Hanzawa Tomomi has explored the relationship between matter and memory through the act of making paper. Paper is not simply a material; it is a structure made up of tangled fibers, an object that contains human stories. In this exhibition, Hanzawa begins with personal memories of her grandmother's haiku and gardens, and moves towards the universal question of identity. How do we recognize others, and what do we maintain our identity? Through the materiality of paper, Hanzawa's work quietly demonstrates that identity is not fixed, but rather fluctuates and emerges in our relationships with others. "For many years, my grandmother would compose haiku while gazing at the garden. This did not change even though she spent less time outside. She would gaze at the flowers that changed with the seasons and compose a haiku. Day after day, this accumulated." The garden continues to change with time, even after his grandmother's death. Standing in the garden, Hanzawa senses his grandmother's presence and begins to collect seasonal flowers from the garden his grandmother used to see, imbuing them with paper. The paper holds the memories of the garden, and just as his grandmother would have seen the garden and put it into words, Hanzawa re-experiences the act of poetry by turning the garden into paper. The gardens her grandmother saw, the haiku she wrote, the things she touched -- are these traces what shaped her existence? Or is it the presence that Hanzawa, an outsider, senses that brings her to her senses? This question comes to mind while I am making paper. Identity is something that is established while fluctuating in our relationships with others. As the image continues to fluctuate, the presence of the grandmother resides as a vestige in the paper and in the garden. The presence of the person can be felt and yet be felt at the same time. Hanzawa shows that identity is not something fixed, but rather something that can be accepted as it is.