When I met him for the first time, I was in my twenties—an international student from Japan, studying art in Houston, Texas, where I had no relations. At that time, I had a big dream, like “meeting all the people in the world,” or “seeing the bigger world,” and I was quite enthusiastic about challenging whatever interested me. One day, my art teacher, Joanne Brigham, took the class to a private museum about five minutes from the school on foot. I hadn’t noticed there was a museum at such a close distance until then, probably because it didn’t look like a typical museum. As soon as I entered, I was shocked since the exhibition content was very bloody and looked like scenes after mysterious rituals, but at the same time I was very fascinated by neatly displayed works of art such as ceremonial objects, paintings, photographs, and videos. When I looked around the exhibition and came back to the entrance area, I sat down on a bench to digest what I had just seen. And someone spoke to me and asked me “if I was learning art” and “where I came from.”