Patterns in the Wind

Since moving to Denmark, I feel like I spend more time looking at the sky than I used to.

Whenever I walk near the sea, there are always seagulls somewhere in the landscape.

They exist so naturally within the scenery that, without noticing, they may have quietly become part of my own inner landscape as well.

When I lived in Japan, my everyday life was surrounded by the atmosphere of Tokyo.

The movement of people.
Layers of signs.
The sounds of trains.
The dense energy of the city.

Walking through places like Shibuya was not something special to me.
It was simply part of everyday life.

In the very center of Tokyo, the sky always felt small.

At the same time, there was a certain dynamism to the city — a constant sense that something new and dramatic was always unfolding somewhere.

But living in a place with fewer visual barriers, I’ve come to feel a gentler kind of wind passing through my mind as well.

Watching birds in the sky for longer moments.
Noticing their calls.

These small experiences have slowly become part of my everyday life.

Since coming to Denmark, I naturally spend more time looking up at the sky and feeling the movement of the wind.

And over time, that shift seems to have quietly entered my work at NiiNu as well.

The seagull pattern, rather than something intentionally “chosen,” feels more like a reflection of my current landscape flowing directly into the fabric.

Even the embroidered haori pieces I’ve been working on recently carry a sense of movement, as if they are gently carried by the wind across the cloth.

Seagulls are simply there.

Not as a symbol, but as part of the sky and the landscape itself.

And without noticing, they have quietly stayed somewhere within me as well.