She changes with the light, yet stays the same beneath it all. This mask reveals a range of expressions depending on the angle and lighting—innocence, sorrow, even a certain defiance. These shifting impressions reflect the inner emotions she holds: anger, conflict, and longing. Yet each is only a fleeting moment. What this mask truly tries to capture lies beyond the surface changes— a quiet core, the unwavering presence of her truest self. She is not merely serene. Like bamboo, she has a straight, resilient strength that runs through her. Her expression may shift, her emotions may stir, but the essence that grounds her remains unshaken— just as the moon waxes and wanes, yet is always the moon. This mask is carved so that her eyes never quite meet yours. She keeps a distance from being seen. You cannot grasp her. You may speak, but she won’t reply. I did not carve this mask to resemble anyone. I carved it so that she could quietly appear— not in response to our desires or expectations, but as she truly is. People see what they want to see. But she responds to none of it. She slips past their gaze, emerging only between light and shadow. There is something in her that recalls the Japanese tale of Princess Kaguya— a figure who briefly visits the human world, only to return to the light beyond. Untouchable, unknowable— a being of the moon.