Fushimi

In Fushimi, and at the Gekkeikan brewery rooted here, the Hare (ハレ, the sacred/extraordinary) and the Ke (ケ, the profane/everyday) coexist inseparably. Sake was originally a ritual object created as an offering to the gods—a tool for Hare ceremonies. Gekkeikan, founded in 1637 as Kasagiya, has maintained this spiritual origin while successfully "installing" sake into the Ke time of people’s daily lives across the centuries.
In 1909, the 11th-generation head, Tsunekichi Okura, established Japan’s first private research institute dedicated to sake brewing. It was a pioneering move, marking a turning point where traditional brewing techniques were integrated with science to adapt to a modern sense of time. Yet, even amidst this modernization, a sense of numinosity remains. Inside the brewery, "sanctuaries" are demarcated by shimenawa (しめ縄, sacred ropes) and shide (紙垂, paper streamers), where kōji mold quietly performs its role behind glass.
We were fortunate to witness the Ohitaki Festival, a ritual to pray for the renewal of light and the successful start of the brewing year. While surrendering to a temporal flow that has remained unchanged for centuries, we were occasionally pulled back into modern time by the sight of nearby concrete apartments and the hum of outdoor AC condenser units. Moving between these states, we experienced a singular moment where the everyday and the ritual—the present and the eternal—overlapped.

Sake brewing is less a human-led design process and more an accumulation of acts that "align" with different cycles and rhythms. Multiple temporalities overlap here: from the grand natural cycles of decades to the shifting of seasons and the microscopic activity of kōji and yeast.
At the largest scale is the water cycle. It is said that rain falling on the mountains takes four to five years—sometimes up to a decade—to permeate the ground as Fushimizu. While long by human standards, this is a relatively swift cycle on a planetary scale. This movement of water is both a temporal process and a spatial phenomenon.
The character of the water is determined by its residence time underground. A shorter residence time underground means less contact with the rock, resulting in soft water with low mineral content. Conversely, in gentler terrain where water flows more slowly, it absorbs minerals and gradually moves toward becoming hard water. The "gentleness" of Kyoto’s water is a product of this specific topography and underground circulation. Tasting the water springing from Gekkeikan’s courtyard, one can physically feel its startling softness.

Next is the annual cycle, an intermediate scale. Since the mid-Edo period, production became limited to the winter months, with toji (杜氏, head brewers) and kurabito (蔵人, brewery workers) arriving from snowbound villages in autumn to live and work until spring. This human rhythm is attuned to fluctuations in temperature and humidity—a "repetition with variation" that is repeated every year, yet never exactly the same.
At the most microscopic scale is the activity of microorganisms such as kōji and yeast. Since kōji techniques were introduced in the 8th or 9th century, Japanese sake brewing has continued by having humans surrender themselves to the rhythms of these microbes. When kōji spores are sprinkled onto steamed rice, the mold proliferates and grows over a period of approximately 48 hours. This stage remains the most labor-intensive process in sake brewing even today.
As microorganisms, kōji remain active without distinction between day and night. Consequently, humans must remain by their side even in the middle of the night, providing constant, meticulous care—such as adjusting the temperature if the growth falters. In a sense, a sake brewery is a "microbe center," and humans are beings who exist to work for the sake of the kōji and yeast.
In this way, sake brewing is an endeavor of attunement, moving between different scales of time and space—from the grand water cycle to the rhythms of the seasons and the respiration of microorganisms. Through repeated dialogue between the small and the large, with humans standing in between, a single bottle of sake is born. It was deeply moving to hear Taiji Okura, the 15th-generation Vice President of Gekkeikan, describe how they continue to provide “kikubari (気配り, attentive care)” to ensure these various cycles—large and small—can coexist without obstructing one another.

The visit to Fushimi took place on the first day of the fieldwork—a day for participants to begin "tuning" their mode of perception. We employed the Kanno Method, assigning three roles: Maker, Watcher, and Asker. The key to this method is how the specific actions and focus of each role stimulate and layer upon the senses of others.
After attending the Ohitaki Festival, touring the brewery museum, and hearing from the head of production, we split into seven groups to explore the area. Each group was given a "Lens" (angle)—such as repeating, anticipating, or care—to guide their exploration. Rather than serving as a lens for analytical dissection, these functioned as 'devices' to gently pre-orient how we might forge a relationship with the place.

As we walked, the movements of the three roles intertwined, and subtle observations were shared through gestures and conversation. Rather than simply being in the same place at the same time, we were sensing together, layering our perceptions. Through this process, many moments occurred where the atmosphere shifted, leading to a sense of 'breakthrough.' These insights revealed perspectives that likely would not have emerged through individual reflection alone.
Following the fieldwork, groups synthesized their experience into expressions like minute-long films or postcards using fragments from the site—ash from the ritual fire, fallen leaves, or discarded sake caps.

These were shared through the "Archipelagos of Learning and Sharing," a format where participants rotated through multiple session spots to engage in intimate, repeated dialogues. Through this collective "archipelago," the rhythms and depth of Fushimi emerged.

Just as sake brewing attunes different scales—water cycles, seasonal repetitions, and microbial breath—this fieldwork was an attempt to co-regulate the sensory rhythms flowing between people and the fūdo.