Where the Path Remembers Time

As the project enters its final stage of shooting, the theme of “the pilgrimage road” has begun to resonate more clearly as the central tone of People Pass, the Path Remains. In particular, I have focused intensively, over the course of my last four journeys, on the roads that lead through the sacred sites known as the Shikoku Eighty-Eight Temples. As I have mentioned before, these henro-michi —pilgrimage paths— possess a striking purity of purpose, especially when they pass through the mountains.

Hundreds of years ago, pilgrims walked these same paths. Pilgrims still pass along them today. And in the future, too, those who carry some form of prayer or wish within them will surely continue to follow the footsteps of those who came before, walking the same single thread of road. That road does not merely connect one temple to another. It also connects past, present, and future. In other words, a path is not only something that extends through space; it is also a device of memory, continually expanding through time.

I have once again published a revised portfolio, including several new works. Nothing would make me happier than if these photographs were able to convey, even in some small measure, the thoughts and feelings I have come to hold toward such paths.

The Encounter with an “Unnecessary Road”

I have updated the portfolio for my ongoing project, People Pass, the Path Remains, removing a considerable number of works, adding new ones, and making the overall composition more concise. I would be grateful if you might visit the portfolio page.

This project, centered on ancient paths, has in recent months explored the pilgrimage routes of the Shikoku 88 Temple Pilgrimage as one of its themes. During a visit last month to Takamatsu in Kagawa Prefecture, I encountered a path that felt almost like a revelation. It was a mountain trail on the Goshikidai plateau known as the Negoroji Path, connecting the 81st temple, Shiromine-ji, and the 82nd, Negoro-ji.

Naturally, a road—even one known as a “pilgrimage route”—is not used exclusively by pilgrims; it is also shared by ordinary people, and even by bicycles and cars. In other words, a road as infrastructure is inherently multifunctional, open to all. And yet, this particular path—stretching just over five kilometers through the mountains—serves only a single purpose: to connect one temple to the next. Those who pass along this narrow, roughly worn trail, as if carved out by footsteps alone, are limited to pilgrims, a few hikers, and the occasional photographer such as myself.

As I made my way along it, taking more than two hours to walk and photograph, I encountered only a handful of people, despite the path being located on the outskirts of Takamatsu, one of Shikoku’s major cities. In a modern world that leaves little room for emptiness—so often defined by efficiency and constant movement—this journey offered a rare experience of time and space. The photograph accompanying this post was taken along that very path. It is my intention to continue the remaining journeys of this project with such “unnecessary” roads as a central subject.

Reframing the Path: A New Portfolio Release

I have previously introduced my ongoing project, From the Ancient Path, on several occasions. With this latest update, I have replaced a number of works and reconsidered its structure, and have now released a new portfolio under the revised title, People Pass, the Path Remains.

While the fundamental theme of the project remains unchanged, the original four-chapter structure—organized by subject—has been reconfigured into a three-part composition that places greater emphasis on the flow of images. The three chapters are titled Jo (序) / Introduction, Ha (破) / Development, and Kyū (急) / Finale.

This concept of jo-ha-kyū, originating in traditional Japanese court music (gagaku), is a principle of progression and tempo widely employed in music, dance, and theater, signifying three distinct stages of development. Set against the landscapes surrounding Japan’s ancient paths, and introduced by the following line in its preface, “Year upon year, the blossoms return unchanged; year upon year, those who see them are never the same,” this project carries a quiet, underlying sense of impermanence. It seemed to me that adopting the traditional structure of jo-ha-kyū would be a natural and fitting choice.

The project will continue through one or two further photographic journeys and is scheduled to be completed and published as a book early in summer. During this time, the work will remain in a process of ongoing refinement, and the portfolio will be updated accordingly. I would be grateful if you might visit from time to time and share your thoughts.