秋田京花

Kyoka Akita

Kyoka Akita was separated from her mother at a very young age and has carried within her the absence of a “mother” who remains in neither memory nor photograph. This faceless figure was not an object of mourning, but rather a presence that stirred a simple yet persistent curiosity—a desire to know.

With her own marriage and the childbirths of close friends, her thoughts of her mother grew stronger. She began to wonder what emotions her mother might have held toward her during the brief time they spent together. Recalling the words of her mentor from graduate school—“You were loved by your mother; I can tell simply by looking at who you are now”—she resolved to confront her mother through photography. Drawing from her own name, she adorned her room with flowers and created self-portraits. By matching their color tones to the few photographs her mother left behind, she connected past and present.

When the photographs are laid out, something can be heard within the quiet room. This act is an attempt to listen closely to the absence of her mother and to connect with an unseen voice. Photography becomes an essential means of capturing that presence.