Painting
Still Walking
acrylic on canvas, 50 x 100 cm
exhibited at Art Jakarta Gardens 2024, Can’s Gallery
The first time I heard about Hiroshima, it was always in the shadow of that single devastating moment—the bombing. Unlike Tokyo or Kyoto, vibrant with culture and legend, Hiroshima seemed to exist as a symbol of tragedy. But in 2018, driven by a quiet historical curiosity, I went to see it for myself. I walked through the city and stood before the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, its presence solemn, yet strangely quiet, like a clock that no longer keeps time.
Yet beyond the echo of history, I found another Hiroshima—one that lived in serene contradiction to its past. There were moments of everyday life that felt suspended in their simplicity. I tasted the layered warmth of Hiroshima’s okonomiyaki, the flavors tangling together like stories woven into the city's air. I saw the Carps merchandise everywhere, their local baseball team, and saw joy in the small rituals of life. In those unguarded moments, the city seemed untouched by the weight of memory, as if it had quietly decided to move forward, one foot after the other.
Despite everything that has happened, the people of Hiroshima still walk—step by step, through streets lined with hope and quiet resilience. There’s something in their stride, a determination not just to live, but to build something better. A peaceful world, even if peace is fleeting. And in that motion, that constant moving forward, I found a lesson. Perhaps the world, too, could learn to see Hiroshima not only for its scars, but for its spirit. To remember the pain, yes, but to also recognize the beauty in a city that refuses to be defined by its suffering.