The Sea Roads

Iwayaji, Ehime

The Seto Inland Sea

Nakajima, Ehime

Nakajima, Ehime

On my photographic journey last month, I based myself in Matsuyama and traveled to such places as Iwayaji, a sacred site deep in the mountains, and Nakajima, one of the Kutsuna Islands. Since turning my travels toward Shikoku, I have focused primarily on the “henro-michi,” the pilgrimage routes linking the eighty-eight temples of the Shikoku Pilgrimage. This time, however, my journey took a new turn as I began to follow the “sea roads” once traversed and controlled by armed maritime groups known as “suigun.” The suigun were multivalent communities: warriors and pirates, but also traders, pilots, and escorts who provided protection at sea. Even these tranquil waters of the Seto Inland Sea once formed part of a vast East Asian network of trade extending far beyond Japan to the Asian continent.

The high-speed ferry that left Matsuyama early in the morning soon entered Kōnoura Port on Nakajima. Shrouded in dense morning fog, the fishing harbor seemed, through the very act of withholding itself from sight, to speak all the more eloquently of the depths of nature and the beauty of this planet. Photography undoubtedly exists by the grace of the sun. Yet the darkness of night and the curtain of fog also sustain photography—as, in a sense, complex variations of sunlight itself.

As things now stand, “People Pass, the Path Remains” will come to an end with my final photographic journey at the end of this month. But that will mean only that the destinations of my own travels are changing. For as long as my feet can carry me, the path will always continue to stretch out before me.

On and on, as far as it goes.

You can view my ongoing project, “People Pass, the Path Remains,” here.

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.