“April 2011. Ishimaki. Onagawa. Kesennuma. Rikuzentakata. All these places were just so quiet. I realized for the first time how quietness connotes fear. There were no sounds. Instead, there were only fragments of what used to be part of peoples’ lives, strewn about in piles on the ground. Against this leveled ground of rubble, the sky looked broader and more expansive than ever. Standing there for a while, I considered the smallness of my existence; so small that even a gust of wind could have blown me away. In that moment, I could also feel the reality of standing right here, in this body. To grasp that we exist, silence is necessary. And that silence is joined to fear.
In that quiet space, I saw a pair of pigeons - one black and one white.“
— Rinko Kawauchi