Over the years, Osamu Yokonami (b. 1967, Japanese) has quietly traced the delicate line between instinct and identity. What began as a study of childhood spontaneity—children balancing fruit between shoulder and chin, surrounded by drifting skies—has evolved into a reflection on the quiet unfolding of self-awareness.

In the earlier images, the children glance toward the lens without agenda, their expressions ranging from mischief to solemn stillness. They exist in a space slightly removed from the world—feral yet composed—where the act of balancing a fruit becomes a poetic metaphor for an unspoken challenge: to simply be.

Now, revisiting the same subjects five years later, under the same sky and in the same light, a subtle shift is revealed. The hands are steadier, the gazes more grounded. What once was raw instinct has given way to a budding interiority—a quiet sense of presence. They remain children, but the contours of selfhood have begun to emerge—tentative, but unmistakable.

Between fruit and skin, sky and shoulder, instinct and intention, lies a tender record of transition.

The book contains a preface, in Japanese, written by Osamu Yokonami, with an English translation.