Hiromi Takizawa

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  Earlier versions of this domain hosted content organized by video categories, including Asian, European, and domestic sections, under a brand labeled "Dandan Video."

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Glass and light share an intimate relationship in the studio, where blown forms capture and bend illumination in ways that feel almost aquatic. The material itself seems to hold memory — of breath, of heat, of the moment it cooled from liquid to solid. Working with glass demands a particular kind of attention, a willingness to move at the pace of the material rather than imposing one’s own tempo upon it. The results hover between transparency and reflection, inviting the viewer to look both through and into the work, discovering subtle shifts in color and clarity as the surrounding light changes throughout the day.

Water appears as a recurring presence throughout these installations, not as literal representation but as a quality of movement and surface. There is something in the way light travels across a sheet of blown glass that echoes the surface of the Pacific, captured through a lens at dawn or dusk. The ocean becomes a metaphor for perception itself — vast, shifting, never quite graspable in a single glance. Video works filmed along the California coastline explore this liminal space where water meets land, where the horizon dissolves into fog and the boundary between elements grows uncertain.

The forest offers a different kind of immersion, one rooted in stillness and slow observation. Foraged leaves and wild flora make their way into installations, pressed between layers of glass or documented through ultraviolet light that reveals patterns invisible to the naked eye. There is a quiet dialogue between the cultivated garden and the untamed wilderness, between what is carefully tended and what simply grows. Evening fog drifting through coastal woodland becomes another material to work with, a fleeting medium that softens edges and transforms familiar landscapes into something dreamlike and strange.

Neon introduces an electric vocabulary into this otherwise organic palette — a sudden flare of color in a muted space, a line drawn in light against the dark. The glow carries associations both urban and intimate, recalling city storefronts and the quiet hum of a sign reflected in rain-slick pavement. When neon meets glass and water, unexpected conversations emerge between the industrial and the elemental. The light does not simply illuminate; it becomes a presence in the room, casting halos that shift as the viewer moves, creating a sense of shared space between the work and the body standing before it.

Sound and video extend the installations into time, transforming static objects into durational experiences. A camera captures what the eye might otherwise miss — the slow movement of leaves in a barely perceptible breeze, the way light falls across a sleeping figure, the surface tension of water just before it breaks. These filmed moments are not narratives in the conventional sense but rather meditations on attention, invitations to slow down and inhabit a different relationship with time. The lens becomes an extension of the gaze, framing fragments of the world with the same care one might bring to arranging objects in a room.

Collaboration threads through many of these projects, reflecting an understanding that certain ideas emerge only through dialogue. Working alongside other artists, musicians, and makers opens the work to unexpected possibilities — a soundscape that reshapes the emotional register of a space, a structural insight that allows glass to reach heights it could not achieve alone. These partnerships, whether with university programs, foundations, or fellow studio artists, are not merely practical arrangements but genuine exchanges that leave their mark on the resulting work, visible in details that no single hand could have planned.

The studio itself becomes a site of convergence where all these elements — glass, light, water, neon, video, sound — find their relationships. What began as separate inquiries gradually reveals itself as a single ongoing investigation into perception and presence, into the way materials can hold attention and slow the eye. There is no grand conclusion, only the steady accumulation of moments: the way ultraviolet light reveals something hidden in a leaf, the way blown glass holds the memory of breath, the way fog transforms a familiar trail into unfamiliar territory. The work continues, quiet and patient, waiting to be seen.