After being discharged from the hospital following my serious illness in 2011, I walked through Kyoto day after day, taking photographs amid the flowers, birds, wind, and moon. Recalling those days, I encounter the genuine sound of Fujiko Hemming’s performance of Liszt’s “Un Sospiro.” I write of the anguish her playing evokes, and of how she emerged onto the world stage like a phoenix after overcoming the misfortune of hearing loss.
2020-04-18
Fujiko Hemming and I are friends through Umenomiya Taisha Shrine; when I said that, my companion laughed, “Ahaha.”
In 2011, I was told that my chance of survival was 25%, and I spent seven months in the hospital.
My serious illness was completely cured, and I was discharged on December 16.
The following year, I spent most of 300 days of the year walking through Kyoto, day after day.
I lived amid not only Japan’s history and Japan itself, but also the four seasons and the flowers, birds, wind, and moon.
All the while taking countless photographs.
My beloved camera was a SONY α99.
Fujiko Hemming and I are friends through Umenomiya Taisha Shrine.
When I said that, my companion laughed, “Ahaha.”
Just now, the moment I heard Liszt’s “Un Sospiro” played by another performer, I became convinced of how extraordinary Fujiko Hemming is.
After graduating from Tokyo University of the Arts, she went to Europe to study music, and because of the extreme poverty of her life as a student abroad, she developed hearing loss on the very day when her moment had come.
Because of that, she could not prove to the world while she was young that she was a great artist.
But she emerged onto the world stage like a phoenix.
With a genuine sound that can only be called magnificent.
Whenever I listen to her play this piece, I feel an overwhelming anguish.
Fujiko Hemming — “Un Sospiro,” Liszt.