Wintek Posted June 7 Share Posted June 7 "Hanyu Yuzuru Photo Book Tai" (AERA special edition / special box) Release: March 21, 2025 Info: https://publications.asahi.com/news/2082.html This is a permanent collection of photos that selects the best of the best from the approximately 5,000 shots taken so far by Japanese photographer Mika Ninagawa in 18 situations since she first photographed Yuzuru in 2018. The special box includes: - Large photo book with selected past photos and unpublished shots, including a new photoshoot of the Blue Roses (a 2024 --after Yuzuru's 30th birthday-- re-enactment of the 2018 photoshoot) - Booklet with a reprint of previous interviews with Hanyu conducted by AERA (2018, 2022, 2023, 2024) - Special Calendar with photographs by Ninagawa and numbers handwritten by Yuzuru. - Behind the Scenes DVD In 2024, AERA had released the special editions: Shin (心)--"heart/soul"--, and Gi (技)--"technique." Tai (体) means body and the three books together make reference to the combination of shin-gi-tai (心技体: heart/soul, technique, and body) in sports and physical forms of expression. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wintek Posted June 7 Author Share Posted June 7 *machine translation, inaccuracies exist* Tai AERA - Words of Yuzuru Hanyu recorded by AERA (P.1-10) 2018 “I love skating. That honest feeling hasn’t changed since the beginning.” He saw a clip of himself in fourth grade saying in an interview, “Because I love skating.” He says he thought, “What a cheeky kid,” but it also helped him reconnect with his roots. Spoiler Yuzuru Hanyu is a skater who makes interviews a joy. How his emotions stirred, how his body moved—he strings together his words in his own expressive and sincere way. Within those flowing phrases, you often find keys to understanding what made that day’s performance succeed or falter. You grip your pen tighter, nervous not to miss a word. When did he start speaking so much? And why? “I started thinking a lot in my head and putting that into words directly once I began doing interviews—from around fourth grade. I felt like that process would eventually help me in the long run. The articles became a sort of record of what I’d been thinking, and I could learn from them. Looking back, I can recall what I was feeling and thinking at that time. That’s a treasure—it’s a source of study, and something that strengthens me going forward. The fact that I had opportunities to speak made me start thinking more deeply—that’s definitely a big part of it.” That was also true in 2013, after Skate Canada at the start of the Sochi Olympic season. “By talking about all kinds of things, I’m able to clearly put my challenges into words. Then, when I read the article, I remember—‘Ah, I was that frustrated’—and it leads right back into practice and competition.” When he loses or makes mistakes, you never see him sulk or hang his head. He’s fiercely competitive—so of course it must sting—but instead of crumbling, he takes in what happened and organizes his thoughts for what’s next. He never lets a win make him arrogant, or a loss embitter him. He embodies what it means to be a “good loser”—someone who, in sport, should be praised just as much as the winner. In August of the previous year, he said he’d been rewatching interviews and reading articles from before and after Sochi. He said he was revisiting what had led him to the gold medal. Even the competitions after injuries became part of his “treasure.” And in Pyeongchang, he was sure to pull himself together despite adversity. (Daisuke Gotō, Asahi Shimbun Sports Department) Men’s figure skating, Pyeongchang Olympic representative: Yuzuru Hanyu AERA, February 19, 2018 Issue, “Cover Story” 2022 “When people watch my ice shows, I want them to feel, ‘I’m happy.’” Forward. Higher. His determination to put everything he has into what he must do has not changed. Now, as a professional figure skater, he’s wholeheartedly preparing for a stage where he can share joy with his fans. Spoiler After his declaration to turn pro, the interviewer wondered whether he’d finally found some time to enjoy life beyond skating—to rest, both in body and mind. The answer, however, wasn’t what they expected. “Not at all. I don’t feel relieved or at ease or anything like that. It’s my first year as a professional, so I feel like a rookie. I’m really focused on doing everything I can properly.” Hearing that, the interviewer realized the mistake in the question. Of course—it was Yuzuru Hanyu they were talking to. He has always put his energy into continually challenging himself. When he was training in Toronto, Canada, he didn’t visit tourist spots or go downtown. In the summer of 2014, he once described himself as “the hot-blooded athlete type that shows up in manga or anime.” When asked about his favorite place, he said, “the rink.” A skating friend once joked that after being turned down several times for dinner, they finally asked, “So when can we eat together?” Yuzuru had replied, “Probably after I retire.” Even now, during this interview, he spoke about his way of life: “When I skate, I express some kind of emotion—it’s painful, it’s tough. But without that, I honestly don’t feel alive.” Right now, it seems he’s still deep in trial and error as he works on refining both his skating and the content of his shows as a pro. “I’m completely swamped at the moment. It’s overwhelming. I have to train, and I have to work too. But even so, it’s a kind of happiness.” The interviewer wished that one day, Yuzuru would be able to take time to relax with friends or enjoy his hobbies. But maybe… that day is still a little ways off. (Daisuke Gotō, Asahi Shimbun Sports Department) Professional skater Yuzuru Hanyu AERA, October 10–17, 2022 Issue, “Cover Story” “I feel like I’m alive because skating is in my life.” Yuzuru Hanyu: The Beginning of His Professional Journey A month and a half after his press conference announcing his move to the professional world, Yuzuru Hanyu gave an exclusive interview with AERA in early September. “I’m like a tuna fish.” The words sound humorous, but behind them lies his earnest love for skating and for those around him. Spoiler He says he still hasn’t had any time to rest, either physically or mentally. The interviewer, thinking this was very “him,” jokingly asked, “Do you need to be in a harsh environment to feel alive?” Yuzuru laughed and replied: “I really am like a tuna. Like I’ll die if I stop swimming. But I honestly think that’s true. There have been long periods when I couldn’t skate at all, like when I had a sprained ankle. And during those times, I just didn’t feel alive. When I’m skating, expressing some kind of emotion—it’s painful, it’s tough. I have asthma too, so there are moments when I truly can’t breathe. But without that… I don’t feel alive. There are so many times when I think, ‘I’m alive’ because I’m skating. And I think the reason I can feel that way even through all this pain, is because, at the end of that pain, people watch me, they support me, and something comes of it.” His desire to grow has not faded. Once he decides to do something, he never cuts corners. During this photoshoot, he examined each outfit with curiosity, checking how each one allowed him to move his arms and legs. Perhaps he was looking for hints for the costumes he’ll wear in his new shows. That kind of attention to detail hadn’t often been seen before. This was the Yuzuru Hanyu stepping into a new path. And yet, as he prepares for the next stage, there’s one feeling that haunts him: “Now that I’ve gone pro… honestly, I’m really scared. Scared of whether fans will continue to support me the same way. If you ask whether I have confidence in myself… I’d say, honestly, I don’t. That fear is always there.” “I’m Always Making Efforts" He’s surely experienced moments of anxiety in the past. And yet, no matter how tough the situation, he has consistently shown remarkable strength when it mattered most. In fact, you could even say that the more difficult things became, the more strength he displayed. Once he was on the ice, he could completely believe: I can do this. I will do this. He’s aware of this quality in himself. He put that feeling into words: “It’s not so much that I can do it once I’m on the ice—it’s more like, there’s something I want to show on the ice. That’s why I’m always putting in the effort. I’m completely maxed out just with that. Whether I believe in myself or not, whether I’m anxious or nervous or scared—to be honest, I don’t even have the mental space to think about those things. I’m just completely absorbed, with everything I’ve got, in trying to show what I want to show. So it’s not that I believe in myself—I just do what I’ve prepared to do.” He also said this: “When you’re about to do something, you feel fear, right? I felt that fear… especially in the free skate at the Beijing Olympics—but it disappeared. I’d gotten an injection, so I didn’t have to think about the pain in my ankle anymore. I had worked so hard, and so many people had placed their hopes in me. Of course, the power of their support was a huge part of it. Because they were backing me, I felt like—there’s no way I’ll fail. It wasn’t so much about my own confidence. Those four minutes… I think I was able to believe completely in everyone around me. On the flip side, if I hadn’t been injured, maybe I wouldn’t have had that kind of time to directly feel that support.” As he said this, he reflected on how many people have supported him along the way. “That’s been a theme in my life. The 3.11 Great East Japan Earthquake was one of those times. Or when I lost my rink before that. There have been so many hard times. But because of those hardships, I’ve had so many chances to think, ‘I’m being supported,’ and ‘I’m really a lucky person.’ It’s made me feel again and again that the connections I’ve had in life were truly good ones.” It’s true—not everyone receives that level of support. But I don’t think the reason so many people have supported him is just because he’s “lucky.” Rather, it’s because Yuzuru Hanyu has carried himself in a way that makes people want to support him. There’s something captivating about someone who pours themselves completely into what they love. And he’s also never hidden his struggles—his pain, his failures, the times things didn’t go as planned. “Perhaps the fact that I’m able to skate here with everyone’s support, and feel happiness from that—that’s my mission.” “Because Everyone Is Happy” “In the four years from PyeongChang to Beijing, I found myself blaming things on age—like when I hit my limits or had trouble recovering. It was frustrating when the things I wanted to express and the hard work I’d done in training didn’t really translate into results.” The people watching could feel that struggle too. They shared in his pain—and it made them want to cheer him on even more. He came incredibly close to landing the quad axel. He trained relentlessly and was just a step away from completing it, but didn’t succeed. After his performance at the Beijing Olympics on February 10, he didn’t try to hide his feelings. He said, “Maybe all that effort went unrewarded.” When I had the opportunity to speak with him, I wanted to understand the source of the energy that keeps him going—the very root of it. In the course of our conversation, as he looked back, he said: “If it was just about me being happy, I don’t think I could’ve come this far. I probably wouldn’t be doing this even now. I feel like—because everyone else is happy, I’m happy too. Maybe that’s what you could call my driving force.” “It Was Worth It” “After the Beijing Olympics, I said something like, ‘I guess it wasn’t worth it after all.’ But now, I think it was worth it. That’s because people like you have seen value in my performances—have appreciated them. Of course, I failed. I didn’t win. But even with that failure, people still saw something in what I did. It wasn’t about scores or rankings. I think they were responding to me as a person. In that sense, I feel like everything I’ve done had meaning. And there were so many people who said, ‘I’m glad I got to see that performance.’ If it made people happy—even a little—then I feel happy too. Seeing people happy… that makes me happy. What makes me happy is when everyone else is happy.” When I heard that, I found myself murmuring, “Maybe that’s what it is, then.” Hanyu replied, “Yeah… I think so too.” He didn’t say anything more. But in that moment, I thought, I’m glad. “Right now, there aren’t a lot of moments where I feel happy to be skating. But that’s because I’m in a preparation phase. So when the time comes—when I do another ice show, or when everyone gets to see me skate again—I want to have made it through this tough period so that I can feel, ‘I’m happy to be skating again.’” He officially announced his transition to professional skating on July 19. That journey has already begun. What kinds of performances will he show us next? What will he say? What kind of path will he walk from here? We can’t help but look forward to it. (Taisuke Gotō, Asahi Shimbun Sports Section) AERA, Oct 10–17, 2022 edition “There is something I simply want to show on the ice” I feel like “I am alive” — On July 19, 2022, you announced your move to professional skating. Has anything changed for you emotionally in the two months since? “I wouldn’t say I feel relieved or at peace at all. Becoming a professional feels like I’m a rookie again. I’m really focused on doing what I can, doing it properly. And right now, that alone has me completely overwhelmed.” Spoiler — I’ve always wanted to ask about the source of your strength—the thing that drives you. “When it comes to how I see life lately, or what I value—I don’t think I fully believe in myself. Becoming a pro, not knowing if fans would still stay with me—it honestly scared me a lot. And if you asked me if I have confidence in myself… truthfully, I’d have to say no.” “I don't feel like I would fail” “But once I get on the ice, it’s not about believing or not believing in myself. There’s just something I want to show on the ice. I’m always putting in the work for that. Whether I believe in myself, whether I’m nervous or scared—I honestly don’t have time to think about any of that. I’m just completely absorbed, giving everything I’ve got to the thing I want to show. So it’s not that I believe in myself. I think I’m just doing what I need to do.” — In the past too, it seems like you always found strength in the toughest moments. “In Beijing, when I got injured, I thought, Maybe I really won’t be able to skate. The doctors there even asked me, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ They told me, just because I push through now doesn’t mean I won’t be able to skate for the rest of my life. And then they said, ‘You still want to do it, don’t you?’ Including all those feelings from the people around me, I felt joy at being able to skate. When we’re about to do something, we feel fear, right? That fear—especially in the moment before my free skate in Beijing—just kind of vanished. I got the injection, I didn’t have to think about the pain in my ankle anymore. I’d worked so hard. So many people had hopes for me, supported me… That’s why I felt like, I can’t possibly fail. It wasn’t confidence in myself—it was four minutes of completely believing in the people around me. And maybe, if I hadn’t been injured, I wouldn’t have had that much time to directly feel their support.” “That kind of thing has happened so often in my life. The 3.11 earthquake, losing my rink before that… There have been a lot of tough times. But because of them, I’ve had so many chances to feel like, I’m being supported, and I really am a lucky person. I’ve had so many moments where I think, I’m fortunate to have had the people I’ve had around me.” “Preparation always takes a long time, but the actual performance—it’s over in a flash. That’s why I decided I wanted to truly feel each of those fleeting moments as they came. Between PyeongChang and Beijing, over those four years, I blamed my limits or slow recovery on my age. There were so many times when what I wanted to express, or the things I’d practiced so hard, just didn’t translate into recognition or results. That was painful.” I am taking care of myself now “Even so, in Beijing, none of that mattered. I could really feel everyone’s support. To receive that kind of support on this stage, to be allowed to skate there—I felt like, I must be the luckiest person in the world. So then, I started thinking maybe my role, what I’m meant to do in that moment, is to truly feel the happiness of skating. That’s what I thought back then. There was an accident during the short program, and honestly, I was nervous too. In that moment, the instant I made that mistake, I already knew—I wouldn’t be able to win the gold medal. It was that close of a battle. But no matter how many times I look back, all I can feel about that mistake is that it was just… bad luck. I truly don’t think I was the cause of it. And because of what happened, I think I finally came to feel—it’s okay to let myself feel happy while skating. I think that’s what it was.” ——What keeps you moving forward? You’ve talked before about “your 9-year-old self.” “Back then, all I felt was, Skating makes me happy. I’m glad people are watching me. That’s all. Practice was super long and tough. My coach was scary, and I didn’t have much ability to think things through on my own, so I just had to do what I was told. But that kid—he was so full of confidence, and he loved being seen. I’ve always wanted to skate in a way that I could be proud of in front of that version of me. After the Sochi Olympics, there was the six-minute warm-up accident, and I even fell off the podium once. When I imagined showing those moments to that younger me, I didn’t think he would reject me or anything. But I did think he’d say, ‘You could’ve tried harder.’ All the way up to the Beijing Olympics, I felt like he’d probably say, ‘You can do better than this,’ or, ‘Don’t act so defeated just yet.’ But after retiring from competition and turning pro, I stopped thinking about that so much. Right now, I’m working toward the quadruple Axel. In Beijing, I went back to the way I used to jump, but even with that, I realized it still wouldn’t be enough. That’s when I started to feel—It’s okay to value who I am now. Or even, Hey, maybe I’m actually better now than I was back then. Little by little, I began to realize those things. Maybe it’s because once I declared I was turning pro and was no longer bound by scores or evaluations, I was finally able to say to myself, ‘I’ve become better than I was’.” ——Why was 9-year-old Yuzuru Hanyu so confident? “It was because I practiced so much. Though back then, I didn’t win very often, even in local competitions. But once I mastered the double Axel perfectly, I felt unbeatable. I thought I could win no matter what. Even though all I could do was a double Axel, I still believed I could go to the World Championships. That jump was like a solid source of pride for me—my weapon. Even before that, I was always full of confidence. I think I used to say things like, “I’m going to win two Olympic golds.” I practiced so much that I just couldn’t believe I wouldn’t get better. That’s how much I trained. Looking back, I think I had a really clear image of my ideal self. I loved Plu (Plushenko) and Yagudin, and I was always aiming for the pinnacle of that era of figure skating. But it wasn’t that I wanted to become either of them. I always had this feeling like—I want to go beyond both of them. Someone who expresses through performance, can land the jumps, and who becomes “Yuzuru Hanyu” in his own right. I think I had a strong image of what that would look like. But as you grow older, you learn all kinds of things, don’t you? The unfairness in the world, the need to fit into society. And in that kind of environment, it’s rare for someone to stay full of confidence. Honestly, I think—It’s okay not to be confident. Precisely because I’m not confident, I practice. Precisely because I’m not confident, I want to improve. And maybe that’s okay. At least, that’s what I think.” Are you serious? It might sound strange coming from someone who’s won two Olympic gold medals, but… I don’t really have that much confidence in myself. That said, the one thing I’ve always had a strong passion for is the feeling of “I want to get better.” It’s not about whether you have confidence or not, or whether you’re good or not. I think what really matters is whether you can be truly serious about what you want to do—whether you’re willing to go after it or not. —— You’ve said the people around you have run alongside you in that pursuit. “When I had coaches and others who looked out for me—and when I myself still wanted to keep striving—it felt scarier to run away or give up than to face the challenge. That’s why I didn’t run away, and why I worked so hard. My parents would actually say things like, “Quit skating if you ever want to.” I was the kind of kid who would slack off practice, so they’d say, “If you don’t want to do it that badly, then quit. Focus on your studies instead.” Even now, they still tell me: “Be a decent human being.” I think they were really respecting my will. Maybe they could say that precisely because they had absolute faith in how strongly I felt about skating. Maybe they already knew that I didn’t have the kind of lukewarm passion that would let me quit just like that.” Create rewarding moments “This is something I’ve always told myself: “I don’t want to be someone my past self would point fingers at.” I’ve always tried to live that way. Not that I’ve been able to do that all the time, but… yeah. I’m always trying to ask myself whether what I’m doing right now is really the right thing. When I was a kid, I was happiest when I got results—when I won, or when I landed a jump. That was everything. I don’t think I could’ve kept going without those results. When I lost, even if my parents said, “Your performance was great today,” I couldn’t be satisfied. In that sense, I think I had a very results-oriented mindset. But not everyone can win, right? If there’s a competition with 30 skaters, only one person wins. Only one person gets a gold star. In a way, that’s the unfairness—or maybe just the reality—of the world. But if each person has a different goal or benchmark, then maybe there’s a reward in that. In anything—studying, or whatever—there’s hardship in the preparation phase, and it continues because there’s a moment when it pays off. I think the important thing is how you create those rewarding moments for yourself. And I think those benchmarks—the ones other people give you—are often more powerful. If you lose faith in your own standards, then the rewards stop there. That’s why I think it’s really important how many people there are who can say to you, “Let’s aim for this,” and really mean it. How many people are walking with you, sharing the same perspective and working just as seriously? I think that matters a lot.” —— What’s the origin of your ability to express music through your body? We’ve heard that when you were in elementary school, your coach Shoichiro Tsuzuki had you do free-dance sessions to music and you loved them. I loved it. I still do it. When I’m listening to music, sometimes my fingers move, or my feet go ton-ton-ton. And then, I just skate the way I want, riding the music. I think that’s something fundamental to me—it’s how I free something internal and feel, “Ah, I really do love figure skating.” Processing through talking “That said, not all skaters like that. In fact, I was probably one of the only ones who enjoyed that kind of practice. Some people feel embarrassed, or it’s just easier when someone lays out a track for you. It’s tough to deal with things that don’t have a “right” answer. Having a right answer is easier, more comforting. I guess I might’ve just liked stepping into those spaces without answers. Not that I was confident or anything—it’s just that I liked feeling the music and skating to it. That’s always been at the root of things for me. I’ve always wanted to time my jumps to the music, my spins to the music—that’s the ideal I was chasing, maybe.” —— You seem to talk more when things don’t go well—when there’s a mistake or a failure. Why is that? I started talking about my failures in interviews sometime after Sochi. I realized that saying it out loud helped me organize it in my mind. When I looked back on the moments when I grew, the words I had said out loud were what stayed with me the most. When I talk, I get this strong sense that my mind is sorting itself out. So even when I’m alone at home, I’ll talk to myself—like, “When I felt that way, this thing helped me,” or something. That’s why I talk to myself so much during practice too. It’s a kind of mental sorting process—just going waahhh to get it all out. —— You actually talked like that even before Sochi, didn’t you? Oh, really? Maybe around Sochi, yeah… 2013? I guess I’ve been doing it since then… Maybe talking—putting things into words—is a way for me to sort things out. Of course, everyone has their own way, but since I’ve found something that works for me, I guess that makes things a bit easier. It’s something I’ve always valued. Having all these experiences where “talking it out” led to things going better—I think that’s gradually turned it into part of my stance, or maybe even my style. —-What meaning do you find in failure or mistakes? “You always hear people say, “Failure is the mother of success,” right? But honestly… I don’t think that’s true. Failure is just failure. Like, if someone tells me, “That failure at the Beijing Olympics became the foundation of your success,” I mean, sure—maybe I can look back now and say that. But the past won’t change. It was still a failure. The result is permanent. So I think failure is failure, and success is success. What matters is whether you can grow from it or not—and that’s up to you. The question is: can you look at that failure and really recognize it as a failure? Can you reflect, and think about how you might have succeeded instead? I think that’s what matters.” “If seeing my performance made people feel happy, then I feel happy too.” I love the moments when we all laugh together —Even when you’ve made a mistake, there are times you still look like you’re having fun. “I always felt that if I could skate a clean program, I could win. I was doing high-difficulty elements, and I had a vision of the ideal, so I think I was genuinely excited. I think I always had this joy in the feeling of ‘I want to get better.’ So many things in life played a part in shaping this strong personality I have today. Originally, I wasn’t someone who talked this much, or someone particularly assertive. And even now, outside of skating, I’m not especially assertive. But I really love the experience of getting better, becoming stronger, achieving something. And when people praise me for that, when they recognize it, when everyone seems happy, when people are pleased—that makes me happy too. If it were just ‘I’m happy, and that’s enough,’ I wouldn’t have made it this far. I probably wouldn’t still be doing this. In a way, maybe that’s what’s become my driving force. After the Beijing Olympics, I said something like, ‘It wasn’t rewarded.’ But now, I feel like it was. That’s because all of you have found different kinds of meaning in my performances and appreciated them. Of course, I made mistakes, and I didn’t win. But even including those mistakes, people found value in my skating and truly acknowledged it. It wasn’t about points or rankings—it was a recognition of who I am as a person. In that sense, I feel like everything I’ve done had meaning. And there were so many people who said, ‘I’m glad I saw that performance.’ If those performances made people feel happy, then I feel happy too.” —That’s the same driving force you’ve had since you were a child, isn’t it? “Yes, I think the root of it all is the feeling of wanting people to see me. Even if I hadn’t done skating, I’d still want people to watch, to laugh together, to go “Whoa!” together. I really love moments like that. And I think skating has just continued along that same line. But right now, I’m completely overwhelmed with everything that’s in front of me. I have to practice, I have to work—it’s the most packed and demanding it’s ever been. And yet, I think that’s also a kind of happiness. There was a time I sprained my ankle and couldn’t skate for months. I didn’t feel alive during that time. Skating, expressing emotions, feeling pain and struggle… I have asthma, so there are moments when I truly can’t breathe, but without all of that, I don’t feel alive. There are so many times when I’m skating and I think, “I’m alive.” Right now, the fact that I can feel alive even in the midst of suffering—it’s probably because I’ve had repeated experiences where that suffering led to praise, or to some kind of result. I don’t feel that sense of happiness from skating right now. But that’s because I’m in a preparation phase. When I get to perform in ice shows again, when I get to show my skating to everyone—at that moment, I want to be able to say once more, “I’m happy.” That’s why I want to get through this hard time now.” (Compiled by Daisuke Gotō, Sports Division, Asahi Shimbun) "Yuzuru Hanyu: The Driving Force Behind His Leap" (AERA Special Edition) (P.10-17) 2023 “I realized—I’ve really only done figure skating.” That’s what Yuzuru Hanyu said thoughtfully, choosing his words with care in this exclusive interview. It’s been about a year since he turned professional. And yet, the evolution of Yuzuru Hanyu, the performer, shows no signs of slowing down. Spoiler The photo shoot begins. As soon as Yuzuru Hanyu puts on the outfit prepared for the day, he starts moving—posing, changing expressions, making subtle gestures—all in sync with the clothing. Each of these movements blends exquisitely with the outfit and the red rose-filled set. Those watching can’t help but gasp in awe, again and again. “Lately, I’ve been trying to view myself more objectively—like, how do I look when I wear a certain outfit? What does this outfit want to express? That’s the kind of mindset I try to bring. It might sound a bit far-fetched, but I try to move as if I’m listening to the voice of the clothing, like, ‘How does this one want to be seen?’ On top of that, I think about how the photographer—Mika Ninagawa, in this case—views the scene, and what kind of atmosphere she wants to capture. So in the end, I just move instinctively, kind of freely.” He says this is a change that has emerged over the past six months. “Up until about half a year ago, I would move more according to my own intent, feeling out the vibe of the studio even though I wasn’t skating a program. But then, during a shoot, for the first time I really felt the power of the material in the clothes. It was like—‘Wow, clothes have this much will of their own?’ That’s when things shifted for me.” Even within the context of a single photoshoot, this could be seen as a new form of expression he's acquired. “Yeah, I think so,” Hanyu nods. He isn’t following set instructions to pose or act a certain way. Because of that, the way he captures the essence of the clothing while standing quietly within the set—enhancing both the wardrobe and the scene—reminds you once again that Yuzuru Hanyu is a truly exceptional performer. (Writer: Takaomi Matsubara) Professional skater Yuzuru Hanyu AERA August 14–21, 2023 issue – "Cover Person" Yuzuru Hanyu: The Driving Force in His Second Year as a Pro Exclusive Interview “Right now, I really feel a strong sense of possibility.” Last summer, Yuzuru began his journey as a professional skater. He took on a series of unprecedented challenges—and succeeded in ways no one had seen before. Looking back at the year in which he stepped onto a new stage, he speaks about the horizon that’s come into view. Spoiler On July 19, 2022, Hanyu held a press conference, formally closing the chapter on his competitive career and declaring his new path as a professional skater. He also made clear that he would continue to take on challenges as an athlete. Just as he said in that press conference—no, even beyond what he declared—he has shown results through bold new challenges. His first solo ice show as a professional, Prologue, held in Yokohama in November 2022 and again in Hachinohe in December, caused a huge stir. He was the only performer in the show—the first solo ice performance in history. With a structure that richly conveyed his skating journey, he pulled off a nearly two-hour-long show. Then, in February of the new year, he astonished audiences again with GIFT. Like Prologue, it was a solo performance, but this time it took place in the Tokyo Dome—a historic first for figure skating, whether in competitions or ice shows. “It felt like a completed work.” “Prologue was still kind of experimental. It was my first solo ice show, and the idea of performing for nearly two hours all by myself wasn’t something I had fully researched or perfected. But by going through Prologue, I learned what the challenges of a solo performance were—and I feel like GIFT was the refined version. Including the staging, lighting, and the use of the space, I felt like GIFT came together as a complete work. Of course, my personal emotions were poured into it, but more than that, I think it was a show where the emotion and flow of the work itself became more important.” As he says, the expansive space of the Tokyo Dome—a venue unprecedented in figure skating history—was used to its fullest and contributed to the show’s success. But it wasn’t just the venue. What truly stood out was how Hanyu’s performance on the rink was interwoven with the story he himself created, projected on the giant screens. This powerful message and narrative were integral to the success of GIFT. “I think loneliness exists everywhere.” He reflects again on the message he wanted to convey through GIFT: “Every human being carries some sense of loneliness. For some people, it might come from something major—like the COVID pandemic, or for me, the Great East Japan Earthquake. But even aside from those, I think loneliness exists everywhere, if you're sensitive to it and open to feeling it as you go through life in society. Still, even when you feel completely alone or in despair, I think somewhere deep inside, there's always a little spark—some kind of hope or a step forward—that still exists, even if it's locked away. In my case, I’ve been able to keep going toward my dreams because I’ve been supported and connected with so many people. But even if someone feels like no one is supporting them or believing in them, I believe that the hope or dreams inside themselves are what sustain them. That’s the theme I had in mind when I created GIFT.” The success of GIFT was also clear in the overwhelming response it received. “There were a lot of people who said they hadn’t really been interested in figure skating before, but found it compelling as entertainment. Some people even said, ‘This didn’t feel like figure skating,’ or, ‘I’ve never seen a show like this,’ or, ‘This made me think in ways I never had before.’ Hearing that made me really happy.” It was a testament to how GIFT transcended the boundaries of figure skating as a genre. “I want to deliver my prayers” After completing two solo shows, Yuzuru Hanyu held notte stellata in Miyagi Prefecture from March 10 to 12 this year. “I feel like notte stellata is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum from GIFT. Rather than being a ‘work,’ it was a show overflowing with my personal wishes—my desire to deliver prayers.” Twelve years had passed since the Great East Japan Earthquake on March 11, 2011. This performance, filled with thoughts for the towns and people affected by the disaster, was something that could finally come to life now that he had become a professional skater and was no longer bound by the competitive schedule. Perhaps because of that, Hanyu’s powerful emotions were clearly conveyed from the ice. And it wasn’t just him—skaters from both Japan and overseas participated in the show. The way their performances drew out heartfelt prayers also stemmed from the magnetic power of performing live. “I was able to realize what I couldn’t do.” “Something feels lacking” After these three performances, each with their own special meaning, he appeared in Stars on Ice and Fantasy on Ice, shows that have become annual fixtures. “With Stars on Ice, I felt I had to continue carrying the pride of having performed at the Tokyo Dome. It’s exactly because I had done that kind of show that I approached each piece with full physical effort. In that sense, even though The Phantom of the Opera was a program I had performed in GIFT, I feel like I was able to create something completely different with it this time. As for Fantasy on Ice, it really feels like I’m performing with ‘friends.’ It’s a place that feels like home to me. While feeling that warmth, I still try to engage sincerely with the music from the artists—thinking about what the song wants to express, what kind of worldview it has—and based on that, I try to develop choreography that respects and brings that out.” His first year as a professional skater has passed. He did not disappoint the expectations placed on him when he declared his aspirations at the start. On the contrary, he responded in a way that far exceeded them. And yet, what Hanyu now feels is far removed from satisfaction or a sense of fulfillment. “Looking back at this past year, I realized—I’ve only been doing figure skating.” What does he mean by only doing figure skating? Hanyu explains: “Over this past year, for the first time I started choreographing my own programs, moving to the music on my own. And I started to feel… something’s missing. For instance, when I’m in a show and someone says, ‘Hey, can you handle the opening choreography?’ or ‘Try skating through this part,’ the movement I’m able to come up with feels pretty limited. When I think back to when I was little, I realize I’ve mostly only been doing the same kinds of moves. That really frustrates me. Even when I try to incorporate various things, thinking, ‘Isn’t there a movement like this, or like that?’ I’m struck by how limited my range really is. That realization made me think—I can’t just rely on my own way of doing things. I need to properly learn from professionals who specialize in this field and understand their way of thinking.” “This past year meant a lot” To those watching, his level of expression has already reached an extraordinary height, even among figure skaters. The sharpness of his dance in programs, for example, has only increased—it could easily be seen as a complete dance performance on its own. But Hanyu himself doesn’t see it that way. He’s not satisfied. “Even with dance-focused programs, if I just say, ‘I’m a figure skater, so this is good enough,’ then it ends up feeling like I’m merely imitating dance. But if I’m going to dance, then I need to raise my level as a dancer. I think I need to talk to people who are really knowledgeable in that field and properly incorporate their insights.” He realized there is still so much he’s unable to do. Precisely because he was able to sense that, he reflects: “This past year was huge for me. In fact, because there are still so many things I haven’t done, I feel an incredible sense of possibility. I’ve been someone who’s only done figure skating—but now I’ve started learning all sorts of things, and I want to bring that into my skating. I hope that can lead to something that goes beyond just figure skating—something that becomes, broadly speaking, a form of entertainment and expression.” What drives him forward is a restlessness—an urge to keep aiming higher, never settling. That is now the driving force as he enters his second year as a professional skater. The days of challenge continue. —Written by Takaomi Matsubara AERA Magazine, August 14–21, 2023 Issue “I want to keep the joy of skating and the happiness of being able to express myself” Year Two as a Professional: Exclusive Interview After making a spectacular debut with the first-ever solo ice show in figure skating history, Yuzuru Hanyu surprised everyone again by choosing the Tokyo Dome—a venue never before used for figure skating—for his next solo performance. Then came a show steeped in remembrance and prayer, where he conveyed emotions he had long held inside. Spoiler Even after retiring from competition, Hanyu has continued to boldly challenge higher and higher walls. As both a professional figure skater and a professional athlete, he took off at full speed. How does Hanyu reflect on this past year? How does he envision the future? Sometimes gently, sometimes with a serious gaze, he carefully chose his words and spoke with sincerity in response to each question. — It’s been a year since you started your career as a professional skater. Your first show, “Prologue,” was a solo performance, followed by “GIFT,” also a solo show—this time held in the vast space of the Tokyo Dome, a first in figure skating history. You not only performed but also handled the composition, direction, and production. Looking back, how do you feel about this past year? “Prologue” was still an experimental phase in a way. It was my first solo ice show, and performing for nearly two hours with only my own programs wasn’t something I had completely researched and prepared for down to every detail. After experiencing “Prologue,” I began to see various challenges involved in doing a solo show—and I think “GIFT” was the polished result that came from that. Including elements like how the space was used, the direction, the lighting—it felt like a completed work. Of course, it’s infused with a lot of personal emotion, but more than that, I think the emotions and flow of the work itself became more important. That’s the kind of show it turned out to be. “Even if you think you’re alone, even if you’re in deep despair, there’s always hope, or a dream, or something—definitely—somewhere in your heart.” — “GIFT” also had a strong storyline and message, conveyed partly through videos on a giant screen. One of the central themes seemed to be “loneliness.” I think everyone experiences loneliness in some way. The reasons might be big things, like the COVID pandemic or, in my case, the Great East Japan Earthquake. But even outside of major events, just living in society and being sensitive to things—loneliness can be found anywhere. Even if you feel alone or completely in despair, I believe people still hold on to hope or dreams, somewhere deep in their hearts. Maybe those feelings are just locked away. In my case, I’ve been able to keep chasing my dreams because so many people support and cheer me on. But even for those who feel they have no support or encouragement, I believe their own hopes and dreams are what support them. I’ve strongly felt that through my own life, and that’s the kind of theme I wanted to express. — What kind of reactions did you receive? There were a lot of people who had never really been interested in figure skating before, but found the show interesting as entertainment. Some people even said things like, “I’ve never seen a show like this before,” or “This was the first time a show made me think so deeply.” Hearing things like that made me really happy. — In March 2023, you held notte stellata in Miyagi Prefecture. It was 12 years after the March 11, 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake. The show carried deep feelings toward the affected people and towns, and it felt like your prayers were being conveyed from the ice. I feel like notte stellata stands in complete contrast to GIFT. That particular program holds incredibly personal meaning for me. Rather than being a cohesive work across the entire show, it was filled with my own wishes—my prayers—that I wanted to deliver. — After taking on such challenges as solo performances and performing at the Tokyo Dome, have you noticed any changes in yourself as a professional? Definitely. Precisely because I became a professional, I can now fully focus on performing in ice shows. And I’m also able to look at things from many different angles. Not just my own performance, but when producing a show, I now think things like: this kind of performance would go here, this kind of performer or artist would be good there, or this program should come at this point. Being able to think through those details is something that came with becoming a pro. — After those three shows with distinct meanings, you appeared in Stars on Ice and Fantasy on Ice, which have become annual traditions. With Stars on Ice, I felt like I had to carry the pride of having performed at the Tokyo Dome. Because I was able to do a show like that, I made sure to put my full physical effort into each single program I performed. In that sense, even though The Phantom of the Opera was a program I had also done in GIFT, I think I was able to bring something completely different to it. With Fantasy on Ice, I felt strongly that I was performing with friends. It feels like home to me. While enjoying that warm atmosphere, I also tried to seriously face the music chosen by the guest artists—thinking carefully about what each piece was trying to express, what kind of world it was depicting—and I believe I was able to reflect that in the choreography I created. "I want to go beyond expectations." —— On July 19, 2022, you announced at a press conference that you were turning professional. At the time, you spoke about how, unlike in competition where you're bound by rules, you would now be free to fully pursue what you want to do. On the other hand, having no restrictions also means you now have to draw your own blueprint and lay down your own tracks. After spending a year like this, how do you feel? I had opportunities to reflect on what "freedom" really means. And I think that the feeling of being free probably only exists in the moment you're released from some kind of rule. So when I first decided to turn pro, I think I truly did feel free. But now, precisely because those rules no longer exist, I don’t really feel that same sense of freedom anymore. That said, even though I don’t feel “free,” the directions I can explore have expanded tremendously. In a way, there are now so many more things I have to study. So many things I need to refine, so many areas where I need to work harder. The rules may be gone, but the image I aspire to as a skater and as an artist has grown tremendously. It’s become more defined and more powerful. —— In any field, many people find it easier to strive when there are set rails to follow. In figure skating, for instance, you're told which elements to perform and how to score points—it's easier to focus and work toward that. What gives you the strength to lay down your own rails and keep pushing forward? Being able to live up to everyone’s expectations—that really means a lot. Honestly, after doing GIFT, I truly felt that the bar had been raised again. I need to push myself as a second-year professional, including how I present my performances. I want to become the kind of person where people can say, “It’s because GIFT happened that he can think this way,” or “It’s because of GIFT that it’s okay to have this level of expectation.” I want to build myself into someone worthy of that. —— Has your feeling about “wanting to live up to expectations” changed? It’s complicated—I could say it hasn’t changed, and yet it has. A kind of in-between, mixed feeling. Of course, back in competitions, people had expectations—not just for results but also for the content of my performances. But when I think about whether I myself had any expectations beyond results when I was younger, before Sochi, I don’t think I really did. Leading up to Sochi and Pyeongchang, even if the performance content wasn’t great, or the things I wanted to express weren’t very clear, I still had this mentality of “Winning is everything.” If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be remembered. If I didn’t win, people wouldn’t even watch me. I was always skating in competition with that in mind. —— And now, do you feel differently? Yes. After Pyeongchang, as I moved toward Beijing, my motivation gradually shifted. At the same time, the intentions and perspectives of those supporting me also changed. I think that’s what allowed me to start thinking, “I want to live up to expectations,” or even, “I want to go beyond them—defy them in a good way.” It’s because I had those four years leading up to Beijing that I was able to arrive at this mindset. So in that sense, maybe I haven’t changed all that much. But when I look back at the time before Pyeongchang, I do think I’ve changed quite a bit. “I’m a medium for what others see.” —— As part of this photo book project, we asked you to answer “100 Questions.” One of them was, “Who do you talk to for advice?” and your answer—“Myself and the music”—was really memorable. I do talk about my emotions, of course. But honestly, I don’t believe I’m ever fully conveying everything I feel. Spoken words come with a lot of limitations, and physical expression is even more limited. So I don’t think it all gets across. What’s conveyed is just what the person expressing it has felt through their past, or perhaps their hopes or visions for the future. That’s all it is, really. My emotions too—they only exist as they do because of my past experiences and my view of the future. So I’ve always thought it’s impossible to completely share everything. Of course, there are many times when I want to talk to someone or when I want someone to support me. But in the end, the only one who can truly process all of that is myself. I can listen to people, take in their thoughts—but the one who digests it all, even when listening to music, is me. That’s why I gave that answer. —— Can you tell us more about what it means to “consult with the music”? I think it’s the time when I can really be closest to myself. Of course, I believe it’s important to listen to others and to embrace different values and emotions. I like that, and I have no discomfort with it. But in my case, the time when I can truly face myself—when I confront feelings I’ve shut away inside—is usually when I’m immersed in music. “Even if it’s painful, there’s a kind of expression that’s born from that emotion. I pour those feelings of pain and hardship into my skating.” —— Facing yourself can be a painful, difficult process. You performed “The Phantom of the Opera” again in GIFT and in Stars on Ice—was that also an attempt to confront, surpass, and evolve past your previous performances? Your willingness to face that struggle rather than run from it—where does that come from? Honestly, I think it’s fine as long as it becomes expression. Even if it’s painful for me—painful in the moment of expressing it—I believe that there’s expression born from that suffering. If someone watching it thinks, “Oh, Yuzuru Hanyu also struggles like this,” or “He has these kinds of emotions too,” and if those feelings overlap with their own, and a fragment—just a shard of those emotions—strikes a chord with them, then… Just like I’ve been saved by many pieces of music, if someone can be saved through my expression, then that’s enough for me. That’s why I don’t really feel like, “This is too hard; I don’t want to face it,” or “I want to run away from this.” If what I create through skating from those feelings of pain and hardship can help someone, then I want to put all of that into my performance. — Your expression isn’t just about releasing your inner feelings or thoughts — there’s a strong intent to convey something. The way you're conscious of your audience really shows your stance as an expressive artist. Given that, how do you see yourself? In the end, it’s like what I was saying earlier about “whether or not to convey words” — the same goes for expression. The person receiving it can never completely remove their own emotions. For example, when we look at something — it’s because there's light, like sunlight, and the wavelengths that are reflected enter our eyes, and then the brain processes that and says, “That’s a color,” right? I think my performances work in a similar way. What people see when they watch my performance is probably something only they can see. It’s like the light that emanates from them interacts with me — I become a kind of medium — and through that, they see something again. Maybe that’s what leads to emotions being stirred, or memories resurfacing. I think of myself as a mirror, or a medium, for the viewers’ emotions. Without technique, expression is impossible — You mentioned between shots that lately you often feel glad you chose figure skating, that your heart is able to move freely. When do you feel that most strongly? For example, when I’ve collaborated with people like the pianist Shinya Kiyozuka, and we’re working on something like the piece “Haru yo, Koi” — I thought, maybe if I could at least play a bit of it with just my right hand, I might be able to express it differently. So I tried touching the piano a little. But I couldn’t play at all. Honestly, I can barely even manage “Chopsticks.” When I want to express something emotionally, if I don’t have any technique, then I can’t actually express anything, right? But for me, figure skating is something through which I can express absolutely anything emotionally — that’s how deeply I’ve immersed myself in it. And I think that’s probably a really fortunate thing. Even when writing, to put your feelings into words and convey what you want to say, it takes skill, right? For me, expressing myself through skating is easier than through writing. I’ve been skating for over twenty years, and that’s why I feel most at ease expressing myself through it. There’s no stress — I can convey my feelings freely. It’s something I’ve been doing for so long, and that’s why it’s possible. I want to make sure I don’t lose that happiness. — During the photo shoot, you wore various outfits and moved so freely — even before being directed — that it felt like your expressions, gestures, and poses flowed naturally. Your eyes also seemed to change impression depending on the moment. How do those images come to you? Lately, I’ve been trying to observe objectively how I look when I wear a particular outfit — like, how does this outfit want to be seen? I know that might sound a bit far-fetched, but I kind of imagine myself listening to the outfit’s voice, like asking, How does this one want to be perceived? And on top of that, I think about how photographer Mika Ninagawa is seeing things — what kind of atmosphere she wants to capture — and then I just move on my own, almost instinctively. — That’s a change that’s come in the past year, right? Up until about six months ago, even though I wasn’t skating programs, I moved based on my own intent, while picking up on the atmosphere of the studio. But at some point during a shoot, I was struck for the first time by the power of the fabric — like, wow, this clothing has a will of its own, and I think that’s when something changed in me. — So in the world of photography too, you’ve gained a new form of expression? Yes. I’ve been watching a lot of different forms of art and physical expression lately, and I think that’s helped expand the types and qualities of movement I have access to — how the body can move, what kind of variations there are. — Looking back on this past year, you’ve really taken on so many challenges, both as a professional skater and as an athlete, venturing into unexplored territory. If you’ve discovered new possibilities within yourself or new tools to draw from, what would they be? After doing all this over the past year, I’ve realized — I’ve really only ever done figure skating. Over the past year, when I’ve tried choreographing my own programs for the first time and moving to music, I’ve started to feel like something is missing. When I’m in a show and they say, “Can you handle the opening choreography?” or “Can you skate this part?” — the movements I come up with are surprisingly limited. When I look back to when I was little, I realize I’ve mostly been doing the same kinds of moves. That really frustrated me. Even when I try incorporating all sorts of new movements — I come to realize, Wow, I actually can’t do as many kinds of movement as I thought. That was a big realization. It made me feel like I need to learn not only my own self-taught style but also the way professionals in other disciplines think and move. My Potential Is Infinite — From the viewer’s perspective, your level of expression and performance as a figure skater is already exceptional. For example, the sharpness in your dance movements within programs seems to have evolved even further, and it truly feels like they stand on their own as dance. Even with dance-based programs, I don’t think it’s enough to settle for “this level is fine because I’m a figure skater.” If I don’t also raise my level as a dancer, it’ll end up as just a program that “kind of mimics dance.” If I’m going to dance, then I believe I should seriously learn from people who are deeply knowledgeable in that world and try to incorporate their insights. For instance, from the perspective of someone trained properly in ballet, I imagine the ballet-like movements performed by figure skaters probably only come across as ballet-esque. They likely don’t reach the image of ballet that professional ballet dancers aim for. I feel that very strongly. Still, even if it’s just little by little, I want to reach the point where ballet dancers can look at what I do and say, “That’s really beautiful—from a ballet perspective, it’s good too.” I think I should keep working toward being seen that way in dance as well. And on top of that, I’m always thinking that it would be wonderful if I could marry those efforts with the kind of expression I’ve cultivated through figure skating up until now. “Thinking about what freedom means gave me more things I needed to work toward. It made my vision of the kind of athlete and artist I want to be even clearer and more concrete.” — So, in every genre, you're striving to reach even greater heights? Yes. I’ve only ever done figure skating. Precisely because there are so many things I haven’t done, I feel there’s immense potential. Someone who’s only done figure skating is now starting to study a wide variety of things, and then distilling that knowledge back into figure skating. I hope that process doesn’t just enhance figure skating but, broadly speaking, transforms into a form of entertainment. In that sense, I believe I can keep going higher and higher. It’s like I’m still working with a blank canvas—there’s so much I can keep adding to it. That feeling—that there’s still so much more I can bring in—is what gives me a sense that my potential is truly infinite. “I believe I can keep climbing higher and higher. It’s like working on a blank canvas—there’s still so much I can add. That’s what makes me feel like my potential is infinite.” — You've now entered your second year as a professional skater. How are you feeling right now? Including injuries and everything else, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep skating. There might even come a time when I can’t skate for a while, like after the Great East Japan Earthquake. That’s something nobody can predict. But as I continue down this path as a professional skater, I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I think I’ll keep learning, keep discovering new possibilities within myself. And when I feel like I’ve filled those in, I’ll search for new possibilities again, expand my horizons, and continue studying. I’ll probably keep repeating that cycle. — Do you have a vision or blueprint in mind? For now, I’m thinking about doing a solo show. It’s still in development, so I can’t say exactly what form it will take yet—but I want to create something that goes beyond the category of figure skating, something that truly expresses what I want to convey. I want to keep striving toward making it a form of entertainment in its own right. (Writer: Takashi Matsubara) From “Yuzuru Hanyu: The Driving Force Behind Solitude” (AERA Special Edition) (P. 18-20) 2024 "After all, it's frustrating when I can't give a good performance." A photo session with photographer Mika Ninagawa for the first time in a year finally came together. In an exclusive long interview, Hanyu spoke about the ideals he pursues. Spoiler It has been two years since Yuzuru Hanyu made a new start in the summer of 2022 as a professional figure skater. In 2024, he successfully led three ice shows: RE_PRAY (SAGA, Yokohama, Miyagi performances), notte stellata, and Fantasy on Ice. The photo shoot with Mika Ninagawa—his first in a year—began with warm greetings exchanged between them: “Looking forward to this year as well,” “Thank you.” When she remarked, “You haven’t aged at all!” he smiled a bit shyly and replied, “I’m turning 30 soon.” “Please feel free to move however you like.” With those words, he freely added expressions and gestures as he pleased. The large studio was set up with various backdrops. As he changed outfits and posed in each scene, Hanyu sometimes responded to direction, and other times moved as if he were imagining—or even creating—a story. People watching couldn’t help but gasp as image after image appeared on the monitor. In one moment, he seemed like an innocent, boyish figure; in another, cool and composed; and in yet another, exuding a kind of bewitching allure. The way he effortlessly evoked such varied atmospheres in an instant was nothing short of astonishing. His creativity wasn’t limited to just his presence in front of the camera. Background music played during the shoot, and he moved naturally in response to it—but he also sometimes requested specific songs based on the costume he was wearing. At one point, seeing a prop, he asked, “Do you have another one of these?” These moments offered a glimpse of his sharp creative sensibilities. When the shoot wrapped up, his cheerful “Thank you very much!” carried a certain lightness, as if his heart had been lifted. One year on, what he showed in the studio was the image of a performer who had grown even deeper and more expansive in his expression. (Written by Takaomi Matsubara) Professional Skater Yuzuru Hanyu AERA August 12–19, 2024 issue – Cover Feature Yuzuru Hanyu: And the Journey Continues Exclusive Interview: "In pursuit of a receding ideal" Hanyu has entered his third year as a professional figure skater. Looking back on the unprecedented challenges he has taken on, he spoke about what he has gained and what he envisions for the future. Spoiler In 2022, Yuzuru Hanyu launched his career as a professional figure skater. His first show as a pro, Prologue, was the first-ever solo ice show in history. Built around the story of his skating life, he performed for nearly two hours entirely on his own. He followed that with GIFT, another unprecedented solo performance—this time held at Tokyo Dome, a venue of a scale never before seen in figure skating. He filled the massive venue completely, a feat unheard of in an ice show. Then in March 2023, he held notte stellata, a performance imbued with his thoughts and prayers for March 11. Now, one year after our last interview following those three performances: A Shift in the "Depth" of His Thinking “One year ago, during that interview, it had been a year since I’d gone pro. Back then, I felt like I had to keep studying more specialized things, learning more—I had this mindset of wanting to grow. Over this past year, I think I’ve changed in many ways—technically, in terms of expression, and so on. Among those changes, I really feel like I’ve had more and more opportunities to think deeply about expression. Even in daily life, I find myself thinking about it. My way of thinking about my shows, and even about each program—how I approach those—there’s a noticeable difference in the depth of my thinking.” He reflects on what prompted those changes over the past year: “After GIFT, I had to write a new ice story again, and also had to confront my own performances. That made it necessary for me to spend even more time thinking deeply about everything.” That new ice story was RE_PRAY, subtitled ICE STORY 2nd. It premiered on November 4, 2023, at Saitama Super Arena. He performed there for two days, then went on to give six performances across three cities: Saga (January 12 and 14), and Yokohama (February 17 and 19). After the first performance in Saitama on November 4, Hanyu had this to say: “From the beginning, I myself have received all sorts of things from various works, whether it be games, manga, novels, or other places, what is my life, how precious life is, and other things that everyone probably experiences. In games, the concept of life is, in a way, really light. You can repeat it again and again. That’s why you can use characters to keep pushing forward, chasing curiosity wherever it leads. If you apply that to the real world, that kind of person might be someone with the drive to chase after their dreams. But then again, depending on how you look at it, that person could also be really frightening. Still, if people could repeat things, I think… yeah, they probably would. That’s something I’ve kind of been thinking about.” 24 Hours, Always Skating In a story themed around video games, the motif of "choice" appears repeatedly. Even in real life, we make countless choices without consciously realizing it. What if you were to choose a different path from the one you had taken? Or would you still choose the same one? This story poses these questions to its viewers, offering them a chance to reexamine their own ways of living. It was Yuzuru Hanyu’s performance—once again as the sole performer, as in Prologue and GIFT—that brought this story to life and allowed it to be met with overwhelming acclaim. What’s more, even across six performances, he never stayed in one place. He kept evolving, continuing to pursue growth through each attempt. The final performance in Yokohama offered many examples of that evolution. Take, for example, the movements packed into the piece "Rooster, Snake, and Pig," where he seemed to resist fate as he skated. Or the performance he did without music, letting only the sound of his blades on the ice resonate through the arena. Or in “Megalovania,” his performance fused with the sound in a more refined way than ever before. These signs of refinement weren’t limited to the production aspects—the polish could be seen in every detail of Hanyu’s skating itself. In preparation for the Yokohama show, he spent his days training even more rigorously after the SAGA performance. “Of course, I trained, and I also restricted my diet and such. I mean... how should I put this? There are 24 hours in a day, but I spent all of them with no elements in my life other than skating.” In other words, skating was present in his life for all 24 hours of the day. “Yeah. You could say that every day felt like it was entirely devoted to RE_PRAY.” He says he spent every moment facing skating head-on because he felt regret over his performance in Saga. “After all, not being able to skate well is frustrating.” But the standard by which he now feels frustration is different from when he was a competitive athlete. “The more my ideals become concrete, the more I feel like I'm not keeping up with them” Still Not Enough “These days, I feel like things are shifting away from scores and toward evaluations. Even if I execute a planned technical element but it doesn’t go well, the way I evaluate it—my perspective—has changed. What I wanted to achieve, what I wanted to accomplish personally... in Saga, I wasn’t able to do any of that at all. So it wasn’t just frustration—it was more like, plain and simple, I felt defeated.” After spending a period where skating filled every hour of his day, he arrived at the Yokohama performance. After the final show, he said: “It feels like the kind of sense of accomplishment you'd get from winning the Olympics.” Yet even with that fulfillment, he wasn’t completely satisfied. He still felt his own skills hadn’t yet caught up to the things he wanted to express. “That’s why I feel like there’s still so much I need to study. Of course, I do think I’ve evolved. I think I’ve gotten better. But it’s still not enough. The more I dig into myself, the more my ideals become elevated, and the more clearly I can envision what I want to express. And the more clearly my ideals take shape, the more I feel I haven’t yet reached them.” This awareness—that he still isn’t there yet—comes from noticing things in finer detail, and it's something he says he couldn’t have experienced during his competitive days. “Back when I was competing, it was practically impossible to be aware of things like that. As long as you landed your jumps, you could win. To be honest, if you couldn’t land your jumps, there wasn’t even a conversation to be had. And depending on what type of quadruple jump you performed and where in the program you did it, the outcome of the entire competition could basically be decided. For example, the kind of memories or emotions tied to a certain piece of music, or what that music’s background was, or what kind of story I wanted to tell through it—how those things could blend together. Or even what kind of meaning was embedded in the choreography... Honestly, there just wasn’t time to think about any of that. You’re stretched to your technical limits, and in a competition, you have to land everything in one shot—within just four minutes if it’s the free skate. There’s no room to think about anything else.” A World Without First Place Winning competitions. In the world of sports, that’s considered the goal. “Once you’ve achieved that, there’s nowhere higher to go. In the world of competition, I was number one. So no matter how hard I tried, there was nothing beyond that. Honestly, all I could do was try to maintain that first-place spot.” “But the world I’m in now—even if I feel like I’ve become number one in some sense, that doesn’t make me number one. I can still think, ‘I’m way down at the bottom.’ And that’s a world where you can feel that way. When I look at artistic masterpieces, or works of exceptional technical skill from all kinds of fields, I realize how much I still can’t do. So I think, yeah... I’ve still got a long way to go.” When he stepped away from the fixed, defined world of competition into a new world, he found it wasn’t enclosed by any walls. Whether you perceive the vastness of that world, or whether you confine yourself to a narrow space, is up to the individual. Some people don’t notice the world stretching out before them. Others draw boundaries around themselves. Yuzuru Hanyu now feels, “I still have so far to go.” He says, “I’m at the bottom.” And that’s because he understands just how vast the world can be. To be able to feel that way requires the will to keep moving forward without becoming complacent. That’s why, for him, the places he’s reached are not endpoints—they are stepping stones toward the space beyond. Ideals That Keep Evolving “Maybe I’ve surpassed the ideal I had a year ago. But the distance between me and the ideal I have now... I think that’s probably the same as it was a year ago. If the gap between myself and my ideal was 10 meters last year, it might still be 10 meters now—or even 11. That’s how it feels. As I live and experience life, as I absorb new information every day, my ideal keeps evolving. It keeps moving further away. But at the same time, because I’ve seen new things, because I’ve experienced new things, I must be getting closer to it too, step by step.” After a brief pause, he smiled and added: “As long as I keep seeking it, I think I’ll be able to continue this for the rest of my life.” The skater who pursues the ideal he himself created is still on the journey. (Written by Takao Matsubara) AERA, August 12–19, 2024 issue (P.21-24) Beyond the Point Where Two Ideals Cross Yuzuru Hanyu Speaks About the “Heart/Soul” 「心」 —In sports, it's often said that shin-gi-tai (心技体: heart, technique, and body) are important. Today, we’d like to ask you about the “heart”—your thoughts related to the mind and spirit. Yes, thank you. I’m happy to talk about that. Spoiler —To begin, one of your answers in the Q&A for this photobook really stood out. You said, “If I’m not appreciated, I can only think that I didn’t try hard enough.” That struck us, because among those referred to as artists or performers, there are people who think, “If my work isn’t appreciated, it’s because others lack understanding.” But your answer sounds like you’re turning the blade inward—not blaming others, but holding yourself accountable. I don’t really understand the mindset of “Why won’t people accept what I’m trying to convey?” —So you see it as the responsibility of the one who’s expressing? Rather than as an “artist,” I think of it from the position of someone who performs. If you go back to the root of why we want to express something in the first place, it’s because there’s a message we want to share, an emotion we want to convey. There’s something we want people to feel. That desire exists first. And if it doesn’t reach people, then to me, that just means I didn’t do enough. That my approach wasn’t good enough. People are all different. There’s a wide range of individuals out there. For example, even just the concept of “amazing” differs from person to person, right? So of course I understand that it’s impossible to reach absolutely everyone. But still, I try my best because I want it to reach as many people as possible. Ideally, I want everyone who sees it to come away thinking, “Yes, this is what it means.” “I do sometimes think ‘if it reaches just one person, that’s enough’—but if possible, I’d be happiest if that one person could become everyone.” —There are people who say things like, “Even if no one else understands, if it reaches just one person, that’s enough.” Your perspective seems to be the opposite of that. I mean, of course, there are times when I think, “If this feeling reaches just one person who came to the venue, and they’re moved by it, then that alone makes it all worth it.” But if possible, I’d still be happiest if that “just one person” could become everyone. Like, if 70% of the audience understood and felt something from my performance, but the remaining 30% were left behind or didn’t enjoy it, then I’d think, “I wasn’t able to make it a performance for that 30%.” That’s why, while refining the purity of the emotions I want to express, I also have to work on the techniques and methods of expression that can support and reflect that emotional clarity. Let’s say there’s a manga artist who created a popular series that ran for 20 volumes. Then they launch a new series—but it doesn’t catch on and gets canceled. That kind of thing happens all the time, right? Readers are very honest in their reactions. We’re the same. If people don’t come to see what we do, we can’t keep going. I believe society works that way. Even if you put all your effort into showing what you believe is the very best you can do—if society doesn’t recognize it, there are plenty of times you might feel, “I’ve tried so hard, and still it doesn’t get through… it’s so unfair.” But to me, even that unfairness just means I didn’t give enough effort in the end. That I didn’t have the right techniques to properly communicate it. That’s the only way I can see it. —So, you have that kind of mindset and heart—and that means the technique to communicate it becomes all the more necessary. We can really feel your seriousness and high standards as a performer. When did you first start thinking this way? I think… it’s probably just my personality. Even when I fail a jump in competition, I never think it was someone else’s fault. It’s the same with expression—if what I wanted to communicate didn’t get across, that’s a failure. And to me, that failure isn’t anyone else’s fault—it’s mine. Like, “Maybe I used my time poorly,” or “Maybe I tried to force it onto the audience too much.” In the end, I always feel like it’s something I did wrong. "The struggle is what makes it real." — Going back to the earlier manga example, when something doesn’t get across, blaming it on the reader—like saying it’s their lack of understanding—might be a way of shifting the blame, of letting off steam. Because if you say it's due to your own lack of effort, that makes things even harder for yourself. That’s true. But it’s exactly because it’s hard that you feel something real. You know how, when you get into a lukewarm hot spring, it doesn’t really feel like a hot spring? Of course, there’s such a thing as the right temperature, but when the water is just right, you really feel like you’re in a hot spring, your body warms up, and you feel happy. It’s the same with daily life—if you spend too much time soaking in lukewarm water, you just get all soft and wrinkly, and you don’t really feel like you’re living, or like you’re making any effort. I think that’s what happens. It’s precisely because there are times that are freezing cold, or scalding hot, that you can feel, “Ah, I’m in a really intense moment right now,” or “I’m going through something really tough.” That’s what makes it possible to feel that you’re pushing yourself. "My ideal is set by myself—but that self is the image others want of me." — It always comes across that you want to communicate to as many people as possible, and that you’re constantly striving to perfect your expression. You’ve also said that your ideal keeps moving further ahead. That forward movement seems connected to your heightened sensitivity—do you recall what kind of things stimulate or inspire you? Ballet, dance in general, and if we broaden the scope, novels too, or the sensibilities of people who take photographs. Also movies, anime... As long as I’m alive, everything and anything can be a source of inspiration. I think even things like the news are a form of expression. For example, when a major disaster occurs, depending on how the news reports it—what they highlight, how they frame it—the reaction from the audience can change drastically. Even if the facts are the same, the way they’re communicated changes how they’re received, right? I think the same applies to skating. Say I’m performing a sad program—how would people react if I smiled during it? Some might think, “That smile doesn’t fit the emotion of the piece.” But if that smile comes after going through sadness, then it might be interpreted differently. If I can express things to that level, then it means my technique—and even my emotional depth—has evolved to a place where it reaches others. — So in a way, everything becomes a stimulus that connects to your ideal of expression. Exactly. Even the smallest things in daily life. If I consider everything I see and hear as part of expression, then I constantly become aware of where I’m still lacking, where I’m not doing enough. That’s how I live every day. "There’s nothing beyond this." — As you continue to receive inspiration and push your ideal further, it seems to me that this ideal is something you define yourself. At the same time, with the overwhelming success of your ice shows, the public’s expectations—“We want to see something even more incredible”—are also growing. Does that create any pressure or internal conflict for you? There’s definitely a lot of pressure. Every time, in every moment, I try to put out what I believe to be the best there is, like “There’s nothing beyond this.” So if someone were to ask me, “Can you do something even better in the next moment?”—it’s not something I can just easily pull off. For example, with RE_PRAY—say I gave a perfect performance on Friday. Can I surpass that on Sunday? There’s no way you can cross a river in just one day. I worked for over a month just to finally surpass the previous show on that Friday. And yet, people expect me to surpass that again in just one or two days. That’s incredibly scary. It puts a lot of pressure on me—I get so nervous I can’t even eat, and my body won’t respond the way I want. That happens a lot. But just now, as I was thinking about my ideal, I realized something. While I set my own standard for what’s ideal, that standard is actually the version of myself that everyone expects of me. In other words, the evaluation isn’t something I make—it comes from everyone else. Going back to what we were talking about earlier—about blaming others when your message doesn’t get across, or saying the audience just wasn’t perceptive enough—what I believe is that the evaluation I receive from others is my own evaluation. I don’t think I should be the one to evaluate myself. The only times I can truly say to myself, “You did well,” are when I get results or when I’ve been recognized. Without that, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell myself, “You really gave it your all.” Every Day Feels Like Cramming the Night Before — You put great importance on “conveying” and “getting through,” and if that doesn’t happen, you believe the responsibility lies with you. Even if I feel like I’ve been giving it my all and pushing through a difficult process up until the performance, if it’s not well-received, then in the end it just means I only thought I was trying hard. I can only say that it was meaningless effort. That’s honestly how I see it. On top of that, as all kinds of new information keep coming in, I continue to grow — and at the same time, so does my ideal. That “ideal” is, I think, always intersecting with the ideal that I have in mind and the ideal that everyone has in mind (of Hanyu Yuzuru). After all, the assessment of my abilities — even my current position — is formed through everyone else’s evaluation of me. So I’m always working with the feeling that I need to go beyond the ideal I’ve set for myself and the ideal that everyone hopes to see in me. — You’re constantly balancing those two ideals, aiming to bring them together at a high level, and then even push beyond that. And on top of it all, you hold yourself accountable for the result. Maybe it’s just how I was born, but I don’t feel any discomfort about that. On the contrary, blaming someone else or putting the fault on something other than my own ability — that’s much harder for me. Escaping like that feels more miserable, somehow. Maybe I’ve been striving all this time because I don’t want to feel that kind of guilt. When I’m unable to live up to the image that people hoped for or envisioned, I feel deeply disappointed in myself. And I think that desire to not become that — to not let people down — is part of what keeps me going. — In a way, it sounds like you’re constantly being chased. That’s why it’s scary. I think with humans — maybe even in something like hunting — unless we’re in a state of fear or under intense pressure, we can’t produce adrenaline at 100%. You could say that I’m always living with that fear, and that’s what keeps me moving, as if I’m constantly being pursued. Maybe that’s just my personality. Some people might understand this feeling, and some might not, but... it’s like when you didn’t know the scope of a test in school, and suddenly realize that much was on it — and you try to cram it all the night before. It feels like I’m living with that kind of intensity every day. Mentally, it’s like I’m constantly skating and training with that last-minute, all-in mindset. “The reason the person known as Yuzuru Hanyu exists is because of the support and passion of so many people” Holding Both the Grown-Up and the Child Within — Lastly, a personal question. On December 7 this year, you’ll turn 30. As you transition from your twenties into your thirties, how are you feeling? Bit by bit, I’ve been able to see more clearly what kind of person I am. I’ve developed more of a core — like a strong sense of will, or a clearer sense of what I want to do. I feel like I’ve gained the ability to do more and more on my own. So I think I’ve been climbing the stairs toward becoming an adult in my own way. That said, I also believe it’s important to still have that childlike part of me that moves freely from the heart, especially when it comes to expressing myself or as a skater. It’s not about switching between being an adult and a child — I think it’s more about holding both sides at the same time. That’s what I’m thinking as I prepare to enter my thirties. As an adult, I want to be able to stand on my own properly where I can. But I definitely don’t think I can do skating all on my own. The reason the person known as Yuzuru Hanyu exists is because of the support and passion of so many people. So I always want to make sure I never become self-centered. In that sense, while I aim to be an adult, I also want to keep being a child at heart — that’s what I’m feeling right now. (Writer: Takaomi Matsubara) “Yuzuru Hanyu Photobook Shin” (AERA Special Edition) (P.25-28) “Everything I can bring out with this body, this brain, this soul” Yuzuru Hanyu talks about "technique" —This photoshoot involved various setups and costumes, and was done in a range of situations. During the shoot, music was playing in the background, and what left an impression was how your expressions and body would immediately react the moment you heard the sound. Yeah, I do react to sound after all. When I’m thinking, “with this set, this costume, this makeup,” I sometimes wonder, “Is this song right for it?” So sometimes I try not to match the music too much, and other times I think it’s okay to match it. I kept shooting while thinking through things like that. Spoiler —If it were a world without sound, how do you think you'd approach it? Well, but even without sound, I think I could still express something. Things like the atmosphere of the space, or really, how I want it to be seen as a set. Since there’s no sound, I think I’d probably lean more toward that side of things. “If you asked me what technique is, I’d say it’s both heart and body.” —In sports, people often say that “mind, technique, and body” are all important. Among those, we’d like to hear more about the “technique” part. When you hear the word “technique” in the context of “mind-technique-body,” what kind of image comes to mind? When I think of mind-technique-body, I picture it like a triangle, with three points in balance. But in the end, when you try to focus on “technique,” the heart is there too, and the body is there too, or like… they’re all part of it. So if you isolate just “technique,” you can’t fully express what it really is… Yeah. If you asked me what technique is, I think I’d say it’s both the heart and also body. —So, not separate things, but all working together. Exactly. For example, if you take just the technique of a jump, you still need physical strength to support that technique, you need your muscles to be in shape, and you need mental strength too. So I think it’s hard to view technique as something completely separate on its own. —In this past year, as you've continued to refine your technique as a skater, have you noticed any changes in yourself? I feel like I’ve definitely started thinking more about expression. I’m always thinking about it, even in everyday life. My way of thinking about my shows, about each individual program I perform in them— I think the depth of thought I bring to those things has clearly changed. “The real deal in that field” —Where do you think that change came from? After “GIFT,” I wrote a new ice story called “RE_PRAY,” and in doing that—and in facing my own performances—I had to start thinking more carefully about what’s actually needed. Like, if I want to show something a certain way, then I need a certain technique to do that. I feel like I’ve had to live with that way of thinking even more now. Until now, as I kept skating, I hadn’t really done any formal ballet training, and I’d never properly studied dance either. I’ve gotten this far by imitating my choreographers—just copying their movements. So in a way, I don’t have the proper foundation, or I don’t have that consistent technique—I feel like it’s really just imitation. Bit by bit, I’ve been watching the movements of people who are the real thing in those fields and trying to learn: “Is this how it should be?” “Is this the way it’s done?” That kind of thing. —It’s been two years since you started your professional career. Was the shift from the competitive environment a big change for you? Back then, I spent an overwhelming amount of time bound to the framework of figure skating. I spent much more time thinking about what expression within figure skating meant. But now, as I build things myself, I’ve gradually come to understand things like, “With figure skating, I can do this, but I can’t do that.” That’s why I’ve become more proactive about learning how to use my hands, how to use my body. —In the past year, you’ve led a number of successful ice shows. One especially striking moment was at the final performance of RE_PRAY in Yokohama, when you said, “It felt like I’d won the Olympics—I was able to achieve something I’d trained incredibly hard for.” Looking back, what was behind those words? It’s because my performance in Saga, which came before Yokohama, was honestly really frustrating. Now the way things are evaluated has started shifting away from scoring and more toward overall impression. So even if I executed what I’d planned technically, and it didn’t go well, the direction of the evaluation and perspective has changed. But what I want to achieve, what I personally want to accomplish—none of that came through at all in Saga. So yeah, I was just plain frustrated. In Yokohama, I was able to achieve the things I couldn’t do in Saga. I think those words just naturally came out as a result of that. "It's not just about jumps." — After the SAGA show, you said, "Compared to any time before, I feel like I can genuinely say I’ve trained the most. I spent every day paying attention to everything—meals, sleep, all kinds of things." You also said, "For example, I’d wake up in the morning, stretch and train for an hour, go to practice, train and skate for three hours. Then I’d come home, train for another hour and a half, and do visualization training for another hour before bed. I repeated that kind of routine every day." It really conveyed how intense those days were. Of course, I trained a lot, and I also restricted my diet. Well, how should I put it—there are 24 hours in a day, but I spent every single one of those hours without anything that didn’t relate to skating. It felt like I was spending each and every day entirely for the sake of "RE_PRAY." — You also mentioned, "My current abilities still haven’t caught up to what I want to do." Right. It’s like, there are still things I need to study and learn. When people talk about technique, they tend to focus on jumps, but the techniques other than jumps are incredibly important. In fact, if your non-jump techniques aren’t solid, the performance can really fall flat. There are so many moments where, if the movements beyond the jumps aren’t well-executed, the whole thing loses its polish. So just being able to land a jump isn’t enough. On top of that, I want to express my own world, and that desire comes with specific ways I want to move my body—but I don’t yet have the technique to match that. That’s why I feel like I still need to keep learning. "There’s always more above." — From the outside, it seems like your technique has evolved and your performances have gained depth. But is what you feel something different? I do think I’ve evolved. I think I’ve gotten better. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. It’s like, the more I dig into myself, the more my ideals get higher and more specific. And the clearer my ideals become, the more I realize my body still can’t express certain delicate movements, and I notice all the sloppy little details. Like, literally, the angle of a hand by 5 centimeters, or the direction of my torso, the position of my head, the line of my gaze—even my breathing. People watching might not really notice, but I keep sensing that all these tiny, tiny parts haven’t yet been accumulated properly. That I still don’t have the technical ability I want. — You’re saying you now notice the specific things you lack—even the small details—but five or six years ago, did you see yourself that way? Well, honestly, it wouldn’t have been possible. When I was a competitive skater, if you landed your jumps, you could win. And if you didn’t, you weren’t even in the running. The outcome of a competition was basically determined by how many quadruple jumps you could do, and which kinds. Back then, there was no space to think about things like, “What memories are tied to this piece of music? What’s the backstory? What kind of story do I want to tell with this program? What kind of harmony exists between the story and the music? What’s the meaning behind this choreography?” To be honest, there just wasn’t time or mental space for any of that. Technically, you were completely maxed out, and had to land everything in just one shot during the competition—only four minutes if it was the free skate. That was the only thing you could focus on. Once you succeeded in landing the jumps and winning the competition, there wasn’t really any need to go beyond that. You’d already achieved your goal. At that point, there was no “higher” to reach. But now, in the world I’m in, no matter how much I feel like I’ve succeeded, there’s always something beyond that. In that sense, it feels like a pursuit that lasts forever. No matter how much I think I’ve achieved, I still find myself going, “Wait, I could’ve done this. I could’ve done that.” As long as I keep wanting more from myself, I think I’ll always be able to keep going. — Would you say that’s the same as the desire to keep reaching new heights? It’s a little different from wanting to reach the top. It’s not something as simple as, like, wanting to shave time off a race. How can I put this… It’s because I already know more. Because I’ve already seen what lies beyond—because of that, it feels like I shouldn’t be content with where I am now. It’s not so much that I’m driven by a desire to push forward—it’s more like a feeling of, “I can’t just stay here.” — Listening to you, it feels like your world keeps expanding—like it’s growing wider and wider. Yeah, I think that’s true. Back in the competitive world, I was ranked number one, so even if I tried harder, there wasn’t really anything beyond that. I mean, all I could do was try to hold onto that number one spot. But now, even if I reach a point that feels like “number one,” I don’t see it as number one at all. I can think, “Nope, this is still the bottom.” When I see incredible works of art from around the world, or performances with truly exceptional technique, I realize there are still so many things I can’t do. So I keep thinking, “Yeah, I still have a long way to go.” “One Step Closer to My Ideal” — During the final performance of RE_PRAY in Yokohama, you stood on the ice and addressed the audience with a microphone. I recall you saying, “I’m just a small, insignificant person.” Compared to a year ago, has your self-perception changed? If I had to say, I guess it hasn’t really changed. I’ve always been striving toward my ideal, always working hard to become the person I want to be—and that hasn’t changed. But it feels like I’ve been moving forward without ever being able to close the distance. Maybe, when I think back to the ideal I had a year ago, it’s possible I’ve already surpassed that version. But the sense of distance to my current ideal feels the same as it did a year ago. If, for example, the distance to my ideal was 10 meters a year ago, then even now, it still feels like 10 meters—or maybe it’s even expanded to 20. That’s the kind of feeling I have. “As I live and experience life, my ideal keeps evolving.” — Your ideal keeps moving forward. I live, I experience life, I take in new information every day... and as I do, I feel like my ideal keeps evolving. No matter what, there’s no way to shut out that information—and it’s not like I’m only looking at my own performances either. So, my ideal just keeps getting further away. But at the same time, I also believe that by seeing things, by experiencing things, I’ve undoubtedly taken one more step closer to that ideal. In that sense, I don’t think I’ll ever stop moving forward. I think I’ll always be small and insignificant. But even so, in my own small way, I believe there’s always something I can put out into the world—something I can be proud of. I want to keep digging deeper, so that I can say, with this body, this mind, this soul of mine, “Yes, I really gave it my all.” “I know what I need to do, and because I’m able to do that, I’m able to feel confident.” — You live each day for the sake of expression, constantly working toward your ideal. Is that ever a burden? It is hard. And I think that’s exactly why I felt a sense of accomplishment in Yokohama during RE_PRAY. If it weren’t hard, I don’t think I would’ve felt that. If there were days that weren’t hard, I think I’d probably never be able to feel confident in myself. It’s precisely because I’m working through these really difficult days, pushing and pushing myself, that I can finally feel some level of confidence. It’s not the kind of confidence where I think, “This will definitely succeed, so it’s fine.” It’s more like—I just know how to carry out the performance or the technique. I know what I need to do, and because I’m able to do that, I’m able to feel confident. — By the time this photo book is released in the fall, what do you think you’ll be doing? There’s something I’m working on, a project I’ve been planning. So I imagine I’ll be working hard toward that. I’m sure I’ll be thinking, “I want to be better than I am now, better than when I was saying all this.” And probably around that time, I’ll be going through each day thinking, “I want to quit,” or “I want to run away!” But… I don’t know. In the end, I think I’ll still be hanging in there, unable to run away, just doing my best. (Writer: Takaomi Matsubara) From Yuzuru Hanyu Photobook Gi (AERA Special Edition) (P.30-31) YUZURU HANYU X MIKA NINAGAWA AFTER THE SESSION YH: When I got this offer from Mika-san, I felt like I had to accept it. Even if it was tough (laughs). Spoiler MN: Adding these blue roses really changes the meaning of the entire photo book, so I was really hoping we could photograph them. I didn’t think it would actually happen, so I’m just so happy. Thank you so much. YH: I hesitated a lot when the request came, but I thought—if we're going to do this, I want it to be something really good. MN: Using the same set makes the changes stand out clearly, which is great. I really wanted to include that on the last page. But honestly, I feel like we got enough beautiful photos just from this session to make an entire book. YH: The world you create, Mika-san, just sort of flows straight into the brain. MN: That last shot ended up looking like outer space, didn’t it? YH: It reminded me of Kurama from "Yu Yu Hakusho."[1] I had the image of him being caught up in a set of roses, exuding an unearthly aura. MN: As expected of you. YH: Still… I really leaned into it, didn’t I? (laughs) MN: These photos around here are also so striking. You really tuned your expression to match. YH: At first, I entered the set with a neutral mindset, but when I looked at the 2018 photos, I thought, “Maybe it’d be more fun if I leaned into it.” Oh—around here is when I started changing my facial expression. It feels more contemporary. MN: It’s wonderful to be able to see that transformation. YH: I'm in my thirties now. I’m coming into my prime. MN: I'm looking forward to what happens from here on out. But I honestly can't believe Hanyu is 30. YH (looking at a photo): Recently, I’ve gotten into the habit of biting my lip, it seems. MN: I love it. Like a manga character. YH: I just find myself doing it. My ups and downs are intense these days. MN: Doesn’t that happen when you're creating something? YH: It does, definitely. MN: Right? And with that going on—thank you so much again. YH: I thought you must’ve had a tough time during the “TOKYO NODE” project too. MN: (chuckles) My hairstyle was kind of similar that time too. YH: Like, pulling the bangs up just a bit, right? MN (showing the planned layout for “Tai”): I’m thinking of laying it out so that it flows from the latest photos and gradually moves backward in time. I know how hard it is to switch gears when you're in the middle of focusing on something else, so thank you again—truly. YH: Sometimes, it's because I’m focused that I can do it. Thank you as well. MN: I hope I can keep taking lots of photos of you going forward. YH: As long as there’s demand (laughs). MN: There’s nothing but demand. (December 2024, in Sendai) [1] YuYu Hakusho is a Japanese manga series written and illustrated by Yoshihiro Togashi (also known for his manga Hunter x Hunter). It run from 1990 to 1994. An anime adaptation aired on Japan's Fuji TV network from October 1992 to January 1995. Yoko Kurama is one of the main protagonists. His name “Yoko” literally translates to "demon fox" in Japanese, which represents Kurama’s original form. (P.32) Words of Yuzuru Hanyu recorded by AERA Cover photo Mika Ninagawa Edit Naoki Fujii (AERA) Shiho Fukui (AERA) Photo director Osamu Kobayashi (Asahi Shimbun Publications) Taketo Baba (Asahi Shimbun Publications) Photo Tetsuya Higashikawa (Asahi Shimbun Publications) Taisei Ueda (Asahi Shimbun Publications) Soki Sato (Asahi Shimbun Publications) Funa Takano Art director Gennosuke Fukushima (FROG KING STUDIO) Design Masako Minami Miwa Ishiguro (FROG KING STUDIO) Naoki Morita (FROG KING STUDIO) Special Thanks team Sirius Lucky Star Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wintek Posted June 7 Author Share Posted June 7 This machine translation of the interviews compiled on Tai is also available on this link if you want to read it on the go. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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