Statement

As the rice fields are harvested, voices of migratory birds begin to fill the wetlands.
On my first morning in this place, I was surrounded by the thunder of wings and the piercing calls of more than one hundred thousand greater white-fronted geese taking flight at once. Within that sound—so powerful it felt as if the ground itself were trembling—I was overwhelmed by an unwavering force of life, a density of existence I can only describe as the concentration of life.
 
The overwhelming power of simply being alive.
Could this “sound of life” be translated into photography, a fundamentally silent medium?
This question marks the beginning of this series.
 
If one listens closely, countless layers overlap: the voices of living creatures, the breathing of plants, and the subtle circulation between water and air.
Alongside human activity, nature continues to resonate, quietly but persistently asserting its presence.
These movements are not dramatic, yet they are unmistakably real—evidence of life in motion.
 
Standing in this place, I sense the past and the present overlapping.
I imagine Edo-period painters once gazing at flocks of geese crossing the moonlit sky, feeling a similar tremor in their hearts.
Wonder and reverence before nature are emotions that humans have returned to across generations.
 
The wetlands of northern Miyagi—Izunuma and Kabukurinuma among them—are internationally recognized under the Ramsar Convention as vital wintering grounds for migratory birds.
Yet, within just over a century, nearly sixty percent of Japan’s wetlands have disappeared, dismissed as “unproductive land.”
Paradoxically, the increasing number of birds signals both the richness of these wetlands and the subtle distortions shaping their future.
The immense traces left behind each day may one day alter the wetlands themselves.
 
And yet, these wetlands remain beautiful.
Not because they are manicured or harmonious, but because they continue to sustain life—accepting countless beings while bearing constant change and pressure.
It is this condition itself that I perceive as a quiet form of beauty.
 
I have sought ways to translate the sounds and presences filling these wetlands onto the silent plane of photography.
My practice is not about making a strong assertion.
As an observer, I place myself within this environment, listen for signs of life, and receive their response.
When momentary movement and presence intersect—when one listens with the eyes—photographs begin to carry faint voices.
 
In the wetlands of Japan, which are also my homeland, these birds live under many constraints, yet they cross the sky without borders.
Within the biodiversity nurtured by wetlands and the continuous chain of living forces, I always find a sense of hope for the future.
 
By returning, something begins anew.
 
Toward the future series Returning to the Soil, ten years from now—
quietly, the story continues.
 
Part of the photographic quartet “The Cycle of Being”.
→ Artist’s Statement / Philosophy