Divine Intervention

Photo shamelessly stolen from 山と旅、ときどきイヌ

Amidst the vivid realm of the Japanese countryside, the phenomena known as 鳥居 (torii, lit: "bird residence") are vastly common. However, at the wee age of 3-4, I was only aware of one — and it was nothing less than monolithic in my tiny little eyes. In case you are unaware of what I am referring to, torii are the tall bright red gate-like structures that look strikingly similar to the A in Northern Renaissance narcissistic painter Albrecht Dürer's distinct signature (consequence?). These gates, from my insubstantial repository of knowledge, are intended to represent entryways to a given Shinto shrine or temple… usually.

But none of this mattered to me during my visit to the monument located on the eastern edge of Japan's northernmost mainland prefecture, 蕪島 (kabushima, lit: turnip island, though it is known colloquially in english as "Seagull Island"). The area is perpetually swarming with seagulls, and while this is a matter of nature and thus not technically design, it certainly added to the experience by exaggerating my perception of this gate in this specific composition as colossal in both space and time. With the combination of the water splashing into the rocky oceanside, overcast sky, low lying fog, and the pervasion of the seemingly omnipresent seagulls, on this island, the nearly overwhelming elements of nature worked in perfect yet immensely melancholiac harmony with this manmade structure to spark an everlasting sense of aspiration into the psyche of one single insignificant human being.