[Participating in the '90 Yonago Sculpture Symposium]
In Yonago's Shiroyama

One day near the end of the symposium, I climbed Shiroyama, which was always in front of me. It's a mountain that looks like a small hill, but as I climbed the stone steps, I sweated from my body. Record heat continued every day this summer.

Everyone was talking about taking a break from production when it rained, but due to this weather, I ended up heading to the production site every day. That's why I took a shower of UV rays instead of rain and got inflamed, so I took a rest under the roof of the site office for a day in a UV shelter instead of rain shelter. Except for the typhoon past the Bon Festival, it was produced in the midsummer sun, and it was probably the first experience for me to go out so much.

Shiroyama didn't seem high to the eye, but when I climbed it, it responded to my feet. As I proceeded while wiping my sweat, I saw a stone wall. The masonry is precise and beautiful, and the enthusiasm of the masons at that time is conveyed. Unfortunately, the castle itself has not stopped its shape because it was destroyed in the early Meiji era, but the appearance of the stone wall reminds us of its appearance.

When I stood on the ruins of a castle covered with summer grass, my view suddenly opened. Oyama rises to the right. It's a mountain with a very pure name. If you follow the gentle base, you will see the Sea of Japan. If you move your gaze to the left along the horizon, you will see Mihonoseki at the tip. From there, Yumigahama draws a smooth curve so that it sticks to the surface of the sea. Nature is soft. And, embraced by the father and mother of the nature, there is a town of Yonago under my eyes. The cityscape is spacious and open, probably because there aren't many tall buildings. The city always feels like breathing with nature. The sky feels very wide. The blue tent of the symposium was swaying in Minatoyama Park at my feet. I went down the mountain feeling happy that I could make a work in this town.