Issue 9, Plus Connect

Fumiko Nagano

Moments We Carry

Words SUBIN ANDERSON

Photography NIK VAN DER GIESEN

To give shape to the ungraspable — to hold light, time, and memory in a single breath — is an impulse that finds expression in the forms Fumiko Nagano draws from glass. For Nagano, glass becomes a lens through which her inner universe comes into focus, shaping fleeting, indescribable moments into pieces that hover between presence and absence. Across her glass series, the delicate movement of light and shadow reveals glass as both material and metaphor: fragile yet enduring, transparent yet unknowable.

From her studio in Nagoya, she reflects on the paradoxes that inform her practice, the unpredictable flow of life, the emotional charge of ambiguity, and the subtle force of human creativity.

In her hands, making is not just an act but a way of living, where each form becomes a trace of time passed, a gesture of connection, and a response to moments that resist clarity yet invite us to feel more deeply.

SUBIN ANDERSON: Your father ran a lumber business, and you grew up deeply influenced by its sensory world: the wood, the tools, the textures. Later, your career in set design introduced another layer to your creative lens. Looking back on those earlier days, are there any moments or memories that still shape how you approach making?

FUMIKO NAGANO: As a child, I loved playing in my own imaginary worlds and universes. My father ran a lumber business, and I often rode with him to construction sites. I still remember the sound of carpenters’ tools clinking on their belts and how sawdust floated through the air, sparkling in my eyes. I was always drawn to making things with my hands and loved drawing, especially since I grew up watching anime. When applying to art school, I initially considered painting but felt it was something I could explore on my own. So, I chose design instead to learn more practical techniques.

During high school and university, I became deeply passionate about film. I often visited small cinemas, and for my graduation project, I created an installation that projected photographs onto a large screen. After that, I quietly held onto my dream of entering the film industry, so I began working in set design as a way to break into the field.

I’ve always loved being exposed to human creations, such as photography, film, and architecture. I feel like I’m seeing light through these creations. I feel that the universe and this world are connected through light. These art forms have a way of expressing something deeper than what we see on the surface, something that touches me emotionally.

SA: What was the very first piece you made in glass?

FN: While working on a set design for a cooking show, I couldn’t find the kind of tableware I had in mind, so I decided to make it myself. The first time I touched glass taken straight from the hot furnace, I was shocked — it was unbearably hot and painful. Honestly, it was awful. But that intense experience made it unforgettable. Because I didn’t understand it, I became curious and wanted to learn more. Before I knew it, I was completely drawn in. Now that I’ve learned the technique, the heat doesn’t bother me as much, but every time I gather molten glass, I’m still deeply moved. It glows bright red and feels full of energy, almost alive. I’m always drawn to that feeling and want to stay close to that kind of presence.

SA: How has this first interaction with glass carried through your current series?

FN: Since the pandemic, I think a lot of us, myself included, have been drawn to works that feel purer and offer a stronger sensory experience. That initial encounter with molten glass sparked my desire to explore glass in its raw, elemental state. This led to my Yukidoke series, where I originally made tableware but chose to keep the sharp, unpolished edges because I found them more beautiful and authentic. Presenting these raw forms at an exhibition in 2020 marked a turning point in my work.

Later, in 2022, at an exhibition, I showed Tsubaki, where I further embraced the natural, unpolished qualities of glass, regardless of function. This marked a key shift in my work, where I explored more of that approach in this year’s Mai series. Mai means “dance” in Japanese, evoking a soft, floating movement like drifting on the wind. After the pandemic, I felt a strong urge to connect with the rhythm and flow of dance and song, some of the oldest forms of human expression. For me, the most powerful creations arise naturally, without planning or force, echoing the original sense of wonder I felt when first working with glass.

SA: I’d like to talk about the DICE series and the story behind it, which I know is meaningful to you. It began during your pregnancy, a time marked by both physical and spatial boundaries, but also by a new kind of creative energy. In these works, numbers appear suspended within small, cube-like glass forms, held in place, yet quietly floating.

FN: The DICE series is very special to me. For women, pregnancy, childbirth, and raising a child are extraordinary experiences in life. While I felt incredible joy from the energy of new life, my freedom was also limited. It was an intense time when all I could do was simply “live.” During that period, I worked on DICE, often losing sleep over it. And this was before I had my current studio, and I was working in a tiny, square room, about 4.5 tatami mats in size, the smallest type of room in Japan, almost like a cockpit.

In that small space, I could clear my mind completely, almost like becoming “nothing”. Looking at the finished DICE pieces, I felt a sense of freedom, like holding the universe in the palm of my hand. The numbers floating inside the piece represented both my unborn daughter and myself. Inside that cube, I felt free. That moment made me realize that creating isn’t just something I do — it’s how I live.

DICE later evolved into the Fuyuu (Floating) series. Like DICE, these pieces feature floating numbers, simple, universally recognized symbols created by humans. I’ve always been drawn to their form. Numbers carry meaning, yet they’re visually abstract and elegant, and I can look at them for hours and lose track of time. Numbers and time are both human inventions, and they continue to play an important role in my thinking. Numbers give shape to time, and that symbolism fascinates me. They can bring both joy and despair. Their imperfection, ambiguity, and unpredictability feel deeply human. In that sense, glass, with all its contradictions and dualities, reminds me of us as well. In the end, I think I believe most in human creativity. I truly love people, and I find meaning in spending time with these thoughts.

SA: You also incorporate colors into your works. Can we talk about how you work with them materially?

FN: When I used to paint, I used oil paints and traditional Japanese pigments made from natural minerals. The colors varied in price depending on the materials; red, especially vermilion, was costly but one of my favorites. This connection to natural minerals reminds me of working with glass, where colors are created through chemical reactions between minerals.

In my Color series, I use just two colors layered to produce these reactions. For example, in the EGG piece, overlapping white and yellow create a grey tone, with the edges turning into a deeper, smudged grey. Because their melting points differ, the yellow becomes thicker than the white, sometimes forming organic shapes, an effect I find fascinating. Red is particularly challenging in glass, as the richest reds are made with gold and are expensive and difficult to control.

Recently, I’ve been focusing more on the qualities of glass itself, creating works that emphasize depth through transparency rather than vibrant color. While the Color Series is bold and expressive, I’ve wanted to explore either color or transparency more deeply, rather than combining both. I may return to color someday.