The Archive of Time and Making
You can't see time with your eyes. Even if you're staring at a clock, watching the sun rise and set, or observing leaves falling as the seasons change—time itself remains elusive. You can't grasp it; even in a photograph, time shifts. It is always passing, unstoppable, irretrievable.
Where does time go? Our bodies accumulate it, holding onto it in ways we can never release. We can share time, give time, spend time—but we can never take it back. Time lives within us. The body endures time only until it can endure no longer.
How much time can one withstand? And how does one learn to endure time?
It takes time to grow, to develop, to become. Over the years, I have met many versions of myself, each shaped by time yet rooted in the same foundation: I am a maker. Like a tree reaching toward the light, I have branched out in many directions—each medium a new limb stretching toward new possibilities. Every version of me is connected to that core truth. It takes time to evolve, to refine, to become.
I have been fortunate to endure time in many places and with many people, each enduring time with me for different amounts of time—hours, minutes, days, months, years, seasons. Most pass through with time, moving along their own paths, but I am grateful for the lessons they leave behind. And I am especially grateful for those who are still here, enduring time with me.
This archive is about time. It is about what I have been doing while enduring time. My life is built on creative endurance—because to live a creative life is to resist time’s erosion by making things in its wake. My work is evidence of the time I have spent, proof of my existence.
Where does time go? My time is in the objects I craft, the stories I write, the games I design, the pictures I stop to take, the songs I sing, the conversations I have, the research I conduct, the movies I direct, the games I play. My work is my imprint on time—proof of where it has gone, how it has shaped me.
There is nothing I would rather do with my time than create: to make, to learn, to teach, to talk about making, to write about making, to study what others have made. I am not simply a creative—I am a maker of things.
Making is a physical act—a labor of lifting, thinking, erasing, breaking, dreaming, imagining, negotiating, crouching, standing, hustling, sitting, revising. It is strenuous. The heart, the body, the mind, the spirit must be in shape to endure time, because time is what gives us another opportunity to create.
I will endure time as long as I can so that I may continue to make. Because that is what it means to live the creative life—the life of a maker.
When we look back at time, we see things as we wish to see them—through the lens of where we stand today. I am not where I thought I would be, but I am exactly where I am supposed to be: enduring time, making things. And for that, I am grateful.
This archive is my love letter to time. To the time I have never truly grasped, yet always felt. The time I see, hear, taste, touch, and hold in every thing I have made.
Adventure Awaits…
with love + imagination
-MR. TOMONOSHi!
