In Shanti Tatan, Sometimes Clapping Hands, Kanako Ozawa invites us to lean into the absurdities and contradictions of being. The sculpture—simultaneously playful and heartfelt—presents a round, cocoon-like form nestled in a textured green base, from which two small, bare legs emerge, suspended midair. The figure is faceless and formless, yet undeniably human. There is a suggestion of movement—of clapping, perhaps—but it is deferred, paused in a state of becoming.

The title itself mirrors Ozawa’s long-standing dialogue with memory and ritual. “Shanti,” a Sanskrit word for peace, resonates here like an unspoken lullaby, while “sometimes clapping hands” introduces a gesture that is both celebratory and uncertain. As in much of Ozawa’s work, the sculpture occupies a liminal space—between action and stillness, visibility and withdrawal.

The half-sphere evokes both shelter and isolation; it could be a seed, a half fruit, a memory contained. The green rind-like base bears subtle markings, resembling seeds or stitches—gestures of care. Emerging from it, the pale legs suggest a childlike presence, humorous yet haunting, caught in a state of rebirth or retreat.