A dear person, animal, or a familiar view sometimes feels very distant. It's a sense of uncertainty and inviolability that suddenly strikes me like a gust of wind. When it happens, the object is really distant, no matter how close it is to my lens, or even if it smiles at me. I can see it but I can't touch it, as if there is a wall of glass between us. Photography reveals the existence of this glass, albeit quietly. But whether I grasp its nature or not is a whole other question. I can stay tranquil as long as I leave incomprehensibility as it is. This is not a depressive account. It is sad, but there is also a certain brightness in the distances of intimacy.
Countless choices and experiences create a particular person, one who resembles no one else. Everyone has a collection of unique episodes, and I've been deeply moved by the texture of such episodes that live on in artistic productions such as clothes, movies and music. Although private in origin, they are pliable, they have a certain transferability. The good productions strike a chord in us and show us a vision of the unknown. That is what I want to do with photography.
― Statement from Kazuhei Kimura