Seta Ichika — - I Don-t Have A Mother Anymore- So...

Ichika never throws the squash away. She photographs it monthly, watching it decompose. Caption: “I don’t have a mother anymore, so I don’t know if this is love or haunting.”

One voicemail goes: “Mom, I don’t have you anymore, so I’ve started talking to your apron. It doesn’t answer either. But at least it smells like you — no, wait. That’s just the fabric softener. I bought the same kind. I’m sorry. I’m trying to trick my nose.” Seta Ichika - I Don-t Have A Mother Anymore- So...

Her mother died on a Tuesday morning in early spring, just as the cherry blossoms began to fall. Ichika never throws the squash away

Critics called it uncomfortable, even invasive. But audiences sat in silence, often weeping. Some left their own voicemails on a secondary line installed for public participation. The collection of these messages — strangers speaking to their dead — became a separate exhibit titled “So We All Speak to the Empty Room.” Why does “so…” resonate so deeply? Ichika’s work taps into a modern condition: the suspension of grief in a culture that demands resolution. It doesn’t answer either