This series was born one summer day, out of a strong sense of self-reproach.

It was the anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima.

At that time, I had never imagined that I would one day create art. I was living in an environment where I had been fortunate in every way. I had found a place where I could do what I wanted to do—a place I had finally come to think of as my own. I was working as hard as I could, believing that this was where I would spend the rest of my life.

As usual, I worked late and arrived home sometime after 10 p.m.

I took a bath, had a light meal, and watched the news on TV.

It was only then that I realized that that day was the anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima.

Oh no.

I had forgotten such an important day.

And what was worse, I had only realized it late at night, after turning on the news.

I was deeply shocked by myself.

I was born and raised in Japan, the only country in the world to have experienced atomic bombings in wartime. From a very young age, I had been taught, almost as a matter of course, from every direction, that war was something that must never happen.

The anniversaries of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were, in particular, days when those feelings were brought sharply back to the surface.

And yet—

Here I was, a fully grown adult, having forgotten such an important day.

I was deeply shaken by the realization that, caught up in my work, I had almost allowed the entire day to pass without even remembering it.

And that was when I realized something.

In Japan, there are several occasions throughout the year when we are encouraged to look back on war and remember those who suffered. But I had come to realize that I was only really allowing myself to think deeply about war on those particular days.

If that was how I lived, I thought, how could wars and conflicts ever disappear?

I felt strongly that I wanted to create a moment, even just a small one, every single day, to consciously think about war.

No—I felt that I had to.

But life in front of me was busy, and before I knew it, the months and years had passed.

Eventually, I began to find a way to release these thoughts into the world through art.

And this series is the form those feelings from that day eventually took.

In a leap year, there are 366 days.

I created the word

“no more Hiroshima no more Nagasaki 366/366”

with the idea that, out of all 366 days, we should have a moment to think about war on all 366 of them—in other words, every single day.

And this word is not meant to reject or condemn the atomic bombings alone.

It is a rejection of all wars and conflicts, wherever they may exist in the world.

September 28, 2026

mienaimonotachi

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