What first inspired you to create this piece, and what was the process like?

About five years ago, during a meal with Harada, the director of TORCH TORCH, I mentioned that I wanted to try making a figure of Trico from The Last Guardian. That was where it all began.
I usually work as a sculptor, creating original one-of-a-kind pieces out of clay and presenting them at solo exhibitions. I had never worked on licensed characters before, but when I thought about which one I would most like to bring into three dimensions, Trico was the first that came to mind. As it turned out, Harada is also a huge fan of The Last Guardian. He told me that he had long dreamed of creating a Trico figure and said, “This would work both as your artwork and as a character figure. It’s a fantastic idea!” That gave the project real momentum.

The hurdles were high, but we decided to move forward and prepare a proposal. I wanted above all to show respect for the original work, so I put together a rough sketch inspired by the game’s package art and shared it with him. Some time later, I got a sudden call from Harada telling me, “The proposal has been approved!” From there, we worked closely together, refining the details little by little. I still remember the moment when the final composition was decided. I felt certain that if we made it, it would become something truly special.

I was told that this piece would be the first officially licensed large Trico statue in the world. At the very beginning, I probably just charged ahead saying things like, “I’ll do my best!” but as time went on I started to realize, “This has become something far bigger than I imagined.”

Once I actually began the work and started receiving supervision from genDESIGN and Sony Interactive Entertainment, it really sank in how many people were involved in the project. At the same time, I began to feel the pressure. When I am creating my own pieces, I usually work freely, following inspiration wherever it leads, so it is almost like playing a solo game. There is a certain comfort in that solitude. With a licensed character, though, so many people are involved, and with that came a kind of pressure I had never experienced before in my career.

What did you focus on or pay particular attention to in this piece?

The charm of The Last Guardian can be summed up in one phrase: A world unto itself. Of course, the physical world building itself is captivating, but I am particularly obsessed with “atmosphere.” Personally, I think it is relatively easy to convey a sense of world or setting, but capturing the atmosphere is truly difficult. I think about what the field might smell like, what the texture of a building would feel like. In a broader sense, that’s what creates immersion.

In the game, you can sense the lightness and texture of Trico’s feathers, or imagine the strength of the wind when standing atop the tower. You notice the texture of the ruined buildings, the coldness and feel of the stairs beneath the boy’s bare feet, and the warmth of sunlight pouring down. I don’t know any other game that conveys all of that so vividly, and I find it incredibly compelling. Expressing that sense of atmosphere in this piece was my way of paying the highest respect to the game.

The pose captures the moment Trico is about to leap forward from the crumbling tower. I wanted to represent the collapse of the tower as if it were on film, so the sculpture depicts more intense destruction from top to bottom, where Trico is standing. As a secondary element, the tower also serves as a sort of spotlight for Trico and the boy. If the entire tower were depicted as fully destroyed, it would feel visually noisy, and Trico and the boy would lose focus. I wanted the imagery of the tower gradually collapsing to flow in the viewer’s mind as if it were a moving sequence.

Additionally, I wanted to convey the trust between Trico and the boy, and between them and the player, just as it is felt in the game. I entrusted the sense of “Trico will somehow manage this” to Trico and the boy. Trico’s gaze is fixed straight ahead, aiming for the next foothold. That conveys hope and heightens the contrast with the collapsing despair around them.

Can you walk us through the creation process? Were there any particularly difficult parts?

The first step in the sculpting process was to create a maquette, or small-scale model, at the same size as the final piece. This allowed me to get a sense of the body balance, pose, and the angles of the joints. Based on that maquette, I cut wire to form the skeleton and shaped a rough core using aluminum foil. I then applied clay and modeling paste over the core. I use aluminum foil for the core because it offers greater flexibility than other lightweight materials such as styrofoam.

The first part where I focus on details is usually the head, which needs to be fairly symmetrical.
A few years ago, I suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and underwent brain surgery, which left me with a visual field impairment. Because of this, I can no longer easily perceive left-right symmetry. To address this, I began using digital sculpting. On a computer screen, I use a pen tablet to shape “digital clay,” and when I sculpt one side, the software automatically mirrors it to the other side. It is incredibly convenient. For that reason, even in my original works, I now use digital techniques for humanoid heads whenever symmetry is important.

For Trico, however, the entire head was not digitally sculpted. Only the skull was created digitally. I then output it using a 3D printer and built the muscles and fur on top with clay. I really enjoyed this part of the process.

In the original model, I embedded black onyx stones in the eyes. Trico’s large, glossy black eyes are one of its most charming features, so from the very beginning of sculpting, I wanted to capture that essence using shiny black spheres. Onyx turned out to be the perfect choice for this.

For the tower, I cut a cylinder out of Styrofoam, a type of lightweight foam, and sculpted it with clay and modeling paste. The patterned tiles on the exterior walls were made by creating a single tile, duplicating it, and attaching multiple copies. After that, it was mostly about intuition and feel. Occasionally, I left tiles that had naturally come loose as they were, or crushed debris and sprinkled it on top, letting it adhere naturally. It was very much like having an open session with the piece, responding to it in the moment. That element of chance suited the project perfectly. The tower was challenging to build, but it was fun, especially since I enjoy the process of destroying things.

Honestly, every part of the project was tough, but the feathers were by far the trickiest. I went back and remade them completely three times after discussing it with Harada. There were moments that I doubted myself, but all of it paid off. By the end, I got much better at sculpting feathers and was able to create a look that I’m really happy with.

When it came to the sculpting, I really approached it just like I do with my usual one-of-a-kind pieces. I wasn’t really thinking about the people who would eventually have to make the molds for mass production. Later, I heard from Harada that it took nine months to create the molds. I truly apologize for that!

Is there any part you especially want people to notice?

After the original sculpture was nearly complete, sculptor Yoshiki Fujimoto 3D-scanned the entire piece so we could create the base. Using the scan data of the main figure, we tested what kind of base would work, checking proportions and balance. Fujimoto then crafted the base itself. In sculpture, the base is as important as a frame is to a painting, so I am truly grateful to him.

As an artist, my focus is on “inviting imagination.” I want viewers not to remain passive, but to feel like they can step into the work, become players in a sense. My guiding principle is “don’t overdo it,” or in other words, “don’t explain too much.” That leaves room for imagination to grow.

There was also a reason for keeping the base as small as possible. I’ve heard that highly decorative, elaborate bases tend to be popular overseas, but for this Trico figure, I didn’t want the base to feel like a barrier or for the piece to be complete just on top of it. By keeping the base simple and unobtrusive, viewers can engage with the work more easily, making Trico feel like a close, approachable presence, a being you could reach out and touch anytime.

Seeing the finished piece, I feel like we made something truly incredible. Alongside that amazement, memories of all the challenges flash through my mind, and I feel immense gratitude for everyone who contributed. I could honestly look at it forever.

What was your approach to the coloring?

Coloring is the most nerve-wracking stage, since it ultimately determines whether the piece feels alive or not.

For the tower, I painted it so that it gradually becomes lighter toward the bottom. In the game, distant objects were depicted with a hazy whiteness through atmospheric perspective, so I knew I wanted to reproduce that effect here as well. It conveys a sense of air, while also resembling dust in the wind. At the same time, like the crumbling debris, it helps direct focus toward Trico. It also creates space for the viewer’s imagination, suggesting that there is an unseen expanse below the base, giving the sense of great height.

The usual method of applying sharp detail throughout is effective for character figures, but it does not suit the atmosphere of Trico. For example, I felt the boy’s face would be stronger with less definition, so I left out the eyes and only suggested them with a touch of shadow. genDESIGN also agreed that this approach worked better, which reaffirmed for me that the project was being guided not just as a figure, but as an art piece.

Another impression from the game was the strength of its highlights. In bright areas, the light almost blew out completely, creating a very emotional effect. I wanted to capture that in the coloring, so I deliberately painted certain surfaces in a paler tone to suggest strong sunlight. Trico’s back and the upward-facing sections of the tower are brightened, while the shaded areas such as his underside and the side of the tower remain darker. It was painstaking work, but I believe it effectively conveys the sense of scale.

Lastly, there are Trico’s wings. The base is painted darker, with the tips gradually shifting toward white to suggest backlighting. This detail brought the whole piece together and gave it a stronger presence.

Finally, do you have a message for those who will own this piece?

There isn’t much I can say to those who will hold this work in their hands, but if I may speak as the sculptor, I would be happiest if each person finds their own way to enjoy it. This piece holds a unique experience just for you. You don’t need to tell anyone or post it on social media. You can experiment with your own lighting, find meaning in where you place it, admire it while listening to your favorite music, or even place a cherished stone or small treasure on the base. Anything goes.

You might take it with you on trips to photograph it or let it bring back memories of the game. The ways to enjoy it are endless, and they are yours alone. I hope you can experience your own personal version of The Last Guardian.