I miei pensieri

Each one of the subjects of the paintings left me with something. I had to read each one of their stories on Asato's book "No Sabían que Somos Semillas". The picture above belongs to the rugby team "San Luis Club" where Ricardo Dakuyaku was playing  as a scrum. They made it to first division and got to tour around Europe in 1975. Each time someone would tackle Dakuyaku, he would get up smiling. He didn't want his adversaries to know that he was hurting. He also didn't quit trying to play rugby just because they would tell him to quit. He was the shortest rugby player at the time. After I read their chapters, I don't cry for them because their lives were sad, yes, they had a tragic ending, but while they were alive they had a lot to offer to the world. Lots of people loved them. But I cry sometimes because all the potential that we lost when the dictatorship killed them.

Ana Amelia Higa Architecture student, disappeared by the Argentinian dictatorship on June 16, 1977.

Jorge Eduardo Oshiro kidnapped on November 10, 1976 at the age of 18. He was a singer/musician.  High school student. He might look a little serious on the picture but it was because he didn't like having his picture taken and the flash was blinding him. That it was what his sister Elsa told me about this photo. He was nice and tender. I thought in this picture he had a cool attitude. To me it was one of the best painting that I did out of the series. I really enjoyed painting Jorge, we share the same last name, although we are not related. We got in common the singing and playing guitar. I like having things in common with my subjects.

Jorge Nakamura, kidnapped on May 6th, 1978 at the age of 21 years old. When I first saw his picture I thought it was going to be a challenge since I couldn't tell how his teeth looked like. When I finished his portrait I was happy, I couldn't stopped smiling back at him, I could tell he was a fun person to be around. I thought that I was able to capture his essence.

Primer cuadro de la serie de Desaparecidos Nikkei. First Painting of the Desaparecidos/Disappeared Nikkei. Oscar Oshiro's Portrait. My dad. Lawyer/Activist Desaparecido in Argentina  on April 21, 1977. I have been painting non-stop for almost two months. Reading the stories of the other Japanese descent people on Andres Asato's book. "No Sabian que Eramos Semillas". When I decided to paint the disappeared I had no idea that it was going to be so difficult, I thought that maybe my dad's painting was going to be hard because of the emotional involvement. But it turned out that I felt the same grief for the other 16 desaparecidos. I got to know some of the relatives that were carrying the same sadness in them. The same questions that I had. The pictures from forty years ago or more, were so faded or so dark with just dark shadows that it was hard to figure out the faces,  I had to read their stories and learn how they were like. I wanted...

Desaparecidos Nikkei Reappeared in the Argentinian conscience. The night of April 21, 1977, fourteen armed men wearing civilian clothes went to my dad's office and took him and another lawyer. They put him in the back of a Ford Falcon (the chosen cars the military/cops would use) and they sped off. That evening my mom, little brother and me were in our apartment on the eighth floor on Acoyte avenue. Something was boiling on the stove, the table was set but I don't remember having dinner that night. There was something going on, my mother was nervous and she was not saying much, which was strange since she liked talking to me a lot. I was sitting on the couch wrapped on a blanket watching television. I just knew even though my mother didn't say a word that we were waiting for my dad. She kept looking at the clock and I kept staring at the white door hoping to hear the key turn. We heard the elevator stop and the squeaky noise of its metal door opening, we...

After a long period of "fermentation" I finally realized what kind of art project I needed to create. I spent hours waiting for the perfect drop to appear on the macro pictures dedicated to water. I took it as my meditation time. I have been painting faces for more than twenty years, especially the eyes of strangers. It always seems like I was avoiding the subject that it was right under my nose for so long, maybe because it wasn't the right time to face it head-on. Like a macro lens if you are too close you can't see the whole figure in front of you. I am guessing this long road of painting unknown faces was an unconscious getaway to avoid remembering, an attempt for me to push everything inside. I was still able to see a glimmer of what really matters to me. I was carrying all that emotional baggage since the day my father was taken. The weight is/was always there like a huge rucksack on my back. Each day something or someone reminded me who and what was m...