In 2019, Rinko Kawauchi visited Iceland and encountered nature in its most primal and breathtaking forms—geyser eruptions like the Earth’s breath, glaciers transcending human time, and the cavernous interior of a dormant volcano, reminiscent of a womb. This experience forged a profound connection with the planet unlike anything she had ever felt before. Iceland was only the beginning. Following the COVID-19 pandemic, Kawauchi continued to observe and capture similar landscapes near her home and in the winter expanses of Hokkaido. These experiences culminated in her remarkable solo exhibition, “M/E On this sphere Endlessly interlinking,” which showcased selections from her latest series, M/E. This body of work continues to be exhibited worldwide.
The title M/E is derived from the initials of Mother and Earth, forming Mother Earth when read together. It also subtly hints at Me, emphasizing the inseparable connection between nature’s vast existence and the small, daily occurrences of human life. Kawauchi’s newest body of work extends beyond her previous series, Ametsuchi and Halo, deepening her contemplation of nature and reaffirming her artistic origins—examining the intrinsic bond between humanity and the natural world. Bound by renowned designer Hans Gremmen, the M/E book itself becomes a singular artistic object. The publication is enriched by a poetic and insightful essay by celebrated author, photographer, and art historian Teju Cole, concluding the book with a moving reflection.
This edition of M/E is co-published with Delpire & Co (France), with Torch Press releasing the Japanese/English edition and Delpire & Co producing the French/English edition. It is distinct from the exhibition catalogue, Rinko Kawauchi: M/E On this sphere Endlessly interlinking, as it exclusively presents the M/E series photographs.

“Some things can only be understood when I physically face my photographic subject. Through this process, I have sought—if only incrementally—to answer the unanswerable question of why I am alive, here and now.
After more than thirty years of working this way, I felt a deep desire to reaffirm the ground beneath my feet—not in terms of regional or national boundaries, but as a simple fact: I exist on this planet.
When I visited Iceland in the summer of 2019—having only been there once before, two decades earlier—that desire was fulfilled. I witnessed geysers like the breath of the Earth, glaciers that transcended human time, and landscapes that illuminated my own existence.
A particularly unforgettable experience inside a dormant volcano left me awestruck. Looking up, I saw light pouring through the crater above, shaped like female genitalia. In that moment, I felt as if I were a fetus enveloped by the Earth. This was a connection to the planet I had never felt before.
My intention to revisit Iceland in winter to explore these connections further was thwarted by the COVID-19 pandemic. Instead, I traveled to Hokkaido numerous times, discovering landscapes that can only be seen in the most extreme cold. There, I was reminded of my body’s smallness and fragility.
Looking back, the past decade has been marked by social upheavals—from the Great East Japan Earthquake to the global pandemic. On a personal level, I experienced life’s great shifts, including marriage and motherhood. Time rushed forward, but the pandemic seemed to slow it down. Spending prolonged periods at home for the first time in years brought back childhood memories—the long, endless summers, the monotony of after-school hours. Observing my daughter, I wondered if she too was caught in a similar flow of time.
Our hair grows, our nails lengthen; second by second, we move closer to death. Yet, as I focused on small but undeniable changes, I felt as if time—seemingly accelerating every year—had momentarily rewound.
Just as my daughter grows and I age, will global warming continue until the glaciers I once saw vanish entirely? Everything is interconnected with the life unfolding before us. Even if we cannot halt the passage of time, surely we can improve the places we call home.
Taking the initials of ‘Mother Earth,’ we arrive at M/E.
Writing down these two letters, I felt an undeniable link between the incomprehensibly vast and the tiniest individual elements. It was the same mysterious sensation I had under the volcano—an inversion and unity between the planet and myself.”
– Rinko Kawauchi