by Masao Yamamoto
There is something very therapeutic about é by Masao Yamamoto that I find it hard to express fully in words.
Perhaps I’m allowing all the surprises associated with beautiful book take over my sensibilities and rationality.
Mainly, I think I am wowed by the generous ‘white’ space given to each spread, wondering and wondering “what does it all mean?”
I have this book for years and very often, I am a little scared to pull this out of the shelves, worrying that I will be lost in this little mystery, made of little mysteries.
What if I don’t get it?