When spring comes, I remember.
The avenue of cherry blossom trees I walked along with my mother, hand in hand, on the way to my nursery school.
I skipped and jumped, lifting my feet high above.
Tatta rattata, tatta rattata ♫

I never forget my mother’s singing, making songs up on the spot.
I skipped along, lifting my knees even higher as I skipped to her exhilarating rhythm.
The graceful sunlight and the happiness that I felt back then, giggling as I held my mother’s hand and jumped up are imprinted on my memory.

My mother’s hands felt soft, fluffy and warm, gentle hands that protected me. It filled me with joy when she moved her hands up and down in time with my skipping, as though she was skipping together with me.
Sometimes, a gentle breeze would softly caress my cheeks, and cherry blossom petals fluttered through the air, landing softly on my shoulders and hat.
I wrapped those pale pink, delicate petals in my handkerchief quietly and took them home.

Spring is also the season I was born in.
The cheery sound of the words of “Happy Birthday” excited me with some expectations without reason.
It also coincided with the start of new school years, and entrance ceremonies at nursery, primary, secondary schools as well as university, and the feeling of hope that came alongside the nervous excitement and the sunshine have been etched, layered and accumulated in my heart over the years.
But as I grew older and experienced springs that left behind some sorrow and despairing memories, it started to feel increasingly difficult to hide my heart-wrenching sadness when I saw the cherry blossom petals scattering in the wind.
The mixed feelings of hope and despair, joy and sorrow make me want to be kind to those around me.
As the temperature rose, and the snow on the roadside started melting, I’ve always felt spring was a season of renewal, even when I was facing unpleasant events or suffered with problems.
It was a gentle season where the word “hope” came to mind, as the sunlight became softer than ever.

With the recent climate change, I feel it has become more difficult to entrust my heart to the changing seasons. There is also the deterioration of the global situation, the brutal war that never seem to end, which is no doubt, a slaughter. We see on the news, destroyed buildings, the once beautiful towns reduced to ashes and people weeping and mourning, wounded children standing there in a daze…
When the news footage changes and we see people admiring the cherry blossoms here in Japan, I feel pains in my heart. As the cherry blossoms bloom in full and when we are filled with the sense of gentleness, I feel more guilt within me for those who are exposed to the tribulations of war.
At the start of this spring, I find myself just praying with all my heart, that the ordinary everyday life would return as soon as possible to everyone, where people all over the world can admire flowers and enjoy music in the gentle breeze.

So now, after nearly fifty years, I possess four or five bows.
Each has its own character and they have become wonderful companions to draw out the diverse tonal expressions of the Stradivarius Duranty.
I change bows according to the concert hall.
The compatibility with the hall’s acoustics is crucial.
I bring several bows and try them out, and even in a familiar hall I play in annually, the best matching bow changes with the season.
It is not just the instrument that changes with temperature and humidity, but the bows do too. If the instrument’s condition changes subtly, the suitable bow naturally changes.
Furthermore, the horse tail (white horses) strung on the bow is also very important. Horse tail comes from horses that are specially bred for bow hair. Mongolian horses are the mainstream source now, but others come from Italy, Canada, France……and the sound differs
depending on the horse, the tail, and its cuticles. But it’s not just a case of “absolutely this horse”, because it differs in seasons and it’s more like “this time, an Italian horse seems best”
or “I should get help from a Mongolian horse tail this season.” It’s such a complicating combination!
That is why it’s so interesting and enjoyable, and yet so profoundly deep, and there is so much delight in playing and researching endlessly.
So, which horse’s tail should I borrow next?

As I wonder how the year 2026 would become, I started thinking about my beloved instrument, Duranty.
Actually, my Stradivarius Duranty (made in 1716) will turn 310 this year. It came to me in 2002, so 24 years have passed already which is quite emotional when I think of it.
Wood is amazing. The vitality of the tree itself is immeasurable, and by continuing to impart certain amount of sound vibration, the tone seems to mature.
Here, I am tracing back the history of Duranty once again.
Surprisingly, there are only four individuals who owned this Stradivarius in the 310 years since its birth, Senju family being the fourth. Considering this fact, I feel a renewed sense of responsibility yet again.
As the very first owner listed was the Pope of Rome at the time, this instrument had endured a most extraordinary fate. After the Pope’s death, his close associate brought it to the Duranty family in France where it remained hidden for the long 200 years. This Stradivarius that lied silently, was passed on to a very wealthy Swiss family just before the Duranty clan had fallen. There it remained hidden once again for another eighty years.
Upon this wealthy man’s death, he stated in his will – if it remains like this, it will never get to be played by a violinist. So, I insist the next owner to be a violinist. As a consequence, approaches were made behind closed doors.
Surprisingly, after a long journey across the sea, it arrived in the eastern island of Japan, to the Senju household (laugh) in Aoba-ku, Yokohama City, where we lived at the time.
Then it became clear that since its creation by Antonio Stradivari in 1716, it had never been passed in the hands of a professional violinist meaning that it had never been properly played.
So, this Stradivarius arrived in front of me in a state almost brand new, and was still tuned to the Baroque era tuning.
But I was never told about the history of this Stradivarius at my first encounter with the instrument. As I had seen and played a few Stradivarius instruments before, I approached it with a general idea of what I might expect.
However, to my surprise, it possessed an aura exceeding my imagination and expectations by far, a truly powerful presence, and it was nothing of the sort of tone that I had heard before.
It felt like a “voice” instead of “sound” out of nowhere. I even felt a kind of terrifying thrill, a shiver down my spine as it was like a “voice of a creature” that I had never met before.
Therefore, having met such an “entity”, I was convinced that it was something so profound and dedicating the rest of my life as a violinist would still not be enough.
From then, I endeavoured to play this Stradivarius, which was as good as brand new.
I played and played, practiced hard, confronting and spending entire days with the instrument
for months and years. But I struggled to master the Duranty. When I finally realised I was pushing my body to the breaking point, I felt that my body itself needed to be remodelled for playing the Duranty.
Starting off by “drinking three raw eggs every morning”, consuming various nutritional foods
which was different from “eating meals I wanted because they taste good”. I also went swimming three or four times a week, covering one to three kilometres to strengthen my body.
Finally, I succeeded in transforming my body into one capable of playing the Duranty. The world that I started walking alongside the Duranty was totally unknown realm, and I got excited with the image of it stretching out eternally.
Trees are amazing.
The timbre kept changing, as if a frozen creature was defrosted, with its body temperature rising and pulse beginning to beat. Duranty began singing melodies, with rosy cheeks, full of life.
The space I dance in with Duranty have the eternal potential that unfold before my eyes.

My 51st year on stage has begun.
It is my true pleasure to share the joy of the sound experienced alongside Duranty, and to open up the doors to see the new vistas together with all of you.

I played Bach’s Double Violin Concerto with my teacher Mr. Toshiya Eto when I made my debut on stage, when I was 12 years old. At fifteen, I played Bach’s Unaccompanied Sonatas when I won a competition as the youngest ever champion, and the music profoundly and fatalisticly, steered my destiny. At twenty, I experienced a setback because I precisely couldn’t play the unaccompanied sonatas. Then at thirty, it was also Bach who restored my confidence.
I had a period of not playing the violin at twenty, and after making a comeback two years later, I had to go through seven distressing years. Those days of not being able to play as I wished was truly nightmarish. I felt like being punished by the god of music or a demon dwelling upon the stage, for not touching the violin for a while. Yet, it was indeed Bach’s music that stayed quietly beside me while my heart sank into a bottomless swamp of “frustration” and “despair” which I could not escape from. So, I played Bach night after night, just for myself.
Solaced and saved by Bach’s profound prayers, his brilliance kind of soaked into my body and soul throughout my twenties. I had turned 30 when I realized that I had grown a little stronger.
It was then when my professional instincts finally returned on stage.
I finally saw the light after moving forward step by step through a long, long tunnel in total darkness, believing in Bach’s guidance along the unknown paths.

That is why Bach is the most irreplaceable composer for me.

After regaining my confidence, I have given recitals of Bach’s complete six unaccompanied sonatas and partitas (lasts for three hours in an evening ) every five years.
I started doing this since my 20th anniversary since debut, so this year marks the seventh time.
I hold the recitals in several venues each time, but it may well require a lot of will and stamina
from the audience too.
For me, practicing days towards the performance is like a training for spiritual discipline, a period facing my inner self. I look deep into my heart and embrace my own weakness.
On the day of the performance, standing alone in the centre of the vast and empty stage, I close my eyes to enter a state of transcending time and space. I slowly begin to feel a vacuum state…
This year, I will be performing the full six-piece recital in Kyoto in November and Tokyo in December. (I will also perform in Kitakyushu, a normal length recital featuring three selected pieces from the unaccompanied work in November.)

They are not easy recitals to do.
I enter the zone only when I push myself close to the absolute limit, both physically and mentally.
When I step onto the stage for the performance, that agony of being unable to play comes back. I will immerse myself once again this year in the world of Bach, feeling the presence of a muse or a demon, upwards on my right.

Yokohama City Cultural Awad.

My hometown, Aobadai. Yokohama City, where everything about me was made.
Sakuradai, where I practiced hard to become a violinist.
All were there……sorrow, delight, regret, joy……
I will never forget how the familiar Yokohama breeze would embrace my weary body whenever I returned home from concert tours in Japan and abroad. It was always so nostalgic that it would bring tears to my eyes.

Thank you, Yokohama!

The existence of my fans is something I am truly grateful for. Looking back over the 50 years since my debut, I really feel that I have been able to come this far, thanks to the support of so many people.
From the days when I was a student, fan letters were very precious “gifts” that I waited for especially as I debuted at a very young age.
I kept the fan letters in a large cardboard box and when I got exhausted by practicing, I’d take them out and read them. It refreshed my mind and I could go back to practicing again.
I tried to write back as much as I could to those fan letters and postcards, and sometimes, it continued in a sort of pen-friend relationship. But when my performance schedule got hectic and more demanding, replying became difficult, and I felt uneasy about it for a while.
But many of the letters I received not only encouraged me but also described the fans’ own efforts as they pursued their dreams.

I remember really well when a high school baseball player sent me sand from the Koshien Stadium and an armband from that tournament.
His letter, written in neat handwriting, expressed both the frustration of being defeated in the match early and also the refreshing sense of having done his best. It touched my heart too, and for a while, I carried his “token of youth” with me in the little pouch in my violin case.
At the time, I was struggling to balance the time between my studies and stage performances, constantly on the verge of tears, feeling driven into a corner. So, the “gift” from that high school baseball player, the sand from Koshien and the precious armband, became a secret anchorage for me. They were like lucky charms tucked inside my violin case, the sand and armband that gave me strength during that difficult time.
For a 12-year-old child like me wondering into the adult world, gave me huge stress. The encouragement and comfort that I received from the various fan letters from children of the same generation was so big!
The presence of fellow beings striving through the same era, even if in different fields, certainly took my hands and lead me forward when I sometimes had to crouch on the roadside.

Times have changed, and letters are rarely exchanged these days.
It feels so strange how addresses and phone numbers used to be so open to anyone back in those days. Now, details like where one lives are kept private to avoid personal information leaks.
Meanwhile, the current method of communication is SNS. I too, switched from a flip phone to a smartphone belatedly, during the pandemic, and I started Instagram and Facebook which changed my world.
Communicating with many people via SNS feels similar to exchanging letters like the old days.
When I read comments from concertgoers, they blow away my fatigue, with such words like
“I’ll come to your next recital” that fills me with energy. I do recognize those who comment frequently, and I’m also delighted to read the first-time comments.
Though I can’t reply to each person individually, reading their kind words makes me feel a deep sense of closeness, almost like being friends. With elder or younger people, a feeling of family-like kinship starts growing.

It is me ultimately, who steps onto the stage and performs, but right now, I have the feeling that so many people are supporting me, and patting me on my back, encouraging me to go on the stage.
I am now in the latter half of the year of my 50th anniversary since debut.
I am feeling once again, that I want to stand on the stage thanking everyone from the bottom of my heart.

The famous “Grand Ring”, which had been much talked about for various reasons earlier,
was a huge and magnificent architecture. I felt the vastness of the structure when I climbed to the top of the Ring; it was so large that I couldn’t see the entire Ring. The view from the top was breathtaking, so much fun looking at all the unique roofs of the pavilions. Though I wanted to walk around the Ring, I decided not to because of the blazing sun and the 2 kilometres in length. This Ring is said to be the largest wooden structure in the world. Seeing it in person was quite an emotional experience. Timbers are exposed, revealing their structure, which was really impressive. As no walls or fabric were covering the wood like in a typical building, you could see how each timber supported the structure, which I found fascinating.

From over 150 pavilions, choosing which ones to visit might be a difficult decision for those who are attending the Expo.
But in my case, I came to the Expo site specifically to see the pavilion my brother Akira Senju was involved in!
Entering from the West Gate, where taxis, buses, and private cars enter, the Pasona Pavilion is located immediately on the left.
It is a white building with a narrow, pointed structure designed around images of ammonites and seashells. At the tip of the structure, you can see “Atom” (from Astroboy) sitting there, which makes it easy to recognize. When you look closer, you notice that Atom is pointing in a certain direction. Atom is pointing toward Awaji Island. It was interesting to hear that after the Expo is over, the Pasona Pavilion will be relocated to Awaji Island. That is another something to look forward to!

I headed straight to the Pasona Pavilion.
As soon as I entered, I was greeted by a large, slender cylinder titled “The Tree of Life” stretching from the floor to the ceiling, representing the evolution of life from the past to the future. It is said to be inspired by Taro Okamoto’s “The Tower of the Sun”. The exhibition begins at the spot where the massive ammonite is located, which is, of course, a real one. It shimmered like a jewel with dazzling light and beauty that leaves you speechless. The music that flows throughout the building stirs one’s imagination, and it is truly the world of Akira Senju. The entire space is unified around the collaboration with the world of Osamu Tezuka, with “after” stories of Black Jack and Astroboy guiding us to a future full of hope.
The Pasona Pavilion invites us into a world full of hope and dreams.
Here, you can see the much-talked-about iPS cells on display! You can actually see the iPS hearts and iPS sheets pulse with life in red liquid. I never imagined being able to look at something like this. I’ve learnt that they need to replace the live iPS cells every week, as they gradually shrink by consuming energy.
What touched me the most was the “Natureverse” show.
Numerous large, block-like objects were stacked together and placed in the centre of a large space. We could walk around them, and at first, I thought they were just static images of future scenes, but when the show opened, the blocks moved from left to right, up and down, with a story featuring Black Jack and Astroboy projected onto them. Akira Senju composed the dynamic music with various lights and lasers added; it was truly an inspiring, magnificent spectral show. Delicate and dynamic at the same time, it made me want to see it all over again.

If I were to mention one more pavilion, it would be the Italian Pavilion, which has already gained a great reputation, and many people are curious about.
It was truly amazing.
The “Farnese Atlas” is a marble sculpture, a little bigger than life-size, from ancient Rome (around 150 A.D.), which is housed in the National Archaeological Museum of Naples.
And the Vatican’s Exhibition displays the masterpiece of the Baroque master, Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1571-1610).
Surprisingly, “The Entombment of Christ” can be seen up close.
Speaking of the Vatican, it is like the “hometown” of the Stradivarius Duranty violin that I own (the first owner happened to be the Pope of the Vatican), so this pavilion is the one I cannot miss. If I missed this opportunity, I thought I would never be able to see it again, and I kind of felt a shiver down my spine.
There was also on display, the handwriting of Leonardo da Vinci! Everything is genuine, of course. It was the only chance for me to see the real thing at this Expo.

I did hesitate at first about going to the Expo in this heat, but I am so glad I did.
I highly recommend visiting for those who have not gone yet, while it’s still open.
It might be better when the heat has eased a little, but in my case, it’s my 50th Anniversary year and I have many commemorative concerts coming up in September, so the only time to go was during the peak of the heatwave.
It could be more comfortable to go closer to the end in October, but on the other hand, it seems to be a little less crowded in the hot summer.

As time slowly passes, the significance of the Expo experience seems to be sinking into me, and I find myself feeling various thoughts over again.

Performing on stage is a job that requires living in a special world. The film reminded me that once again.
Musicians, dancers, theatre actors, and kabuki actors, among others.
For example, there might be 2000 people watching the stage with 4000 eyes focused on you. The stage is a space where you feel terrified, like being on the edge of a cliff, as well as feeling happy as being on a cloud, and as lonely as being thrown into the universe.
I have been performing on stage since I was a child, but I didn’t feel that way in my childhood days.
I think I felt the fear of standing on stage when I realized that my self-awareness had emerged.
Infants are innocent and pure. I was simply happy, joyful, and loved the violin! Infants have no evil thoughts or fears, and they do not care what others will think if they make a mistake, or who might be sad, angry, or upset. This is indeed their strength.
As they grow older and develop a sense of themselves, they start to worry about their relationships with others and how their actions may affect them. This could lead to stress and difficulty in concentrating, and increased tension and anxiety.

As a person on stage, I have the feeling of living on stage. At least, that’s how I feel.
When I step onto the stage, I feel like a different clock starts ticking.
For musicians, it feels like entering the world of Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Bach, or Kreisler’s world, and so on, and sharing their extraordinary destinies and reviving their souls. We are challenging to expand and unfold those otherworldly realms onto the stage, and how to bring life into them.
On stage, I must never return to the sense of everyday life. As soon as I regain awareness of reality, the magic and dreams seem to suddenly disappear. Therefore, I step back into that otherworldly realm, hoping to keep myself from waking up from that dream. When you feel incredibly comfortable, like falling into the so-called “zone”, you feel an incredible sense of pleasure. Once you experience that, you get obsessed with the allure of the stage. That is where you feel “alive” and the “sense of afterlife” intertwine and overlap.
I felt that the film “KOKUHOU” visualized that sense from the stage’s perspective, deeply delving into the theme of the meaning of acting.
You can see many audiences and listeners from the stage. The dazzling lights create a sense of a different world where even the air seems to be replaced and refreshed.
The line in the movie, looking up at that lighting, saying “Someone is watching from there. Who could it be?” remains in my heart.