LUA KOBAYASHI
The Persistence of Memories
In September 2025, I spent time moving through the greater Boston area, sitting with Japanese-American individuals and families in spaces where stories are held—living rooms, kitchens, and quiet corners shaped by daily life. Within these intimate settings, people shared personal histories, reflections on what it means to be Japanese-American today, and the objects that have traveled with them across generations. These conversations were generous and deeply moving, revealing how culture is preserved not only through documentation, but through care, trust, and the act of keeping.
This project takes the form of a quiet, immersive installation centered on projection, shared memory, and a belief rooted in Japanese folklore: that objects, after a long life of use, may awaken as tsukumogami, or spirits. Within this tradition, belongings are not passive. They absorb touch, time, and emotion—carrying the presence of those who have lived alongside them.
The installation is created from materials entrusted to me during these conversations: paintings depicting scenes from concentration camps, inherited household objects, and handwritten notes intended for future generations. Each belonging carries deep personal significance, speaking to family, memory, and continuity across time. Through projection, these objects and images are gently animated into living landscapes and spirits, imbued with movement and breath, as they shift between stillness and life – all inhabiting the space within the Griffin. This exhibition presents these stories through projected imagery and, when possible, the physical presence of belongings offered by participants. Together, the works honor not only individual lives, but the broader, often unseen histories of Japanese American communities in the greater Boston area. The installation creates space for remembrance and the quiet persistence of memory—all held within the things we choose to keep.
This painting was shared with me by Cindy Atoji Keene. Her father painted it while incarcerated at Rohwer in Arkansas. He created a series of paintings during his time there, including images of barracks, students studying, and still lifes.I was especially drawn to this painting of the guard tower because guard towers have become such a synonymous symbol of the incarceration camps. At the same time, I was interested in the act of painting itself. For many incarcerated Japanese Americans, creative activities became a way to pass the time, document their surroundings, and maintain a sense of self within an unfamiliar and controlled environment.
These pearls were shared with me by Claire Inouye, a mixed Yonsei who was working on her thesis at Brown University about the stories of Japanese Americans. Claire and I connected over many things, including our experiences of being mixed Japanese Americans. She grew up in Indiana, while I grew up in California, but we found many similarities in our experiences.Claire told me that she would take these pearls with her to Obon festivals and wherever she traveled as a way to honor and think about her grandmother. She had a very close relationship with her, and the necklace came to hold a deep sense of love, memory, and connection.
These utensils were shared with me by Roger and Lena Fujimoto, as well as their daughter Chelsea. They told me about Roger’s parents, who used this silverware during family events and gatherings.The utensils had been passed down through generations and were kept because of the memories associated with them. They are ordinary objects, but their history within the family gives them a significance that cannot be seen simply by looking at them. They carry the memory of gatherings, family relationships, and the people who used them before.
The baseball card and baby wrap belonged to Stephen Nishino and Janet Gee, who were incredibly generous in sharing their family’s belongings and stories with me. They also introduced me to many of the people who became part of this project, opening the door to so many meaningful connections. I’m especially grateful for the stories they shared about their special New Year’s celebrations and for the generosity they showed throughout this process.
This piece was made with so much gratitude for Karen Young, who welcomed me so warmly, introduced me to so many people, and generously shared her community with me. She also showed me the incredible power of taiko—not just as sound, but as a full-body experience. Her presence and the energy of taiko inspired the sound in the final chapter of this piece, drawing from the spirit of Obon: a time to remember, call back, and honor our ancestors.
These masks belonged to Margaret Masumi Yamamoto, who was a young girl when her family owned a grocery store on Terminal Island in San Pedro, California. The masks hung in the doorway of the family business.Margaret’s family was later incarcerated during World War II, but they kept the masks with them. Their survival is especially meaningful today as the remaining buildings and physical traces of Terminal Island’s Japanese American community are increasingly at risk of disappearing.Terminal Island holds an important place in both California and Japanese American history. Its Japanese American community was among those first targeted for removal and incarceration following the attack on Pearl Harbor.
These shadows came from the kanji written on a note shared with me by Nobuko Yamasaki. Nobuko’s husband was Japanese American, and one of his relatives received this note while traveling to the United States.The sentiment written on the note emphasized the importance of sharing knowledge and passing it down to future generations. This was also an important part of the conversation Nobuko and I had when we met.I felt this was a fitting way to end the piece. Throughout this project, I have been thinking about what happens when objects outlive the people who first held them. I hope these stories—and the memories carried within these objects—will continue to be shared and passed down for generations to come.