“I broke my favorite snow globe. The thin outer shell cracked, and the tiny figurines and glittering snow scattered across the floor. It was a dream apparatus that could reset itself endlessly—once the glass broke, the dream woke up.” For **AAMY**, a curtain is a fine line between two worlds. It can conceal and protect, yet also allow a glimpse of the scenery on the other side through a narrow gap—both a way of avoiding being seen and a form of self-protection that comes from not wanting to disturb that other world. Japanese artist AAMY uses painting to carry these abstract and delicate sensations, building a private poetic world of her own through imagery. She takes the figure of the “girl,” the presence closest to her inner self, as a narrative stand-in, repeatedly arranging and reconstructing it within her paintings. For her, the “body” or “individuality” is not the focus. The figures in her works are never specific, real people; rather, they are light, imaginary symbols generated by fantasy. AAMY’s paintings remain suspended on the boundary between reality and dream. With soft, continuous brushstrokes, she depicts small fantasies that disappear at the slightest touch, along with the inhabitants who dwell within them—figures that scatter like snowflakes upon contact. This exhibition focuses on worlds that seem visible only through glass, only behind curtains—hazy, fleeting, and gentle, existing in the space between being and non-being.