Urban Rhythm, Local Rhythm
When I lived in Tokyo, I worked inside a world filled with density and momentum.
Fast-moving projects, days packed with movement, a steady stream of encounters and information.
Tokyo gave me energy, opportunities, and meaningful progress for both my career and my family. It was a canvas where colors could be drawn boldly and vividly.
And yet quietly, a thought often surfaced:
“Maybe this canvas could use a bit more room to breathe.”
1. Time that moves like Setouchi waves
After moving to Takamatsu, the first thing that struck me was how time itself flows differently here.
A morning walk in Ritsurin Garden— light trembling on the surface of the water, shadows of pine branches softening the edges of time.
Small conversations with shopkeepers, a delivery person offering a gentle greeting, a calm, unhurried exchange at the city office.
All of these moments contain a kind of “interval” that differs from the city’s sharp tempo. The Setouchi rhythm moves like waves— slowly, but surely forward.
If I borrow the metaphor of relativity, it feels as though my internal clock runs one notch slower here, a subtle shift that quietly changes the depth of thought and the texture of daily life.
2. Choosing a canvas with room to breathe
As I settled into this rhythm, my sense of how I work—and how I build my studio— also began to shift.
I find myself naturally arriving at this feeling now, and it gently shapes how I operate Fragment Practice and Fragment System.
Tokyo’s canvas was rich with layers of color. But adding a new stroke sometimes required carefully navigating the already-filled surface.
Takamatsu, by contrast, carries a sense of expansiveness. The morning air, the slower pace of people, the depth of quiet in the evenings— all quietly say:
“There is still room here. You can paint freely.”
It isn’t a matter of city versus countryside. Both have their strengths, both offer meaningful ways to draw a life.
It’s just that the canvas my family and I needed right now was this one.
3. What color is your canvas now?
To live, I think, is to keep checking the colors and margins of our own canvas.
- Does the color match who you are now?
- Are you layering strokes out of pressure?
- Does it harmonize with your family’s rhythm?
- Is there a place where you could paint more freely?
Within the gentle rhythm of Setouchi, I’ve begun painting a new picture.
What color is your canvas right now? And where is that color trying to take you?