Andecian Art Project began when a painter, no longer able to endure conventional exhibition spaces or the energy required for coordination and negotiation due to sensory hypersensitivity, created a place his own body could tolerate in order to continue making work and to survive as an artist.
At a point when the capacity to adjust to others, build consensus, and share space had been almost entirely depleted, the building was constructed alone—at times in tears.
At the same time, this blue-collar labor was carried out with a quiet but firm pride, one that resonates with a sense of noblesse oblige as a painter.
For this reason, architecture at Andecian does not function as a container for exhibitions.
It exists as an extension of the artist’s body, and as a work in itself.
The space is not permanently open.
Entry is possible only when the artist himself, or someone he trusts and authorizes, is present and opens the space.
This is not a matter of management or exclusion, but a minimal condition necessary to protect the physical and neurological requirements that allow the practice to continue.
There is no intention to sacrifice one’s inner life in order to conform to social expectations; toward insincerity that disturbs the space, the door remains closed.
At the same time, Andecian does not presuppose sociability or active participation.
Those who struggle with greetings, or who experience interpersonal interaction itself as a heavy burden, are not asked to explain themselves or perform expected behaviors.
Silence, distance, and simply being present are accepted states.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, the space was at times left open without explicit welcoming or supervision—people were allowed to enter quietly, without ceremony.
Exhibitions by homemakers and middle school students have also taken place at Andecian.
These were not treated as educational programs or community outreach, but as acts of making.
Age or social position does not lead to a relaxation of tension: the artist remains fully involved in a state of sensory hypersensitivity, engaging seriously and consistently, and supporting the process as practice.
For this reason, when signs of inward-looking dynamics or closed familiarity are sensed within the space, the artist may say,
“Perhaps this would be better done at home.”
This is not intended as rejection, but as a way of preserving the conditions under which the space can remain a site of sustained practice.
Andecian is neither a conventional gallery nor a community space.
There was a period when the space—particularly at night—became comfortable enough to nearly function as a gathering place.
Alongside a quiet sense of joy that such a place had emerged locally, the artist sensed, before it could be articulated in language, that the activity was beginning to shift toward community formation.
This “discomfort within comfort” was registered physically, one sign being the onset of tinnitus, and led to a deliberate decision to slow the pace of activity.
At moments when the tension of making intensifies, announcements and promotion cannot be prioritized.
As a result, exhibitions are sometimes communicated only quietly online, shortly before they take place.
Exhibition, presentation, or regional engagement are not the primary objectives.
Rather, Andecian continues to exist as a single work—one that persists as a consequence of making under specific bodily conditions.
Even now, it continues to navigate an unresolved but necessary tension between solitary physical and mental labor and the warmth of the surrounding community.
On the Principle of Judgment: Trust and Embodied Continuity
When others are allowed to open the space at Andecian, the decision is not made through institutions, titles, or explicit agreements.
The basis of judgment lies in trust accumulated over long periods of time, and in bodily perception.
This principle is akin to the transmission of responsibility seen in Japanese festival traditions involving the mikoshi(portable shrine).
Even without knowing someone’s name or formal position, an important role may be entrusted to a person who has returned to the festival every year without fail.
Such decisions are not based on credentials or social roles, but on embodied memory formed through years of shared presence, effort, and endurance.
Because of sensory hypersensitivity, the artist is acutely aware of discrepancies between words and emotions, and between outward behavior and inner states.
A work is understood as something that inevitably reflects the way a person exists and commits to making.
For this reason, decisions about whether someone may open the space, or whether responsibility can be entrusted over time, rely solely on heightened sensory perception, guided by trust and care.
This is not a process of selection or evaluation.
It is an experiential and unavoidable principle of judgment—one necessary for the space and the practice to continue over time without breaking.