When I was a child, my parents, older brother, older sister and I, lived in a small one-story house. My earliest memories began with the sound of my elder sister practicing piano, and my daily resistance to kindergarten because I wanted to go home. I refused to talk, eat lunch, or even go to the bathroom. I spent all day crying and waiting for my mother to come and pick me up; and this life as a young recluse continued until the completion of kindergarten. My brother, who was 11 years older than me, was forced to live in a small room that had been renovated from a storage shed, in the garden, since junior high school, but even so we quickly outgrew our home, and our parents decided to build a new house in the neighborhood. I was ten years old. Our house was filled with the sound of Beethoven's piano sonatas which my older sister practiced hard every day in preparation for her entrance exams to the music college. In the early 1970s, modern reinforced concrete mansions looked brilliant in residential architecture magazines collected in our house, and I looked at the pages over and over, wondering what it would be like to live in such a house, fascinated as a child by the sophisticated home of someone living far away. Although our house was finally built up quite differently from the image in the magazine, I woke up alone in my own room and the sound of my sister's grand piano was heard around the house. That seemed like a different life than before. The old house had been rented out, but since then has now become vacant. In fact, I currently use it as a warehouse to store my artworks. When I first stepped into the house as an adult, I was amazed at how small the room was in which the upright piano and our study desks used to be. After I moved to Tokyo, and became interested in contemporary art, I pulled out the old bunk beds and bookshelves used in this house, and assembled photographs of my childhood and my family with these pieces of furniture to produce artworks. When I carried them back to the old house for the first time in decades a mysterious scene appeared, as if our family members who had lived in the past had been transformed into figurative objects and returned. When I visited the Ishihara residence for the first time I felt as if I had been reunited with the world through the architectural magazines I used to be attracted to. In this house built in 1968, Mr. Ishihara, who has since passed away, left behind a collection of classical music records which are sometimes played even today. When this house was built in an elegant residential area in Kunitachi, a little girl in a suburb of Nagoya cried all day long pleading with the kindergarten to let her be picked up by her mother to go home. Once she returned home she was never bored and only enjoyed drawing pictures. Now, from house to house of playing music, I let my artworks play there; which wear images of distant memories. Midori Mitamura 2023