Look you gave me.
The title hints at how often we misread each other. So many misinterpretations begin with a look, “the look you gave me.” Often, these misreadings come from fear, from the anxiety of wondering how others perceive us. We imagine we know what they’re thinking, when in fact, we’re usually wrong. But sometimes, rarely, we’re so in sync with someone that a single look tells us everything. It’s like a glimpse into what’s coming next, a premonition of sorts.
This project is about that liminal space: between knowing and assuming, between being seen and being misread.
It’s about closeness and distance, silence, miscommunication, and the uncertainty that lingers, not because of what they meant, but because they never fully revealed themselves.
The Significance of the Kiseru
In many of my works, I tend to draw male figures. There’s something about their lines that feels more direct, almost blunt. To avoid having them become rigid I chose to include the kiseru, a Japanese smoking pipe, instead of a cigarette. To me, the kiseru has an elegance to it, a femininity, softening the presence of the figure.
Silence is something that I actively try to be in good terms but still often struggle with. Especially in conversation, where it’s often avoided. People rush to fill silences with filler words, just to keep things moving. In Japanese, there’s the word kuchisabishii, the habit of eating not out of hunger, but because your mouth feels lonely. I think there’s something similar in how we speak: a kind of talking to fill space because the silence feels too bare. For smokers, that habit of filling space has shifted into something physical. Smoking being their kuchisabishii.
I’ve always loved observing and having conversations with smokers. There’s a rhythm to the way they speak, a kind of pacing that’s shaped by the act of smoking itself. It often feels like their thoughts are slightly preoccupied, tethered to the need to take a puff or step outside.
They seem more attuned to the natural ebb and flow of a conversation, when to speak, when to pause, partly because they’re probably calculating when they might excuse themselves for a smoke. In a somewhat selfish way, they make you wait. They ask questions that sometimes comes across as if they're buying themselves time.
But you can also see, very clearly, when they’re truly engaged, like when they stub out a cigarette early, or forget to light one at all. In the end, I think they’ve simply found a loophole to be comefortable with silence.
Hoping to do the same I sit there, trying not to say something pointless. Trying to stay present. Trying not to overread. But of course, I still do.
Because sometimes all you have to go on is a glance. And whether it meant something or not, the look you gave me stays because you never said anything more.