The trunks are completely smooth and stand densely down the slope. A small, curvy road leads down through the middle. We slowly walk up the hill. The sounds of the city, which were clearly identifiable before, are suddenly noticeably muffled. The leaves become sound absorbers, like a padded curtain, a grown and very dense vault. I stand under a protective roof. The underwood-free ground makes the bamboo grove look like the architecture of an audible interior. I imagine how the trunks move in strong winds, banging against each other and producing arrhythmic, percussive sounds. It is completely windless, but when I look at these smooth and slightly bent trunks, I think of movement like a storm, and try to transfer the extreme elasticity of these tall plants into an audible image. I imagine hearing the hollow trunks colliding, making rubbing and beating noises and bending in all directions under the force of the gusts of wind, like drumsticks in a vortex.

Kyoto, September 1994