“The Abandoned Shrine of Fukushima: Loss and Abandonment”
This abandoned shrine stands on a coastal hill, bearing layers of complex history that evoke a profound sense of abandonment and sadness. The entrance is surrounded by a field of wild grass, expansive and tranquil, offering a certain serene beauty. From here, you can faintly hear the crashing of waves in the distance, a sound that seems to tell the solemn and isolated story of this place. This is indeed a “sacred” location; if another tsunami were to come, this hilltop would serve as a natural refuge. Yet, due to various complex historical and contemporary factors, the shrine can no longer return to its former state, remaining in a kind of “abandoned” condition that witnesses an irretrievable past.
Our performance, mine and Min-si’s, is centered on these emotions. Dressed in attire from a different era, we move through this space, conveying the passage of time through our actions. I pull up strands of grass and tuck them into my suit pocket; Min-si uses a lid to reflect the sunlight—each gesture is a symbol of time’s imprint. At the end of the performance, I wrap bandages around my head and wander aimlessly through this landscape. Sometimes we intersect, sometimes we oppose, and sometimes we exist independently of one another; this ambiguous and intricate interaction mirrors the current state of the shrine itself, suspended between past and present, sadness and abandonment.
This performance is not only a tribute to this abandoned place but also a reflection on history and the passage of time. Through our bodily expressions and movements, we bring this forgotten shrine back into the memory of those who encounter it, allowing the stories and emotions of the past to quietly unfold within this silent space.
“Ishinomaki Kinematica Theater: Obon”
Japan’s Obon Festival shares a spiritual resonance with Taiwan’s Ghost Festival. In Ishinomaki, although we see signs of rebuilding, many landmarks and museums still preserve the memory of the disaster, reminding future generations of the power of nature. The R6 event happened to coincide with Obon, inspiring me to create a piece in memory of those who have passed.
Before the performance, all the artists participated in the local festival parade, dancing through the streets—a significant event for the community. I decided to slow down the festival music to one-sixth of its original speed, setting the tone for this piece. To those unfamiliar with the original, it might be hard to recognize the traditional festival music in this slow tempo, but this stretched-out rhythm evokes a feeling of suspended time.
At the start of the performance, I wore my suit inside out and held a briefcase, as though I had just finished a day at work. But when I opened the briefcase and emptied it, only bells spilled out. Then, I began to dance the festival dance in reverse, moving in slow motion, creating a frozen-in-time effect. This dance evoked the feeling of helplessness and fear deeply preserved in Ishinomaki’s disaster sites—a sense of trauma, powerfully held in memory. Dancing with my back turned added to the sense of melancholy.
Finally, I removed all my clothing, leaving only my eyes illuminated with a red light. To the theme of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, I performed a final dance. This segment was dedicated to the departed—whether citizens, family members, or unknown souls—conveying a message to keep moving forward, to not remain trapped in that “moment.” The red light in my eyes symbolized both a connection to the past and a call toward a new future, encouraging people to move beyond the pain and let go of what once was.
