When I first heard this song, I felt my emotions scatter in every direction, as if confusion and calm were spreading through my chest at the same time. A faint hope within sorrow. A small flame flickering without fading, deep inside a frozen body. This work began by gently gathering those contradictory feelings, the fact that they simply “exist,” as a visual expression. This music video depicts an emotional journey that begins with a parting. How a heart that has experienced loss wavers, and eventually moves toward acceptance. That inner transformation is carefully woven together through color design, lighting, framing, and camera movement synchronized to the rhythm. A room submerged in water, an empty deep sea, a motorcycle racing through the city at night— all of it symbolizes the protagonist’s mental state and emerges as an inner landscape. For the lighting, rather than direct light, I deliberately used reflections and silhouettes to leave room for ambiguity instead of clear-cut “answers.” The camera work was designed to visualize the heart’s fluctuations, shifting like waves from stillness to motion, from tight to wide. As for the structure, I prioritized the flow of emotion over a conventional storyline, so that viewers could focus on simply “feeling” the piece. Scattered memories and thoughts overlap into a single mental landscape, and before long, quietly, they become a tear. That pool of water may perhaps be an ocean made of one’s own tears. I would be happy if this video could gently resonate somewhere with the “deep sea” that exists within each viewer.

This video work is an attempt to speak, through the medium of film, to the ambiguity and beauty held within the word “desire.” Aisho Nakajima’s GANGBANG is not mere provocation, but an anthem to the moments where human instinct and intimacy intersect, and I sought to depict it as a “visual orchestra.” The stage is a sealed, sensual room where shadow and light intertwine. There, the boundaries of gender and identity dissolve, and kisses and embraces emerge as a single fluid language. As the 360-degree rotating camera slowly traverses the space, the audience is led not into the feeling of “peeking” into this world, but into the sensation of “being there together.” What matters is not the correctness of the gaze, but the honesty of sensation. The extensive use of close-ups brings into focus the air drifting between bodies and the fragility that resides in exchanged glances. The lighting is pared down to the extreme, quietly illuminating the contours of the skin and the rhythm of breath. The shadows themselves become the blank space of desire. GANGBANG is a visual poem that affirms someone’s sexual being as sensual beauty. It is political, and at the same time deeply personal. By hovering on the knife-edge between “showing” and “making one feel,” this work once again asks what it means for us to “connect.”

This video work is a poetic piece that portrays the two extremes of “pain” and “brilliance” swirling within a teenager’s heart. Its non-linear, fragmented narrative moves back and forth between reality and memory, as if wandering through the fault lines of recollection, depicting the lingering aftereffects of the protagonist Airu’s heartbreak and the faint light that remains within it. Current loneliness and the tenderness of the past. Shouts and silence, warmth and collapse. All of it layers itself within the rhythm of the visuals, creating a loop of emotion. The camera shakes in hand-held motion, following and capturing emotional turbulence in a physical way. The lighting uses cold blue and gray tones for the present, as if separating existence from memory, while the flashbacks are rendered in warm, slightly overexposed light. Neon glow, like sparks of emotion, occasionally washes over the frame. In the editing, the theme of “a chain of emotions that feels as if it might break, yet never quite does” is expressed through scattered match cuts, dissolves, and glitch-like moments, leaving room in the viewer’s heart. The film repeats rises and falls like a heartbeat, creating an emotional rhythm. This work is a visual poem that seeks to portray all the pain and love hidden behind a single word: “Y.O.U.” It is a visual monologue woven for someone’s emotions that have not yet become words, about self-destruction and rebirth, and how to love and how to lose. Straightforward, awkward, and therefore beautiful — it is a work that burns into image the essence of “teenage.”

This video depicts “the quiet afterglow left behind after parting.” Two people who will never cross paths again. Yet only the threads of emotion remain, thinly and unmistakably, stretching across space. The man and woman never appear in the same frame; each simply stands still within their own world. A man smoking in a room, a woman sitting inside a car wrapped in rain. Time does not move, and there are no words, only emotion drifting there. At the core of this work is “repetition.” The phrase “just because,” repeated again and again in the lyrics. In response, the visuals also repeatedly show the same frames and actions. Exhaling smoke, gazing at the rain, a hand tapping the steering wheel. All of these are mental landscapes of characters trapped within an emotional “loop.” In the editing, by repeating the same moments, the work creates a sensation as if time were melting away. Even within the repetition, subtle changes—a slight shift in light, the timing of a breath, the tremble of a gaze—are woven in, quietly conveying to the viewer that emotion is not completely still. The lighting and camera work are also closely linked to the poetic tempo. Soft, diffused light, streetlights reflected in raindrops, shadows wavering in cigarette smoke. Everything expresses “things that are unclear, yet undeniably there.” Liquid is a visual poem that shines a light on the “ambiguity” of emotion and the things that cannot be put into words. Bittersweetness and release, stillness and suffocation—an audiovisual experience where all of these coexist, like being inside a dream. We aimed for an afterglow that gently touches the depths of the viewer’s memories and emotions.