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I will be the first to admit it is a silly pun, but “hAIkus” is a series of AI images I have wanted to create for quite some time now, yet felt that my knowledge of visualisation tools didn’t allow me to create what I had in mind.

Recently I found a way and since then I have been further refining to get what I was aiming for.

The well-bucket is, Taken by the morning glory. Going to a neighbour for water. // by Kaga Chiyome

hAIkus
Medium: Digital
Date: 2022 

Over the wintry Forest, winds howl in rage With no leaves to blow. // “Over the Wintry” by Natsume Sōseki

Haikus often capture sudden feelings or fleeting emotions. I have definitely enjoyed working with an AI tool to translate what the haiku evokes for me into a coherent collection of images.

Night; and once again, the while I wait for you, cold wind, turns into rain. // by Masaoka Shiki Everything I touch, with tenderness, alas, pricks like a bramble. // by Kobayashi Issa An old silent pond A frog jumps into the pond— Splash! Silence again. // “The Old Pond” by Matsuo Bashō The lamp once out. Cool stars enter, The window frame. // by Natsume Soseki A mountain village, under the piled-up snow, the sound of water. // by Masaoka Shiki The light of a candle Is transferred to another candle— Spring twilight // “Lighting One Candle” by Yosa Buson My life, -How much more of it remains?The night is brief. // by Masaoka Shiki The snow is falling. The Meiji era got. Further away. // by Nakamura Kusatao Although there is a bridge, my horse, goes through the water. // "The summer river" by Masaoka Shiki A world of dew, And within every dewdrop A world of struggle. // “A World of Dew” by Kobayashi Issa The canola flowers. The moon is in the eastern sky. The sun is in the western sky. // by Yosa Buson In the twilight rain, these brilliant-hued hibiscus -A lovely sunset. // by Matsuo Bashō From time to time. The clouds give rest. To the moon-beholders. // by Matsuo Bashō In the cicada's cry. No sign can foretell, how soon it must die. // by Matsuo Bashō When I ate a persimmon. The bell rung. The Horyuji temple. // by Masaoka Shiki Winter seclusion -Listening, that evening, To the rain in the mountain. // by Kobayashi Issa I write, erase, rewrite Erase again, and then A poppy blooms. // “A Poppy Blooms” by Katsushika Hokusai First autumn morning. The mirror I stare into, shows my father's face. // Murakami Kijo



 
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