[Your Name/Institution] Date: [Current Date]
Tsubaki’s 2018 installation Fossilized Breath consisted of 1,000 suspended glass vials, each containing a single pressed camellia flower and a scrap of handwritten tanka poetry. The poems, collected from elderly residents of a soon-to-be-demolished nursing home in Yanaka, were transcribed onto recycled washi paper that slowly yellowed over the exhibition’s run. Art critic Hirano Kei notes that Tsubaki “does not preserve memory; she performs its decay, asking us to witness loss without rescue” ( Bijutsu Techo , 2019). midori tsubaki
Midori Tsubaki’s oeuvre resists commodification; her works cannot be shipped, stored, or collected in conventional senses. This is a deliberate political stance against the art market’s demand for permanence. Instead, Tsubaki offers what scholar Reiko Tominaga calls “ephemeral monuments”—structures of meaning that exist only through shared, time-bound witness. In a culture increasingly defined by backup drives and cloud storage, Tsubaki’s whisper asks a radical question: What if we honored memory not by freezing it, but by letting it breathe until nothing remains? In a culture increasingly defined by backup drives
Her 2020 piece The Garden of Unspoken Words addressed the erasure of women’s labor in post-war Japan. Using 300 meters of frayed silk thread—salvaged from a defunct kimono factory in Kiryu—Tsubaki wove a labyrinthine web across an abandoned sentō (public bathhouse). Visitors walked barefoot over scattered mustard seeds and broken tenugui cloths, while a recording of female factory workers’ humming looped at inaudible volume. This work explicitly critiques the neoliberal trope of “resilience,” suggesting instead that collective memory requires physical vulnerability. Midori Tsubaki’s oeuvre resists commodification