Momiji
AUTUMN ‘26
A single-edition artwork
Make this one of a kind piece your own
Limited edition prints
Exquisite pieces, each exclusively limited to just 10 editions
The maple set the still pond on fire,
and the bird painted it with ripples.
The Story
As a child, I grew up beneath the maple trees in Japan.
Each autumn, they transformed the temple grounds into a world of crimson. Their reflections set the ponds on fire, and fallen leaves drifted across the stone paths like tiny flames. To my younger self, it all felt wonderfully ordinary. Like so many things in childhood, I simply believed they would always return.
Years later, after leaving Japan and becoming an artist, I returned.
The trees were much the same as I remembered, yet everything felt different. It wasn't the landscape that had changed, it was the way I was seeing it. I realised that those brilliant reds appear only through a delicate balance of season, weather, and time. Something I had once believed was ordinary had always been quietly miraculous.
One afternoon, I stood beside a still pond burning with the reflection of the maples. Then birds glided across the water, painting the crimson with ripples. For a moment, I thought the perfect reflection had been disturbed. Instead, it became even more beautiful.
It felt strangely familiar.
Like that pond, I hadn't returned to my childhood unchanged. Time, distance, loss, gratitude, and everything I had experienced had rippled through the way I remembered this place. Yet those memories had not become less beautiful. They had simply become deeper.
This series is an invitation to return, not only to the places that first filled us with wonder, but to rediscover them with the eyes of who we have become.
The Story
As a child, I grew up beneath the maple trees in Japan.
Each autumn, they transformed the temple grounds into a world of crimson. Their reflections set the ponds on fire, and fallen leaves drifted across the stone paths like tiny flames. To my younger self, it all felt wonderfully ordinary. Like so many things in childhood, I simply believed they would always return.
Years later, after leaving Japan and becoming an artist, I returned.
The trees were much the same as I remembered, yet everything felt different. One afternoon, I stood beside a still pond burning with the reflection of the maples. Then birds glided across the water, painting the crimson with ripples. For a moment, I thought the perfect reflection had been disturbed. Instead, it became even more beautiful.
It was in that quiet moment that this series began.
The Message / Discovery
Returning to these maple trees reminded me that it wasn't the landscape that had changed, it was the way I was seeing it.
As a child, I never questioned how extraordinary it was that the world could suddenly turn so brilliantly red. Only years later did I begin to understand that those crimson leaves appear through a delicate meeting of season, weather, and time. Something I had once believed was ordinary had always been quietly miraculous.
Watching the birds ripple the pond, I realised that I, too, had returned changed. Time, distance, loss, gratitude, and the experiences that shape a life had gently transformed the way I remembered this place. Yet, like the reflection upon the water, those memories had not become less beautiful. They had simply become deeper.
This series is an invitation to return, not only to the places that first filled us with wonder, but to rediscover them through the eyes of who we have become.