At a time when many Western people secluded themselves in the economical lands of the Orient, Murobushi came to us. He, too, was someone passing through, and on the basis of a poetic and prophetic, correct understanding of the origins of our culture, he was one of the few artists from Asia who exerted himself in opening up poetic, philosophical conversations between us and the Orient. He showed us that the extremely close relationship between Dionysus and Hades that Nietzche thought of, or in other words, raw over-nostalgia and the canonization of the dead self, the relationship between the heart of tragedy and music, and the definite meaning of the earth and the carnal body are, by no means, something nonsensical. For within Murobushi our death is engraved, and to him the carnal body is a temple and a casket that is a place of ressurection above ground. In the West where Buddhism was so seriously considered, if Nietzche and Schopenhauer were rare thinkers, or if the act of tearing off the veil of the ephemeral was, like Nietzche, praised and rediscovered in the center of Japanese convention, then with his curious comeback, Murobushi reintegrates the death of Christ with his own conventions. Through dance that transforms the anguished carnal body into dreams, he gathers the double conventions of the East and of Christ, and dreams of mediating within the language of the origins of life-death; not the dance of death, but the carnal body that is the basis of all matters.

Within Murobushi, there is something like a clear pessimism that lies somewhere beyond all despair. To one's astonishment, many of the tableaus of his spectacle were Egon Schiele's self-portraits, evoking the turbidity of sexuality, the nature of destruction, and death. His gestures were frequently associated with Expressionism, as if he himself were living a picture from the 20s and integrating himself with the people who were crucified. Certainly he knew nothing of these conventions and had never thought of them. However, within himself, there was something like that of Antonin Artaud's harsh art, or, even if he watched a new dance in Germany or Pina Bausch's ballet in Wuppertal, today, aside from dance, there is a point at which one comes across the conventions of all new Expressionism that represents a half-chipped image of our dreams and present anguish like a painting. Even if Pina Bausch had been born 20 years or more earlier at the same time as Hijikata, the representation of Butoh would not have merely ended as a phenomenon in Japan. That is to say, there is the impression of something like trance culture, an uneasy strangeness, something already encountered, something already known but restrained.

The individual–within Murobushi, there is a feeling that the individual faces the tableaus in which pleasure, agony, dreams, and death are so closely tied.
                                                                (Revue de l'espace Kiron "Scenes” No.1)