Luschka, Flower Flower / No. 18 "Chameleon"

When we talk about "monochrome," you might picture a world composed of achromatic colors like white, black, and gray.

Let me tell you upfront, this work is not part of the Monoverse series.

It might be a little confusing, but I think that's fine.

Series names are what I attach to expressions I want to categorize and make independent.

However, classifications like male, female, and LGBTQ all ultimately fall under the single existence of "human,"

and humans, deer, and ants are ultimately all included in the same category of "living creatures."

It might be a bit of a leap, but classifying too much can sometimes conversely restrict creative freedom.

That's why, sometimes, I try not to overthink things. Some days are like that.

Getting back to the topic.

My old studio used to have a living space decorated entirely in white, black, and gray.

Only the kitchen, which was a little cleaner, was a glossy brown, like a German cockroach.

I actually liked it, but it stood out strangely against the monochrome. Every time I moved from the dining room to the kitchen, I felt a shift in atmosphere as if the colors were changing "from a Western-style room to a Japanese-style room."

Now, I live amidst chaotic and vibrant colors, like an Asian general store.

It's chaos, really. But strangely, it brings me peace.

Of course, my longing for a unified monochrome space hasn't disappeared.

But the truth is, I've become someone who feels uneasy without this colorful space, where necessary items are strongly scattered in their necessary places. After all, it's so convenient.

People adapt to their environment.

And if you want to change yourself, changing your environment is the quickest way.

In that process, the colors around you also undergo a myriad of changes—

I've put such subtle and delicate feelings of change into the title.