[2026.02.03] "Hane" Photobook (Toru Yaguchi)

[Wintek]

『羽生結弦 写真集「羽」』("Yuzuru Hanyu Photobook 'Feather'")

Publication date: February 3rd, 2026

Photographer: Toru Yaguchi

Pages: 160

Publisher: Fusosha

Format: printed (regular and special editions with different covers) and digital (e-magazine with special cover).

Regular and Special Editions, they includes a QR code to watch a making of video, which is different for each edition. The digital edition's making of video is the same as the regular edition.

 

[Wintek]

By Toru Yaguchi

Machine translation, inaccuracies exist

Hanyu is moving forward
At a speed that is not easy to catch up with

In the white cyclorama studio in Sendai—so large that the heating could not fully reach every corner—the winter night air of the northern country still lingered. It was December 2023. I carried out a studio portrait shoot with Hanyu for the first time. I still remember that moment clearly. A black shirt, black pants, and bare feet. Standing in the position I indicated, Hanyu lightly stretched and repeatedly made springing, bouncing movements. His motions were soft and buoyant, as if he had wings, yet his downward gaze and expression were sharp. He reminded me of a small tiger. There was a tension there that was clearly different from any subject I had faced before.

Suddenly, Hanyu stopped moving, looked straight at me, and asked, “How do you want to shoot this?” I told him, “I want to photograph something that isn’t just the material itself.”[1] Hanyu showed a face as if thinking for just a moment, then quietly replied, “You mean, show my unguarded self?” Putting it into words felt somehow off. Keeping that sensation, I gave a vague reply, and we began the shoot.

The lighting was a single light: a 150-centimeter octabox placed at front-top. No matter which way Hanyu faced, no matter how largely he moved, it softly illuminated his entire body. I didn’t want to restrict his free expression any more than necessary. Following the structure I had planned in advance, I pressed the shutter in complete absorption. Movements from past programs I had seen, jumps, fleeting expressions in passing moments. When the roughly 20-minute shoot ended, Hanyu naturally extended his right hand toward me. At the moment we shook hands, I could see sweat beading on his forehead. “That was tiring,” he said, smiling. That was his answer to my request.

There are things that spill away the moment one tries to explain the heart. Language organizes things and gives them form, but the heart is far vaguer and softer, closer to being unfinished. Hanyu’s skating, and the words he chooses, are always like that. Because they are offered softly without defining their contours[2], his expressions sink deeply into the hearts of those who receive them. There was a time we talked about “Danny Boy,” which he performed in an ice show. When I told him, “I felt like I could watch it forever,” Hanyu paused slightly and replied only, “I think I’ve become able to stay close to people’s hearts.” No reasons, no background were explained. And yet, when I heard those words, it somehow made sense to me, why his expression had grown this deep. 

Through the connections of many people, over the past two years I was fortunate enough to have several opportunities to photograph Hanyu. What I felt during that time was that, little by little, he was trying to understand me.

“Which side is the main light?” “Lighting is amazing, isn’t it?” “When the outfit is black, how should the background be?”

During breaks in shooting, he began to naturally ask things like this. He wasn’t simply standing there as the one being photographed; I could feel that he was interested in what we were doing, and was trying to think together about how the work could become better. Behind that attitude, there was a quiet respect toward others who stand in different positions.

When you take photographs, many things are conveyed without words being exchanged: how the other person felt standing there, what kind of distance the two of you shared while facing each other. When you look back at the photos after the shoot, even the relationship at that moment, even the air flowing through that space, is clearly captured within them. Several years have passed since he turned professional. Each time we spent more time facing each other, one thing came through unmistakably: Hanyu was moving toward a place different from before. 

As I photographed him, there were moments when I was honest with myself. Was I unable to keep up with the speed at which he was moving? When you photograph someone, you come to vaguely understand them. But at the same time, the person being photographed can also see you very clearly. Your hesitation, the parts where you fall short, you can’t completely hide them. I think he could see that in me as well. Even so, he stood in the same place and thought things through together with me. That fact made me happy; and yet, it was frustrating. I had to try harder. Facing Hanyu was fun. And it was painful.

In April 2025, we photographed again in Sendai. The location was outdoors at that same white cyclorama studio. It was just before sunset, the “magic hour.” Photographing Hanyu wrapped in the soft natural light of an open outdoor space was something I had long wanted to do. For the shoot, I set up a simple story. “You fall asleep on the sofa, and when you wake up, the sky outside the window is so beautiful that you step outside without thinking.” Then, facing a straight road ahead, I told him, “Go forward here, and then turn back toward the camera.” As he began walking, I added, “Like you’re having fun—” and he started skipping. The speed was too fast to keep up with while looking through the viewfinder, and I couldn’t help calling out, “A bit fast—too fast.”He turned around and laughed. Hanyu is moving forward. Even now, his speed doesn’t seem easy to catch up with. And yet, he shows me smiles like that.

Every time I look at the photographs taken that day, I remember. The wind was strong, and it was chilly, cold for April. After the rain, a large rainbow appeared. The orange sunlight was soft. Cherry blossom petals, just beginning to fall, were dancing in the air. Worried, I asked, “Aren’t you cold?” As if circling around the sound of the wind, Hanyu replied only, “I’m fine.” You can’t let things end while they are still lacking[3]. Both the kindness and the severity that make you feel that way flow quietly through Hanyu’s expression.

 

 

NOTES

 

[1] 素材じゃない: where 素材（sozai） = material, raw material, ingredient; in photography / media: a subject as “usable content,” something processed later. “I want to capture something beyond him as a ‘resource.’

[2] 輪郭を決めない, where 輪郭（rinkaku）= outline, contour, defined shape; 決めない = not to decide, not to fix. Other options: “without fixing its shape”, “without locking down its meaning.”

[3] 足りないままで終われない: 足りない = not enough, insufficient; ままで = while remaining in that state; 終われない = cannot end / cannot finish.