"Life is short, like the three-day glory of the cherry blossom" - Japanese proverb

Over the years I have come to appreciate and be inspired by Japanese arts and culture. As an artist I must pursue my muse, inspiration is my raison d'etre. It was in the mid-1990s that I discovered the subversive work of Tatum Hijikata, the founder of Butoh, avant-garde dance theatre. I sourced photographic images, text and video, and I longed to see a live performance. Later I discovered the magnificent watercolour paintings of Masami Teraoka, the beautiful designs of Issey Miyake, the somewhat controversial yet exceptionally crafted photographs of Nobuyoshi Araki and the quirky cartoon style and paintings of Yoshitomo Nara, all of whose work I greatly admire. The more fascinated I became in things Japanese, the more I seemed to attract. I was given a gorgeous little book TOKYO: a certain kind of style, I read Memoirs of a Geisha, I saw Shabondama Elegy, an experimental film by Ian Kerkhof, I started to enjoy sushi, wasabi and sake! A part of me resonated with the Japanese sentiment and style and I was hungry for more.

I continued my research and towards the end of 2001 I decided I wanted to go to Tokyo for the spring. The first sakura (cherry blossoms) normally arrive in the southern parts of Japan in early March and so a departure date was set and preparations for the journey I had only dreamed of were made. I was not alone in my desire to go to Tokyo and it was with great joy and a sigh of relief that I boarded the plane east with my sister Natalie. News was that it had been a particularly warm spring and the cherry blossoms were early that year. I prayed there would still be trees in bloom by the time we arrived.

Arriving in the megalopolis was an experience both of us will never forget. With a language neither of us could read or understand and at the same time being surrounded by hundreds of little people like ourselves, it felt so utterly foreign and yet at the same time so familiar.

Leaving the airport we headed for the trains, this was quite easy, however finding our way to our ryokan (Japanese style inn) was a bit more confusing and without the help of a pretty young boy who spoke little English, near impossible! Once out of the glittering wetness of the city at night we entered the humble comfort of our ryokan. It felt like home in a strange kind of a way. Shoes left at the front door pointing outwards, dark wooden floors, the fresh smell of tatami mat rooms, futons on the floor and pillow cases stuffed with rice grains, a communal tub for soaking and ikebana arrangements in the common room, just no view to speak of, our window opened onto a grey cement wall and we'd awake to the sounds of the city and the cawing of the crows.

Our first day and the first thing we did was to inquire about the whereabouts of sakura, this was to be a typical Japanese outing. We were directed to Shinjuku Gyoen, one of the many beautiful parks to be found in Tokyo. During Hanami (flower viewing), the whole of Tokyo seems to come out of winter hibernation and into the intoxicating ambiance of spring, to walk, rest, meditate, picnic and party under the splendid blossoming cherry trees branches are bound tightly to and held up with wooden 'crutches' to keep them from breaking. The Japanese seem to understand that with the fragility of age comes the majesty of life. Huge Sidarezakura (weeping cherry tree), much like our Weeping Willows, with their long branches heavily laden with blossoms sway over ponds, pink and white petals swirling in the breeze falling like snow come to rest on the ground like confetti.

Spring moves into summer, the petals are blown away or pressed between the pages of my book. Pink gives way to leafy greens. My sister must fly back home to Cape Town and I'm on my own. But luckily I have made contact with a couple who had just relocated to Cape Town, their hospitality and friendship kept me strong. I also found a cheap hotel that housed both foreign and Japanese clientele and it was here that I came into contact with a different, rougher Tokyo.

I befriended a gentle giant who went by the name of Doc. It was after I showed him photographs of my artwork that he presented me with a wad of pornographic images of Japanese women bound with rope. As if by magic, in my hands lay the reference material I had hoped to find. Kinbaku means to bind tightly. In the vernacular it refers to erotic bondage, particularly the Japanese style known as nawa (rope) shibari (to tie). Kinbaku is also a term used from the Edo Period describe torture using rope, it came into being as a byproduct of a practice of the art of prisoner restraint.

But I was not meant to venture too deep into the underworld, something else was in store for me that I wasn't expecting at all. My dear friend and manager of the hotel I was staying at was approached by NTV (Nippon Television), they were interested in making a documentary about gaijin (foreigners) who were visiting Japan with a particular 'mission' other than soccer fans visiting for the World Cup! He understood my quest as an artist and presented me to the director. She loved the story: A South African artist in search of sakura, that I was going by the name Sakura-san (a typical Japanese name) seemed to amuse her too.

It was now June, the weather was getting warmer and there was not a blossom to be found in the whole of Tokyo. I would have to travel to higher altitudes if I was still to find blossoms. And so with the producer, director, cameraman and assistant oi tow I set off for the foothills of the Japanese Alps. After a bus, a train, another bus, a tram and a long hike I found myself high up in the Matsumoto Mountains and there growing wild in the snow, shrouded in mist, were yamazuakura (wild mountain cherry tree), with the most beautiful delicate blossoms of the palest pink. So there I stood for a brief few minutes sketching, the light was fading fast and we still had a long trek back to Tokyo. All this in just one day, I was elated and exhausted.

It was these contrasting images of blossoms and bound women that served as a springboard for my latest body of work. Moving away from the pornographic nature of the images I used them in a more Classical sense as the nude bound, to symbolise what in Buddhist language is known as samsara: conditioned existence, that is, living a life of superficial habits and compulsions.

I have chosen to portray women in a bondage since I believe it to be a potent metaphor for the negative addictive patterns so many of us fall prey to. In our search for happiness and freedom we are often seduced into believing that something outside ourselves will bring us that much sought after relief, but in actual fact we just end up tightening the ropes that bind us.

In a society such as ours where there is little time for depression or anxiety we are prescribed medication or self-medicate to alleviate the suffering, but these methods only serve as temporary 'plasters' and mask the body's inherent wisdom and self-healing abilities.

Since we have become so removed from nature we seem to have forgotten the cyclical nature of life, death and rebirth. The cherry blossoms are a reminder of this, they offer hope, freedom from bondage, they mark the beginning of Spring and the oncoming of Summer and fruitfulness, and like delicate bubbles, they too are beautiful in their fragile transience.

By Tracy Payne, including excerpts by Natalie Payne