The physicality and rhythm of kendama, a Japanese cup-and-ball skill toy which I’ve been familiar with since childhood, are deeply ingrained in my body.

There’s a basic trick in kendama called moshikame. It involves continuously moving the ball from one cup to the other, to the rhythm of the children’s song Usagi to Kame (Rabbit and Turtle). It’s simple enough, but the repetition induces a trance-like state in you. Moshikame is the most fundamental of tricks in kendama: when taking the test to achieve a rank, you’re required to repeat this basic maneuver hundreds or thousands of times. Amid this almost hypnotic repetition, I get the sensation that my self is gradually dissolving. As I surrender to the feeling of being absorbed into this endless exercise, my sense of self blurs.

The title of this work is inspired by the Japanese word tama, meaning “ball,” but it simultaneously evokes the concepts of the soul and spirit, which tama can also mean. For me, kendama is a ritualistic action through which I try to grasp the true nature of my own tama; it is like looking in a mirror. By facing the reflected “me,” I descend into the mirror.

This work is a kind of experiment in self-portraiture, which reveals the ambiguity of the framework that is the “me” revealed through the deconstruction of the physicality and musicality of kendama, and considers the gaps that arise in our perception of ourselves.