關於 happy eyes images ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

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น้ำมันเมล็ดแฟลกซ์ หรือ ลินิน (Linseed หรือ Flax seed oil)

200 กรัม
น้ำผึ้ง 10 ช้อนโต๊ะ

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ขอบคุณข้อมูลและภาพที่มา : http://www.rak-sukapap.com/2017/02/89...
อ้างอิง : thehealthylifestyle365.com
แปลข้อมูลโดย : http://www.rak-sukapap.com/
ขอบคุณภาพที่มา : https://pixabay.com
ลิ้งอ่านข้อมูลเพิ่มเติมได้ที่ : https://goo.gl/YC6C6O
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the ingredients

4 lemon slices

3 cloves garlic

Flax seeds or flax oil (Linseed or Flax seed oil).

200 grams

10 tablespoons honey

method

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Reference: thehealthylifestyle365.com

Translated by: http://www.rak-sukapap.com/

Thanks Source: https://pixabay.com

Link Read more at: https://goo.gl/YC6C6O.

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【玳瑚師父客人見證】 《不過八月十五的預言》
The Prophecy: Not Beyond Mid-Autumn (English version below)

文 / 李季謙 女士 Written by Ms. Lee Ji Qian

撥電給玳瑚師父的那一天下午，我乘坐的德士，正駕駛在中央快速公路上。那是2006年中秋節的前兩個星期，記憶猶新。眼看我外婆的病情每況愈下，我迫切地想知道外婆還能活多久。那時的我從事空服員的工作，我擔心萬一外婆過世，我在國外無法第一時間趕回來看她最後一面，怎麽辦?

在車上，我不斷祈求玳瑚師父告訴我外婆的壽命還有多久。他不肯，他說做師父的其中一個避忌就是不算壽命，因爲很多人嘴巴說無所謂，知道答案後，心裡卻會七上八下，家人甚至會責怪師父嚇人。那時，外婆已皈依在蓮生活佛門下，我告訴師父家裡只有我和外婆是皈依的佛教徒，我很希望外婆過世時，我能夠為她做臨終關懷八小時，引導她往投極樂。

在電話的另一端，師父沉默許久，一句話也不說。我想慘了，如果師父不肯告訴我，我該如何是好？如何向公司請假？

「不過八月十五。」

什麽，師父，你說什麽？中秋節八月十五？師父，我都還沒告訴你外婆的生辰，你只知道她的名字和生肖，就能斷定嗎？

師父重覆說了一遍，並溫馨地告訴我到時遇到任何問題時，儘管撥電給他。就這樣，我們的通話結束了。

農曆八月十四的早上，在中央醫院復診時，醫生說外婆的血壓忽然降低，需要入院輸血。我便為外婆辦理入院手續，和照料外婆的女傭一直陪伴在外婆左右。幾個星期來，飛行穿梭與五大洲之間，熬夜時差，加上多次帶外婆來往醫院，每一次都花好幾個鐘頭在醫院等待，身心已疲憊不堪。我看著在病床上的外婆，輸血後她氣色開始好轉，醫生說一切穩定。外婆知道我很累，屢勸我回家休息。但師父的預言一直懸挂在我心中，本想留下來陪外婆一晚，但那天的入院來的突然，我沒準備任何衣物。那時的我住在兀蘭，離新加坡中央醫院很遠。我先生在一旁也勸我回家好好休息，才有更好的精神繼續和外婆說佛法及一同唸佛。

我猶豫著。師父為我做的預言從來沒有錯過。但外婆氣色之佳，是近幾個月從未曾有的。我這幾個月，也一直都有修法回向給外婆，可能奇跡出現了吧！

于是，農曆八月十五的淩晨一點二十分左右，我回家了。

早上十點二十分，女傭打了通電話給我。她不大會說英文，只是很情急地說外婆想見我，要我快點來醫院。我天真地以爲是外婆睡醒後，想見我。

早上十點四十五分，表姐打電話給我，哭著說外婆已過世了。那時的我，腦海裡立刻浮現師父所說的「不過八月十五。」 連半天都過不了。我的心一直往下沉。爲什麽我問了師父卻又不淨信他的話？爲什麽我沒有把師父的預言告訴我的家人？爲什麽我就不能在醫院熬多一天？生死皆天定，我怎麽不自量力地以爲自己那點修法回響就能改寫外婆的生死呢？原來人說死前的迴光返照是這麽一回事！天啊！我竟然那麽不孝，讓外婆過世時，身邊只有一個女傭，一個親人都沒有！

在醫院撥打電話給師父時，他很快就接聽了。第一句話一說完，我已泣不成聲了。師父說他一早起床，就不斷地有我外婆和我的影子，他知道事情不出他預料中，因此一直在等待我的電話。師父不但沒有怪我不夠相信他，還提醒我要為外婆做的佛事，也開導我說八月十五是月圓圓滿之日，外婆在這日離去也象徵她的一生已圓滿，她十多年的病業終于還清了，從病苦中解脫了，我應該為她高興。師父知道我性格衝動，再三叮嚀我在外婆停柩期間，勿和家人起衝突。

這也是我第二件遺憾的事。我那時學佛尚淺，包容、平等對待和處事圓融的道理，我無法實踐。我不但在外婆的遺體前爲了她的生後事，向家人耍狠，在喪禮上，因爲不苟同他們的做法，脾氣更是一「發」不可收拾。說什麽佛教徒，真是貽笑大方！我怎麽就沒有好好學師父那般的度量呢？

外婆過世後的那七天裡，家人陸續都夢到她回來和他們敍舊。唯獨我沒有。我很納悶。外婆臨終前，唯一想見的人是我，爲何卻沒托夢給我？她不是有話跟我說嗎？（其實是我多想在外婆面前跟她說萬萬個對不起。）想著，想著，我想到師父常教我在睡前的結界法，保護自己在睡夢中不被鬼魅魍魎干擾盜氣，出國在外也能平安。我睡前也必定會結界，這法非常實用也有真實的法力！

那晚，在紐約的酒店裡，我冒了一個險，沒行結界法。當晚，我就夢到自己在兒時住家附近（也是外婆的舊家）的停車場。我不知不覺走到一輛米色的「馬賽地」旁邊，低頭一看，咦，是外婆，穿著那熟悉的衣裳，坐在駕駛座位上。我叫她，以廣東話問：「婆婆，妳會駕車啊？」（外婆生前沒有駕駛執照）　她轉頭，跟我說：「幫公公皈依吧！」 我答：「皈依啊？好啊！」

我就猛然醒來了，趕緊看時間，是清晨五點多。師父曾說在早上五點至七點之間做的夢是真實的。我梳洗後，即刻撥長途電話給在新加坡的師父。外公已過世十多年，在夢裡，外婆要我為外公皈依時，我已知道他尚未投胎，生前沒聽聞過佛法，更別説往生極樂了。而當外婆提到皈依時，我心裡的直覺說她指的是皈依我們的根本上師，蓮生活佛，絕非他人。最神的是，夢裡外婆的車和家人在喪禮中焚化給她的，是一模一樣的！

師父在電話中花了一個鐘頭的時間，耐心地教導我。他說我得先回到外婆生前的居所，向那裡的祖先牌位請示外公是否真的想皈依蓮生活佛。除了攜帶外公生前愛吃的食物，我也得先上香供養家門外供奉的天公、土地神和門神，祈求祂們允許我外公的魂魄入屋。

回囯後的隔天，我和兩位表姪女一起到外婆家，一一跟著師父的指示照做。我們三人上了香，跪在祖先牌位前，呼叫外公時，不可思議的事情發生了！刹那間，我們三人同時感覺到有股強烈的陰氣從我們背後的大門進來，再看到一個黑影從我們身旁快速地飃過，到祖先牌位的供桌上，頓時，我們全身都起了雞皮疙瘩。卜杯請示外公是否要皈依蓮生活佛時，連續得了三個聖杯！我的夢是真實的！師父教的真管用！

當下，我既讚嘆又感恩玳瑚師父，是他引我皈依蓮生活佛。在他之前，我根本沒聼過蓮生活佛的盛名。因爲我的皈依，我好幾個家人也皈依。師父常說死人的眼睛是雪亮的。外公生前非常疼愛我，沒想到，我和外婆的皈依也會讓他想向佛了！我是多麽的雀躍啊！我讚嘆師父那麽好眼光，有福份，一生只皈依一個上師，而且是一位已開悟成佛的上師，怪不得師父的本領那麽了得。我更感恩他不辭辛勞地廣揚佛法，讓我們這些門外漢能學到人生最大的一件事到底是什麽。

我是一個差勁的弟子，脾氣又不好，兩次被師父「停學」，每一次長達半年，更曾被沒收所有的筆記和課本。但在「停學」期間，師父仍慈悲教導我如何處理外婆的生後事。可能你覺得他是修行人，是玄學師父，不給他錢，他仍然應該幫你消災解厄，給他錢，他更要幫你逢凶化吉。我的看法卻是，自己的問題本來就應該自己解決。沒有人是「應該」幫你的，師父也不是一個你能用錢買的人，更不可以因爲師父沒有幫你這一次或看法不一，便因「愛」成「恨」，來個「秦始王燒書」 般地把過去師父幫過自己的恩都忘得一乾二淨，再來個翻臉不認「師」。這般無情無義的人我看的實在太多了。

這兩天趕緊將這篇個人見證寫完，並翻譯，已此供養玳瑚師父為他的「生日」禮物。農曆八月十五是玳瑚師父皈依真佛之日。他常說這一天才是他真正的生日，皈依學佛前的日子懵懂無意，虛度光陰，貴為佛子後，自己才真正「活」起來，成爲有智慧有貢獻的能人。兒子的事業這麽有意義，我想師父的父母一定會以他為榮。

如果你也像我一樣，曾經請示過師父，卻在信與不信之間進退兩難，希望我這篇文章能給你一點啓發，更盼你不會有我這般的遺憾。

祝大家中秋節快樂。

我在此也誠心地祝玳瑚師父「生日」快樂。謝謝您在無止境的萬難中，仍堅持帶給我們光明。我祈禱，願您的一生有如今晚的月輪一樣地美麗、圓滿、吉祥，願您早日修成正果，速登彼岸。阿彌陀佛。

-----------------------------

It was one afternoon in the year 2006, 2 weeks from the Mid-Autumn Festival. I was travelling along the Central Expressway in a cab when I made a call to Master Dai Hu. The memory was still fresh. My grandmother's health was deteriorating by the day, and I desperately wanted to know how much longer she could hold on. I was working as a flight attendant at that time, and the fear was that I might be overseas and not able to see her the final time when she breathed her last.

During the taxi ride, I pleaded incessantly for Master Dai Hu to answer my burning question. He refused. He said that as a Master, it was a taboo to predict one's life span because the answer would drive many towards anxiety and hysteria, even when they seemed nonchalant initially. At that time, my grandmother had already taken refuge under Living Buddha Lian-Sheng, and I told Master Dai Hu that since my grandmother and myself were the only Buddhists who had taken refuge in the family, I really hoped to provide some form of hospice care, and perform the proper rites during the crucial 8-hour time window after her passing to guide her towards rebirth into the Pure Land.

There was total silence on the other end of the line for a long time. Master Dai Hu did not utter a single sound. I was doomed, I thought to myself, if Master refused to tell me, what should I do? How could I apply for leave of absence from my employer?

"It would not be beyond the fifteenth day of the Eighth Lunar Month". Finally the silence was broken.

What, Master, what did you just? You meant the Mid-Autumn Festival? But I had not even tell you the birth date and time of my grandmother. You only knew her name and Chinese Zodiac Sign, how could you be so sure?

Master Dai Hu repeated his prediction again, and told me warmly that I could call him anytime if I encountered any problem. With that, our conversation ended.

This was the fourteenth day of the Eighth Lunar Month. The doctor told me that Grandma's blood count suffered a drastic drop, and had to be admitted to hospital for a blood transfusion. After I had done the paper works for the admittance, I stayed with her, together with her maid. I was totally physically and mentally exhausted. Flying around the world had taken its toll on me, with the late nights and jet lags, not to mention the many hospital trips I made with Grandmother over the past few weeks and every hospital visit spanned over a few hours. I looked at Grandma who was lying on her hospital bed. She looked much better after the blood transfusion and the doctor said all was well. Grandma knew I was washed out and kept asking me to go home and rest. Master Dai Hu's prediction was constantly on my mind. I had wanted to stay for one more night to accompany Grandma but the hospital admission that day was unexpected and I did not prepare any overnight bag. I was staying at Woodlands at that time and it was far from SGH. My husband who was by my side advised me to go home to rest too as he felt that I needed to be in a better condition to continue sharing the Dharma and reciting the Buddha's name with Grandma.

I hesitated. Master's predictions for me always rang true. But my Grandma looked quite good, something which I have not seen in months. Furthermore, I have been doing spiritual practices and dedicating the merits to her. Perhaps a miracle had happened!

At about 120am on the fifteenth day of the Eighth Lunar Month, I went home.

My phone rang at 1020am. It was the maid. She was not really conversant in English but told me anxiously that Grandma wanted to see me, and asked if I was on the way. I naively shrugged it off, thinking it might just be Grandma wanting to see me after her sleep.

Another phone call came in at 1045am, the sobbing and muffled voice of my cousin on the other end, telling me that Grandma had passed away. At that very moment, the words of Master "Not beyond the fifteenth day of the Eighth Lunar Month" reverberated through me. My heart sank to the rock bottom. Why did I ask Master for his prediction when I was not prepared to have complete faith in him? Why had I not told this prediction to my family members? Why could I not just stay in hospital with Grandma for that one more night? Life and death are both predestined. How could I think so highly of myself and believe that meagre merits from my spiritual practice was sufficient to rewrite her fate? Now I realized the truth in the saying that a person before his or her imminent death would look as if he or she is well. Goodness gracious! I was so unfilial to had left Grandma alone, on her death bed with no family member but only the maid beside her!

I phoned Master Dai Hu at the hospital and he answered very quickly. Once the first words were spoken, I had already broken down in sobs. Master said that he woke up early that morning with a premonition. He kept "seeing" images of my Grandma and myself, and knew in an instant that his prediction had prevailed and had been waiting for my call. Not only did Master not reprimand me for not having enough faith in him, he even reminded me on the list of things to do for Grandma's funeral. He counseled me, saying that for Grandma to bade this world farewell on the fifteenth day of the Eighth Lunar Month, it signified that she had lived a full and complete life, and that her karmic debt of suffering from illnesses the past 10 over years had finally been repaid. He said I should be glad that Grandma had been released from her pains and sufferings. Master was well aware of my rash temperament, and reminded me many times not to squabble with the family members during the funeral wake.

This has to be the other regrettable thing in this episode. My understanding of the Dharma was shallow then, and I did not practice the ways of endurance, equality, and did not consider the feelings of others in handling things. Not only did I pressurize my family members over the arrangements of Grandma's funeral, my bad temper flared uncontrollably during the funeral as I was not in agreement with the rest of the family members. All this talk about being a Buddhist turned me into a laughing stock! Why could I not learn from Master, who was and still is always so magnanimous and gracious?

During the seven-day period after Grandma's passing, many family members dreamed of her continually. I was the only one not to have seen her in my dreams. This was very puzzling for me. At the time of her passing, Grandma was calling out for me. Why did she not appear in my dreams? Did she not have anything to say to me? (Truthfully, I wanted very much to say a million sorry to her in person). As I was pondering over this matter, I remembered a demarcation method taught to me by Master, to protect myself against spirits stealing my life essence and disrupting my sleep, and to stay safe while I was overseas. This demarcation was something I always did before going to bed, and it really proved itself as a useful and powerful Dharma practice.

That night, in my hotel room in New York, I took a risk and forgo the demarcation procedure before I slept. That very night, I dreamed of Grandma! I was at the car park, near my childhood residence (also near Grandma's previous residence). I was walking along a pavement and ended up beside a cream-coloured Mercedes Benz. I looked down, and there she was! My Grandma was wearing her usual clothing and seated in the driver's seat. I called out to her and asked in Cantonese, "Grandma, you know how to drive?" Grandma did not have a driving license when she was alive. She turned to speak to me, "Help your Grandfather to take refuge!" I answered, "Take refuge? Ok!"

I jolted out from sleep, and hurriedly looked at the clock. It was five plus in the morning. Master once said that dreams occurring between 5am - 7am were real. I washed up, and called Master who was in Singapore immediately. My Grandfather has been dead for more than 10 years. In my dream, when Grandma wanted me to take refuge for Grandfather, I knew then that Grandfather had yet to go through reincarnation. He did not hear the Dharma during his lifetime, so he could not have been reborn into the Pure Land. When Grandma spoke of taking refuge, my intuition told me that she was referring to our Root Guru, Living Buddha Lian-Sheng, whom we took refuge in, and no one else. The next amazing thing was that the car in which Grandma was seated in the dream looked exactly the same as the one the family members burnt as an offering to her during the funeral!

Master spent an hour on the phone with me, patiently guiding me. He said I needed to return to my Grandma's house and seek answers from the ancestors at the ancestral tablet if my Grandfather really wanted to take refuge in Living Buddha Lian-Sheng. Other than preparing my Grandfather's favorite snacks, I had to offer incense and other offerings to the Jade Emperor, the Earth Deity as well as the Door Guardians, who were enshrined outside my Grandma's home, and request for smooth entry of my Grandfather's spirit into the house.

A few days upon my return to Singapore, I went to my Grandma's house, together with my two nieces. I followed Master's instruction to the tee. The three of us offered incense, knelt down in front of the ancestral tablet and called for my Grandfather. Something extraordinary happened next! In the flash of an eye, the 3 of us felt a strong Yin energy coming in from the main door, and witnessed a black shadowy figure slid past us in speed, and onto the ancestral tablet. Momentarily, our hair stood on end and all of us felt goosebumps on our skins. When I threw the divination blocks and asked if it was Grandfather's wish to take refuge in Living Buddha Lian-Sheng, the answer was positive with three consecutive yes! My dream was real after all! The method which Master taught really worked well!

Instantly, I was in awe, and at the same time, extremely grateful to Master Dai Hu. He was the one who guided me to take refuge in Living Buddha Lian-Sheng. Before that, I never hear of Him. Because of my taking refuge, a few of my family members followed suit. Master often said that the dead had the brightest eyes. Grandfather doted on me very much when he was alive, and never did I expect Grandfather to follow my Grandma and I in taking refuge and seek the Dharma. I was totally elated! I praised Master for his foresight, and his great fortune of taking refuge in a one and only one Guru Master, one who had attained perfect Enlightenment. It is no wonder that Master Dai Hu has such great skills too. I am also grateful for his relentless pursuits to propagate the Dharma, enabling layman like us to learn, understand and prepare for the biggest event of our life.

I am a lousy disciple with bad temperament. Twice, I was booted out by Master and not allowed to learn from him for as long as 6 months. My notes and books were confiscated. However, even when I did not see Master during those periods, he showed compassion and guided me through the ordeal of my Grandma's passing. Perhaps you might think that it is his duty as a spiritual practitioner and Chinese metaphysicist to show compassion and help others in need even if no money is paid to him, and if money is paid, all the more he should help the clients out of their troubles.

My take on this: We must take responsibility for our own problems. No one owe us any form of help or assistance. And Master Dai Hu is definitely not someone you can buy with money. If he does not render his help to you or both of you have a different opinion on certain issues, you cannot go from having admiration to bearing resentment towards him over that. I have seen too many ungrateful people who erase all the memories of the good that Master had once done for them, pretty much like how Emperor Qin burnt the books, with no trace left and turned their backs on Master, like they had never known him.

Over the last two days, I rushed to complete this testimonial as a present to Master Dai Hu on his "birthday". It was this auspicious day, the fifteenth day of the Eighth Lunar Month, that Master Dai Hu took refuge in True Buddha and became a Buddhist. He often said that this day felt more like his real birthday. Before learning the Dharma and taking refuge, he led a life of meaningless existence, squandering away youth and time. Only when he became a Buddhist did he truly come to life, begin to live in wisdom and gain great ability, while making useful and meaningful contributions to the society. With such a noble career, I guess his parents must be very proud of having a son like him.

If you are to be in my shoes one day, having asked Master for advice but still teetering on the border and unsure if you should believe him, I hope my story will inspire you and not let you suffer the same regrets as I did.

Wishing everyone a Happy Mid-Autumn Festival.

And I genuinely wish Master Dai Hu a "Happy Birthday". Thank you for bringing the Light to us, despite the endless obstacles you constantly battle. I pray that your life will be as beautiful, complete and auspicious as the full moon tonight. May you soon attain the fruit of perfect and complete Enlightenment. Amituofo.

www.masterdaihu.com/the-prophecy-not-beyond-mid-autumn/

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

OPEN ME. ☆☆☆
#mashbeauty #potroseniproizvodi

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