I travelled to the home and studio of harumi Nakashima from the nearby port city of Nagoya, Japan. Wide, elevated freeways sweep over a seemingly endless industrial city scape. Thirty minutes on and the concrete grey of Japan’s fourthlargest city is relieved by flashes of iridescent green rice paddies shoehorned into any available space. Another 45 minutes and the landscape changes to forested foothills dotted with tiny villages. Beguiling, gently curving roofs and cascading flower boxes crowd narrow lane-ways. Everywhere you look is shrouded in the verdant green of the oppressively hot, humid summers of central Japan.