The second clear day of the rainy season.
After watching Shohei Ohtani start the game and then hit a home run in the ninth inning, I finished my errands and headed to the Kyoto Botanical Gardens.
The moment I stepped out of the usual elevator, the kousa dogwoods were in full bloom.
I immediately took out my camera and was about to frame the scene when a Chinese woman nearby, part of a couple, looked back and forth between the blossoms and me.
Wondering what she had noticed, I followed her gaze.
There, on the pure white kousa dogwood blossoms, was a black swallowtail butterfly.
It was a sight of almost impossible beauty.
But the shutter would not release.
There was no SD card in the camera.
I quickly inserted my spare card.
Even this small incident seemed to belong perfectly to the day itself at the Kyoto Botanical Gardens.
At the lotus pond, a Japanese tit began bathing in the water right in front of me.
Flowers, trees, birds, butterflies, water, and light were all alive.
In 2012, I came to this garden to photograph it on 300 days out of the year.
Even now, that does not seem strange to me at all.
This is truly a wonderful place.
I took 188 photographs for this work.
For the music, I decided to begin with Rachmaninoff’s “How Fair This Place.”
There could be no title more fitting for this day, this garden, these dogwood blossoms, this swallowtail butterfly, this Japanese tit, and the meaning this place holds for me.
Performed by voice and Vladimir Ashkenazy on piano, the piece quietly opens the door to the whole work.
Then comes the voice of Ayano Nonomura.
The theme song of “Clouds Above the Hill” is a great song that awakens the vastness of the sky, distant horizons, hope, and the memory of the Japanese people.
Whenever I hear it, I am reminded of Dvořák’s Sonatina.
Its melody has that much dignity, carrying both nostalgia and hope at the same time.
From there, the work continues with Ayano Nonomura’s “Hamachidori” and “Hamabe no Uta.”
At this point, the Kyoto Botanical Gardens under the clear sky of the rainy season becomes Japanese lyricism itself.
And finally, I place Kreisler’s “Romantic Cradle Song,” performed by Tomoko Kato.
Tomoko Kato was a truly extraordinary genius violinist produced by Japan in the previous era.
Her violin brings the entire work to a quiet rest and closes it in a deep afterglow.
This is not merely a way to fill the remaining time.
Rachmaninoff reveals the essence of the place.
Ayano Nonomura opens the sky and memory.
The Japanese songs call forth water, wind, and longing.
And Tomoko Kato’s violin gently closes the day.
For me, the Kyoto Botanical Gardens is not simply a botanical garden.
It is the place I visited 300 days in 2012 after my illness.
It is the place that brought me back to life as a photographer.
And it is still a place that gives me new discoveries every time I return.
The second clear day of the rainy season.
The white of the kousa dogwoods, the black of the swallowtail butterfly, the bathing Japanese tit, and the light over the lotus pond.
How fair this place is.
And I want to preserve its beauty as a single work, through photography and music.