In the end of l988, after living in the U.S. for several years, I came to Japan for a short visit. One morning a few days after my arrival to Japan while staying at a friend's house, I was awaken by an telephone call from my mother in law in Seattle. She was calling to talk about the news of the Emperor Showa's death. For my second generation Japanese-American mother in law and many elder Japanese, Emperor Showa was a person unquestionably respected and revered like a God. He was their symbol of Japan. Acting as a proxy for my mother in law, I joined the crowds of people going to the Imperial Palace to pay their respects. Japanese flags topped with black cloth or flying at half mast in the streets...Tearful old Japanese people on the Imperial Palace grounds...Flocks of people going through the motions of being reverent...Indifferent youth... Surrounded by the gloom of the event, I began to search for my definition of "country" and "Japan" for the first time in my life. Up until that day, I thought little of my Japanese nationality. It was like the mole on my face. Something I was born with.

Immedlately after my Imperial Palace grounds visit, I began work on a series of oil paintings to visually define "my country" and "my Japan." I used the death of Emperor Showa as a historical reference point. The "Showa Funeral March" depicts Takeshita Street, a narrow street lined with trendy restaurants, boutiques, and hundreds of little mom and pop shops, located in the Harajuku District of Tokyo. This street is always crowded with young kids, many from the country side surrounding Tokyo, trying desperately to "make the scene." The day of Emperor Showa's funeral was no exception. The scene that the young kids were making that day had nothing to do with dead people or world events. It was just another shopping day on Takeshita Street. Umbrellas protected the shoppers from the gloom of the day.