When I first started collecting,
I was simply drawn to the charm of the designs—
their typography, balance, and quiet sense of beauty.

At that time, I couldn’t read English at all,
but everything looked refined and beautiful to me.

Photo of my early vintage matchbook collection,
including advertising clippings kindly given by a friend who was an antiques dealer.
All original copyrights belong to their respective rights holders.

Back then, I was captivated by the elegance of vintage matchbooks and printed pieces from the 1950s.
They felt so precious to me that I took a photo with my beloved hedgehog beside them—
not yet realizing the deeper lives and stories quietly held within.

As time went by,
I came to understand that behind these advertisements and printed works
were people’s lives, hopes, and warmth of humor.

Photo of my vintage American matchbook collection, mainly from the 1950s—
carefully preserved as part of my personal collection.
All original copyrights belong to their respective rights holders.

After that, I found myself wanting to feel the energy of that time— I picked up one matchbook after another.
They came from various fields—hotels, restaurants, automobile companies, medicine, insurance, transportation,
food, household goods, fashion, tobacco, education, entertainment,
and even some related to workplaces or organizations of that time.

As I picked up more of them, I was once again struck by how beautifully each one had been made by the professionals of that time.
Beyond their crafted designs—each with its own charm and imperfection—
I could feel the warmth and pulse of life that seemed to breathe within them.

Gradually, I found myself drawn not only to printed media,
but also to small objects that once lived in people’s everyday lives.
From here, I’d like to introduce some of the vintage items I’ve carefully kept and encountered along the way.

Photo of vintage grocery price tags from the 1960s—
carefully preserved as part of my personal collection.
All original copyrights belong to their respective rights holders.

Some may wonder why I keep things like this.
To others, they may seem meaningless—almost like scraps.
To me, they still hold a vivid energy—
as if the spirit of daily life from that time is still alive within them,
carrying the faint echoes of cheerful voices that once filled the markets.

Photo of a vintage desk calendar from 1953—
carefully preserved as part of my personal collection.
All original copyrights belong to their respective rights holders.

This is a desk calendar from 1953.
It reads “PAST MASTERS NIGHT.”
It was probably made for a gathering organized by a local group or social club at the time.
When I look at these letters,
I can feel the story of someone who once lived.

Someone was surely alive—
and once held this in their hands.

There’s a certain energy that cannot be conveyed through photographs.
It feels as though this object, though inanimate,
has quietly continued to live through time.

Photo of vintage magazine clippings from the 1950s—
carefully preserved as part of my personal collection.
All original copyrights belong to their respective rights holders.

Interestingly, these were originally cut out from the reverse side of an advertisement—
but it was the photo itself that captured my heart.
How tender and gentle this world seemed.

Of course, not everything I encountered was bright and glamorous.
At times, I came across articles, photographs, advertisements,
and even everyday objects or systems that quietly reflected the struggles and sorrows of life in America.

Over time, these people began to feel like neighbors—
distant, yet somehow familiar.
I wanted to trace their lives gently through my art,
and give back a little warmth and joy through it.

I may be a somewhat unusual Japanese artist.

When I look closely at my own feelings,
I realize my wish is very simple.

I just find myself hoping
that people can live gently,
quietly, across borders.