I would have to be a commercial product or a celebrity to send a "profile" according to the first definition by way of self-introduction. However, this definition is not totally inapplicable. Rather, from the point of view of performance art, a "side view," meaning a partial or fragmentary representation, or even something that shows a side view of me in the style of the stills they used to take of movie stars, may be entirely appropriate. Although, of course, I am not a star...

The sense of reality provided by such a representation is what I am aiming for. The concept of a profile would be completed by supplementing this representation with a biographical sketch.

The idea that supports offering a side view as a representation of a person is the impossibility of depicting more than a fragment of the entire person. A profile of me in the strictest sense would have to be a depiction of my entire life to date.

All of these ideas aside, is it possible for me to speak of myself? Since it is I that chooses the words and gives you an impression by uttering or writing them, the question boils down to what I myself think of "me". To borrow an expression of Marcel Duchamp, "it is always another that dies." In a verypersonal way, we come up against the psychological perversion that whatever we speak of, we are basically speaking of ourselves. The alternative would be the belief that only I am different.

If I must somehow get around these subconscious ironies, it would be by supposing myself to be another, or seeing myself as another. The question I would ask then is, if I were someone else, what kind of person would that person be? I would also have to include the question of what I would find if there were many of these strangers. The only way I could glimpse a profile of myself would be to completely enact the role of another person called "I." Goji Hamada would perform the life of Goji Hamada.

My performances begin in this way, with my asking questions of the other person called "I." It is the act of listening closely to and thoroughly experiencing the sounds, colors and constructions within me. But if I were another, and assuming that we share common sensibilities with you who are another "other," the person of "I" would still only appear as I wish it to appear. It is the same way in which my performances will only appear as you wish them to. Not only in the case of performance, but with other media if we had them, this is the way they would appear before us.

Past, present and future. As I have learned from the dream time of the Australian aborigines, these words and concepts are structured along a single axis. It is not a vertical axis such as we have used to show the progression of civilization but a horizontal one. Perhaps it could even be thought of as a circular construction, for the past appears in the present and the future gives us clues reminiscent of the past. In comparison, the present is exceedingly ephemeral and can be thought of as a pathway linking the past with the future, or even a cylinder or tunnel through which time passes.

Time is always problematic in performance because it is so fleeting, because it exists only in the balance between the past and the future. The present can also be thought of as a trace to be left for the future toward which time moves. The creation of evidence to be examined in the future - perhaps this is what time consists of. At least this is the concept most closely related to the production of performance.

The other element in performance is space. The concept of the present as a cylinder or tunnel through which time passes is also useful for our understanding of space. Especially in the case of performance, space can be seen as the element which envelops time as it passes through. We might even call space the condition of the passage of time itself.

I first gained this experience or perception through my field work in Hokkaido which I began in 1980, or more accurately, through D. Geld穎u, a shaman of the Uilta tribe whom I met there. The Uilta, a northern minority group, taught me their songs, their record of the relationship between nature and history.

My understanding achieved a form in my field work involving the aboriginal culture of Australia which I began in 1983. North and south. These two batches of field work have proven powerful enough to transform the context of my performances up to that time.

It was one song of the Uilta and only the ceremony of sand painting practised by the aborigines, but through them I have escaped the influence or control of structures and philosophies that have bound my perceptions of civilization, such as the historical view of civilizations based on their political structures or the dominating effect of religions such as Christianity and Buddhism.

Of course, it is not that everything within me was transformed. It would be more accurate to say that I began to develop a sense of the opposition between my previously held concepts regarding the history of civilization with the perceptions of minority cultures. Rather than an assimilation of the two or the transformation of one or the other, I developed a clearer sense of contrast.

I place myself somewhere between the two and the concept of the momentary present captures exactly the condition of my existence. I might even say that I am within this concept which links my existence with the methods and concepts of my performances..

My opportunity to meet members of the Haida tribe in western Canada in 1989 has had a simlar effect on my perception of my own position and existence. Central to the belief system of the Haida are their totems which embody the powers of the seasons and all nature. The ordering of the Haida culture by this belief system remains today in the form of the hunt.

This constitutes the third of the rituals I have had the fortune to become acquainted with. With these three keys, the song, dream time, and the hunt, I have opened doors to new performances. However, to paraphrase Miyazawa Kenji, a favorite author of mine, performance is like a "restaurant with many orders." Without the time to even ask who "I" am, new doors appear before me leading to the unknown.

　　January 2, 1993