What stood out to me most in this reading on Ryoichi Kurokawa is how seriously it takes the idea of scale, not just in a visual sense but in how we experience and process it as viewers. The text moves between the cosmic and the microscopic, from distant stars to butterfly wings, and what feels important is that this movement is not meant to be symbolic or poetic. It is structural. Kurokawa’s work is not really about representing nature as we know it, but about breaking it apart, abstracting it, and rebuilding it through sound and image until it feels unfamiliar, intense, and slightly disorienting.

I was especially drawn to the way the reading describes his process and studio environment. Everything feels extremely controlled, technical, and precise, yet the outcomes are often chaotic, dense, and overwhelming. That contrast feels very intentional. Natural phenomena are described as being “de-natured” and translated into data, rhythms, and visual noise, which really stood out to me. Rather than suggesting that technology gives us clearer access to nature, Kurokawa seems to argue the opposite. Our experience of the natural world is always filtered through systems, tools, and mediation, and his work makes that fragmentation visible instead of hiding it.

The idea that his works are never fixed also stayed with me. His performances and installations change depending on the space, scale, and context in which they are presented, which makes the work feel alive rather than finished. It challenges the idea of art as a stable object and instead treats it as a system that keeps shifting and evolving over time. I found that approach refreshing, especially when compared to more traditional forms that prioritize permanence and a single, final version of the work.

What ultimately stays with me is how little his work seems to care about comfort. Even when the visuals are beautiful, there is a constant sense of tension and pressure, especially through sound. The experience feels physical, almost confrontational at times, as if it is pushing against the limits of what the body and senses can handle. Rather than explaining the world or making it feel more legible, Kurokawa’s work disrupts it, pushing perception until it starts to feel fragile. That discomfort feels intentional and honest, and it is what makes the work linger long after the experience ends.