A young boy, no older than two or three, had wandered away while following his older sister to a nearby store. He stood quietly among strangers as we searched for his family and waited beside a small local police station. He did not cry. He seemed certain that someone would come for him.

Watching him stirred a personal memory of emotional distance and self-reliance — of learning, from a young age, not to wait too visibly for care. The calmness of the child felt less like fear and more like trust: the belief that even when lost, someone is searching for you.

Part of the installation is made from cedar, a material deeply tied to the surrounding mountains of Fujino. Large areas of cedar were planted across Japan after the war with hopes of growth and stability, yet many forests were later left unmanaged after the collapse of the domestic timber industry. Today, these dense plantations are associated with ecological imbalance and landslide vulnerability in parts of the region.

The child and the cedar begin to resemble one another: both shaped by care, abandonment, and silent endurance within the landscape.

Someone Will Come reflects on the fragile relationship between trust, abandonment, memory, and the hope of being found.