After surviving a serious illness in 2011, the author recalls walking through Kyoto almost every day, photographing Japan’s history and the beauty of the seasons. Listening to Fujiko Hemming’s performance of Liszt’s “Un Sospiro,” he reflects on her tragic hearing loss, her phoenix-like return to the world stage, and the profound emotion contained in her sound.

April 18, 2020
Fujiko Hemming and I are friends through Umenomiya Taisha.
When I said that, my companion laughed, “Ahaha.”
In 2011, I was told that my chance of survival was 25 percent, and I spent seven months in the hospital.
It was on December 16 that I was discharged, after my serious illness had been completely cured.
The following year, for most of 300 days out of the year, I walked through Kyoto almost every day.
I was living not only in Japanese history and Japan itself, but also amid the flowers, birds, wind, and moon of the four seasons.
While taking countless photographs.
My beloved camera was a SONY α99.
Fujiko Hemming and I are friends through Umenomiya Taisha.
When I said that, my companion laughed, “Ahaha.”
A little while ago, the moment I heard Liszt’s “Un Sospiro” played by another performer, I became convinced that Fujiko Hemming is extraordinary.
After graduating from Tokyo University of the Arts, she went to Europe to study music.
Because of her life of extreme poverty while studying abroad, she developed hearing loss on precisely that day, at precisely that moment.
For that reason, when she was young, she could not prove to the world that she was a great master.
But she appeared before the world like a phoenix.
With a genuine sound that can only be called magnificent.
Whenever I listen to this piece as she plays it, I always feel a deep cry rising within me.
Fujiko Hemming — “Un Sospiro” by Liszt.