arkansas. The numbers also reference the larger prison system in use in the United States – an institution that uses the internment camps for their blueprints.

The captured shadows of clothing items depict an imagined and hidden traditional nuclear family but their bodies are lost to us. Instead we see the remnants of the clothing here as a series of ghostly textures both unique yet strangely uniform. To capture these ghostly impressions, Ito soaked these clothing items in Sumi ink and pressed them onto the sheets of mylar, which when illuminated, form the familiar yet spectral shapes.

The symbolism of the imagery shows an often too common recipe used since the invention of modern warfare – to dehumanize others and create a paradigm where harming others not only becomes acceptable but desirable; this is the recipe for cultural scapegoats still in use today as we saw in the Muslim Ban. _The Unknown Citizen_ comes together to present a snapshot of the past and the systematic paradigms utilized to repeat it.

Accompanying the installation is a sound piece made from sampled audio of the 1943 U.S. government-produced film, Japanese Relocation. In the film, the narrator suggests that the Japanese internment process was democratic and humane, stating that the imprisonment was done “with real consideration for the people involved.” For the installation, the sampled audio was heavily modified and stretched to an hour long audio piece.

  

The Unknown Citizen

_Only What We Can Carry_ is a series of 80+ Contact C-Prints of Japanese Internment Camp (Civilian Exclusion Orders) posters exposed with various everyday objects. These everyday objects represent what I would bring with me if I had one day to gather my belongings. This poster became a symbol of bigotry and paranoia towards a specific group of people, and it echoes in these times where these same prejudices have reemerged for another group of people. Denial and misjudgment lead by blinded authority is a phenomenon close to what we have been witnessing in recent political climates.

In the past, it may once have been a set of treasured letters brought to the camp during WWll. In these times, it could be a photo-filled cellphone or a laptop. But the suffocating decision of choosing between items of meaning and use to carry with you, or leave behind, must be the same. These objects, and these reaching gestures are all exposed with the poster, radiating through the C-prints like X-rays. They are juxtaposed in together as a warning, a warning that bridges the mistakes of the past with our time in the present.

  

Only What We Can Carry 

_Infertile American Dream_ is a triptych of C-prints, which were created by exposing light-sensitive paper to sunlight on the day the 45th US president was elected.

The increase of nuclear armaments worldwide, and the ramping up of nuclear tensions between the US and North Korea harken back to the terror of my grandfather’s experience during the bombing of Hiroshima in 1945\. By his account, it seemed as though the sky was lit by hundreds of suns. On that day, the very fabric of life that he knew, his friends, family, and even the landscapes of the city were completely annihilated. Any trace of home seemed to never have existed, as if his home was never even built.

As a 3rd generation A-bomb victim who is now a resident of America, I find the chaos in the current political establishment unbearable. Political divides have deepened, and nuclear war seems closer on the horizon than it has ever been in my lifetime. The realization that the home, in both physical and spiritual sense, can be taken away as quickly as thirty minutes by a single bomb and the chain reaction that follows, dawned on me. After we reach the point of no return, the American Dream will be unsustainable--an empty and barren wasteland filled with nothing but ash left for future generations. Like the unassembled home in Infertile American Dream, our children will not be able to have a chance to conceive their ideal vision of hope for the future.

  

Infertile American Dream

_Eye who witnessed_ is a compilation of C-print photograms depicting 108 eyes. This collection of 54 American Downwinders and 54 Japanese a-bomb victims stares out unblinking, homogeneous and anonymous. 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, which can be seen as an act of redemption.

Growing up in Japan, many thought the bombing victims were necessary sacrifices for peace; after moving to America, I heard the same sentiments about Downwinders. Some of the first victims were Americans who worked the first tests unaware of the deadly and invisible threat of radiation. After the war, the US government continued nuclear testing across the nation and these forgotten American casualties, civilians living around testing sites, are now known as Downwinders.

The original images were curated from books, video interviews and images I gathered from my own family album. The prints were then mixed-up before installing, making it unclear on which one is a Japanese or a US victim; nuclear weapons affect everyone the same no matter their nationality. As they collectively stare back at us, their eyes become a monument of nameless atomic testimonies. Will we too become a witness of a radiated light and be sacrificed for the next so called “peace”?

The temporal installation took place during my studio residency at MASS MoCA, 2021\. While there, I learnt that most of the buildings where MASS MoCA currently resides belonged to Sprague Electronic during WWll. The company was commissioned by the US government to develop a special capacitor for the first Atomic Bombs which was then tested at Los Alamos, NM and later dropped in Japan to end WWll. With kind permission from the museum and Assets for Artists, I was able to create a temporal monument in one of the museum’s unused building which has been almost untouched since the Sprague Electric era.

  

Eye who witnessed 

_Afterimage Requiem_ is a large-scale visual and sound installation containing 108 human-scale photograms and a 4-channel sound work made by my collaborator, Andrew Keiper.

The installation probes the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and the intertwined family histories between Keiper and I. On August 6th 1945, at 8:15 AM, my grandfather witnessed a great tragedy that destroyed nearly everything in Hiroshima. Meanwhile, Keiper’s grandfather was an engineer who participated in the development of the Atomic bomb during the Manhattan Project. Two generations later, Keiper and I are great friends and collaborators which may have been thought to be impossible for the people a few generations ago.

The 108 photograms were made by exposing the darkroom papers to sunlight with my body on top, which refers to the engraved people’s shadow near Hiroshima and Nagasaki’s Ground Zero. The heat of the explosion was hotter than the core of the Sun vaporizing people’s body instantly, leaving only shadows on the ground. The blinding heat was not the only effect of the nuclear bombings; the radiation that my grandfather was exposed to pierced through his skin and inscribed itself onto his genes and onto my own; our bodies are now being “captured” through time and history, film and DNA. As Keiper’s sound plays above in the air, my body lies on the ground, our grandfather’s positions are echoed in the space but our stances have changed. Each print is a prayer for the future.

This installation grapples with this history while asserting its pertinence to a contemporary audience living in an increasingly unstable political landscape. My photograms and Keiper’s 4-channel sound work portrays the bomb’s production created using the recordings made at atomic heritage sites in New Mexico and Chicago; the installation seeks mutual understanding while contemplating the roots, sorrow, and scope of the bombing. In an era of overt nuclear crisis unlike any seen in decades, Afterimage Requiem asks the audience to reflect on the ramifications of our current course, and to learn from the past.

  

Afterimage Requiem

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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