( Translated into English on December 15, 2025 Original Japanese version posted on November 16, 2023)
Before I knew it, this project had grown into something of a grand three-year plan. And yet, it has not felt forced at all—rather, it feels as if everything has unfolded naturally, almost as if guided by a higher power.
I have already written about the background leading up to the first event in the opening section of the first proposal and in an earlier post, so I will not repeat that here. Instead, I would like to record how the second and third events—and their contents—came to take shape. The process has been led by a series of truly mysterious encounters, and I feel it is worth documenting.
When the plan for the first event was completed and I posted about it on Facebook, someone saw the content and said:
“If you’re talking about the Sanjikkoku boats, there is also a Yamatogaku piece called Sanjikkoku no Yofune!”
They then shared a video with me.
It was wonderfully atmospheric and deeply charming. Yamatogaku and Japanese classical dance are not things we often encounter in everyday life, and I immediately hoped we could invite them. But it would have been impossible to add anything more to the first edition.
At the same time, I had long held a dream of presenting the Noh play Kinsatsu—set at Kinsatsugū Shrine here in Fushimi—in Fushimi itself, so that local people could see it.
So I began to envision pairing Kinsatsu with Yamatogaku dance, and—if possible—having the second edition begin like a “string of prayer beads,” directly connected to the final rakugo performance of the first edition, Sanjikkoku Yume no Kayoi-ji.
At that time, I still intended to present Kinsatsu together with it.
Meanwhile, when I went to reserve the venue for the February 2024 event, I heard something that stayed with me:
“There is a Sanjikkoku boat song preservation group here in Fushimi. We were thinking of inviting them, but then COVID happened. They were already quite elderly at that point, and it seemed too difficult for them to perform—so I think it may no longer be possible.”
So I learned of the existence of a local preservation group, and it weighed on my mind.
If there is a preservation group in Fushimi, then perhaps, when we perform Sanjikkoku no Yofune, could someone also sing the boat song?
As I was thinking this, I happened to visit Kinsatsugū Shrine to inform them about the project, and I was told that someone who often rides in the Hoekago procession sings the Sanjikkoku boat song. I began to wonder what the relationship might be between that person and the preservation group—and I felt a new sense of possibility.
Around that time, I joined a historical fieldwork workshop seminar. At one historical site, the organizer blew a conch shell (horagai), and immediately a woman responded with a voice as if echoing it. I was struck. She seemed quite young, yet when participants later shared their motivations, she spoke of having already visited nearly all of the ancient Japanese sites the organizer had photographed over the years. She also said she had grown up listening to Homer’s epics, that she was a singer, and that she had performed at the MIHO MUSEUM.
But I had to leave before I could ask her name.
Then, in a way that is unusual for me, I attended a gathering on February 26 around a Kyoto Prefectural Assembly member from Fushimi Ward—partly, I admit, with the ulterior motive 😅 of promoting the event if there were people from Fushimi present.
As it turned out, I was seated at a table with wonderful local people from Fushimi, and I handed out the draft flyer. And then—amazingly—someone reacted to the final performance and said:
“My father is the chairman of the (Sanjikkoku boat song) preservation group.”
I was stunned. “What?! Really?!”
I explained that I wanted the second edition to feature various performances related to the Sanjikkoku boat songs, together with Kinsatsu, and asked if I might speak with her father. Everyone at that table belonged to the same organization, and they warmly said, “We’ll help promote it—come join us!” So I decided to become a member.
At that same gathering, I was deeply impressed by the brilliance of Fujinomori Taiko, performed by the assembly member herself—an art passed down at Fujinomori Shrine. I instantly thought: “Someday!”
Still excited, after dinner I happened to turn on the television—and to my astonishment, I saw the piece Kenbutsu Zaemon: “Fukakusa Matsuri” on screen.
It is a rare one-person kyōgen piece in which a character named Kenbutsu Zaemon describes the festival of Fujinomori Shrine—a festival close to me, where friends are parishioners and even serve as leaders of the mikoshi association. At that time, the role was performed by the late Nomura Man, who was over 90 years old, and I learned it is a specialty piece of the Nomura Manzō family.
The commentator, Nomura Manzō, seemed to have many mutual connections with my friends on social media, and in the very next moment, I found myself thinking, “I must ask them someday!”
Coincidentally, I had business in Tokyo around that time. Since it was over a weekend, I looked up whether there might be a kyōgen performance featuring him—and there was. I went, and afterward I made a formal request in writing.
I was told they had never actually attended the Fujinomori festival in person. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be if they could come, meet local people, and then perform—almost like a documentary television program. (I still think so even now.)
As these ideas accumulated, I began to feel that it might be better to separate “the day for the Sanjikkoku boat songs” and “the day for Noh and kyōgen.”
Then, I learned the name of the singer I had met at the historical workshop. And to my surprise, she had released a CD-book titled Creole Nippon: Traveling Through the Memory of Songs, and the process of collecting and reviving songs had even been featured on television.
At that point, I decided: for the second edition, as a “Sanjikkoku Boat Song Festival,” I wanted Mio Matsuda to revive the boat song—faithfully preserving it, yet bringing it back in a compelling contemporary sound.
Around the same time, I visited Kinsatsugū Shrine again and explained that I wanted to separate the boat songs from Noh/kyōgen, and that Noh/kyōgen would become the final year, three years later. They kindly agreed.
I was then able to meet the former chairman of the boat song preservation group and the current coordinator, who gladly agreed to perform. They also watched Mio’s videos, and agreed that I could approach her.
When I wrote everything out separately, I realized something remarkable: 2025 is the year of the Osaka Expo, and in preparation for it, the river transport route—currently operating only between Hirakata and Hachikenyahama in Tenmabashi—was said to be progressing toward reopening all the way to Fushimi. What timing! I hope our event can become a kind of early signal for that revival.
And 2026, I was told, will be the year when the wisteria trellis at Fujinomori Shrine—built through crowdfunding—will be beautifully in bloom. To be able to present Fukakusa Matsuri in that year feels equally meaningful.
Before visiting Kinsatsugū Shrine for the Shinkō-sai Festival on May 14, I searched “Kinsatsugū Shrine” to review earlier information before posting on social media. And then—again by coincidence—I found a post about a performance of Kinsatsu scheduled for July 1 at the Hōshō Noh Theatre.
I had never seen Kinsatsu before, so I decided I must go. When I invited the shrine priest, he told me that even his son and daughter had never seen it, and we ended up going together.
In June, I was also able to greet the priest of Fujinomori Shrine. And when we attended the July 1 performance, something extraordinary happened: because I was there together with the Kinsatsugū priest’s family, I was able to greet the head of the Hōshō school—and since Manzō also appeared in the performance, I was able to greet him as well.
And then—what a discovery: while most schools, including the Kanze school, perform Kinsatsu as a half-Noh (han-nō), the Hōshō school performs a full version that includes the first act.
And in that first act is precisely what matters most: not only the origin story of why Kinsatsugū Shrine was placed in this land, but even “why Fushimi is Fushimi.” It was something I felt Fushimi people absolutely must hear.
Soon after, with permission from the person I had already asked in the Kanze tradition, I decided to invite the Hōshō school’s Kinsatsu to be presented before the Kanze version, so audiences can compare.
In August, I was finally able to make a formal request to Mio Matsuda regarding the songs. I also decided to ask Ryō Watanabe, who created the illustrations for the Creole Nippon CD-book, to collaborate on the artwork.
From late August, I resumed preparations for establishing the General Incorporated Association—a process that had once begun in July but stalled. On September 20, the articles of incorporation were certified. On October 12, an auspicious day, we submitted the application, and that became our official establishment date. On October 27, the registration procedures were completed. That same day, I applied to open an account with Japan Post Bank, and at night applied to open an account with GMO Aozora Net Bank; the latter was approved by October 30. We are currently waiting for the Japan Post Bank account, which we are told may take about a month.
During this period, I was introduced to a local Ōkura-school kyōgen performer living in Fushimi-Momoyama, and I was also given a clear path toward resolving something that had long concerned me: the absence of a piece connected to Gokōnomiya Shrine.
As for Fushimi Inari, I expect that the planned display of quilt works—likely to exist by then—will help fill that presence.
Now that the association has been established, regardless of whether they can attend in person, I want above all for local children to know that Fushimi is the stage for these arts—and that these traditional performing arts exist. With that goal, we applied for official support from the Kyoto City Board of Education, so we can distribute flyers to elementary and junior high schools in Fushimi Ward. We expect approval soon.
At that point, I created and submitted a three-year income-and-expenditure budget. The third year in particular involves many performers and significant travel and accommodation costs, and the budget will be enormous.
But if we build momentum over three years—so much so that by the time we reach the final Kanze-school Kinsatsu, the audience can even chant parts together—then perhaps it can be done.
Even Fujinomori Taiko, which I had been tempted to give up on because of the stage requirements and costs, shifted in my mind from “we can’t” to “we should make it possible.”
I first conceived this project on December 15 last year. I went to reserve the venue on December 17. It took nearly a full year to build this initial “framework.”
Even for the first event next February, I have not given up on deeper collaboration with the local community. And I hope that in the second and third years, what we could not achieve in the first year will grow from this framework: more performances, original goods, related events, and more. Since we have established an association, I truly hope this can become an event created together with everyone who supports it.
Thank you very much for your continued encouragement and support.
Finally, I would like to share the text from the first act of the Hōshō-school Kinsatsu—written by Naomi Seki, who performed the shite in that production and is also scheduled to do so again in 2026—which is the very reason I felt compelled to invite the Hōshō school.
Excerpt from the First Act of Kinsatsu (Hōshō school)
Now, as for this place called Fushimi—surely you are aware of it.
It is none other than the imperial dwelling of Fushimi, and this shrine itself.
Ah—how mistaken it would be to think otherwise: “Fushimi” is, in truth, a name that embraces all of Japan.
For it was the land discovered by the deities Izanagi and Izanami,
at the moss-covered key of the Heavenly Rock Cave—
thus “Fushimi” is the name of this Akitsumikuni, this dragonfly-shaped land.
Few know it—neither the name of this country, nor the name of this village of Fushimi:
a dream unseen, yet real—whether dream or waking.
