[Special Feature: 30 Years of SFC] SFC and Me: Weaving the Meaning of Future and Past

2020/10/07

In 2003, I entered the Faculty of Environment and Information Studies, and the following year, I became a member of the first cohort of the "Information Design Seminar" launched by Professor Akira Wakita (currently the Dean of the Faculty of Environment and Information Studies), who had just arrived at SFC. I received various inspirations from him. During my time as a student, I received strict guidance and a grade of "D." After graduation, I had the opportunity to contribute a short essay to his book (which was a somewhat unexpected development considering my grades). Later, as the professor gradually intensified his activities as an artist, he recently appeared as a guest on a program I host at an FM radio station.

There, the professor mentioned that he views writing papers like music production.

I see—it sounds quite interesting to overlay the metaphor of a music album when presenting a paper to the world. For example, you decide to write a paper with the intention of including it in an album like "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." The author views the multiple papers they are about to release not as individual pieces, but as a group of works with a sense of unity under a certain concept. It's like saying the single paper currently being written is the opening track. Rather than the act of releasing all songs at once, it is a declaration of intent to the world and to oneself toward a series of productions that are about to begin. As the work progresses, one naturally develops a plan for how to close the album with a certain kind of song.

Moreover, this metaphor seems capable of expanding beyond the future-oriented framework of a "next album." For example, after several albums' worth of work (equivalent to multiple papers or some kind of project) have been released, one can select songs from all the tracks produced in the past based on perspectives like "songs by George Harrison" or "live recordings" and re-weave them into a separate album. Then, a concept album emerges that is entirely different from the meanings projected until then. When looking back on one's own journey, the meaning of the past becomes multi-layered.

Putting aside conventional interpretations of the past and re-examining multiple events from a new perspective requires great effort. To relativize an unconscious framework of thought is to distance oneself from the modes of perception one has become familiar with. It is even an act of temporarily dismantling what one has built up.

I recall the constellation "Canis Minor." As a hunting dog looking up at the hero hunter Orion, it is often depicted in illustrations in a posture of looking up at Orion. However, if you look closely, the stars that make up the constellation are only two: Procyon and Gomeisa. Even if you connect them with a line, they only form a single straight line. It is difficult to find the image of a "little dog" from this. Yet, people once certainly found a "little dog" here.

It is easy to simply connect stars—that is, points. Can you form the image of a little dog there after connecting the lines? When looking back at the past, the work of extracting new meaning is exactly like drawing this "little dog" in one's mind.

It is said that in the Tuvinian language used by the Tuvans of Inner Mongolia, the correspondence between time and direction is reversed compared to Japanese or English. In Japanese and English, the "future" is in front and the "past" is behind. "The day after tomorrow" is located on the other side as the day "after" tomorrow, and the past is always something to "look back" on. On the other hand, in the world of the Tuvinian language, the past spreads out "in front of one's eyes" and the future spreads out "behind." It seems counterintuitive, but if you think about it carefully, this also makes sense. Humans are walking backward while turning their backs to the future. Only the past enters the field of vision. Only the past that has gone by is reflected in the eyes, and the future never enters the field of vision.

This also aligns with the sensibilities of those of us living in the world of Japanese (and English). Furthermore, it overlaps with the "rearview mirror view of society" proposed by sociologist Marshall McLuhan. We are driving a car toward the future. But beyond the windshield, the future society is not visible. Society appears only as a passing image in the rearview mirror.

History appears as a coincidence at the moment it happens, but it becomes an inevitability when looking back. We find meaning in the past reflected in the rearview mirror after the fact. But after a while, we can look into the mirror once more and continue thinking with increased materials. Meaning changes its form many times. That is why we can weave an album from a different perspective. And then, we develop the concept for the next album.

I would like to try weaving some kind of album with Professor Wakita—let me make that declaration here on my own. Starting from a "D" during my student days, we have reached a relationship where we can somehow engage in dialogue after graduation. If we can layer more unexpected coincidences from here on and do some kind of work together, I feel that it would make a new constellation emerge.