Naoya Kusanagi walks through the desolate footpaths hanging next to the hillside, overseeing the endless inland sea. Two boats, one small, one large, settle down on the waves and press against the tedium of the waters, unfolding them into a melodic rhythm and forth-bringing waves over the water surface. Kusanagi holds a can of cherry milk soda, drinking it infrequently, walking beside you and speaking about his life following late retirement, despite being only about thirty years old, from professional artistry as a whole. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you, hasn’t it? How has it been since the Moore Exhibition, then?”