Mermaid's Sheet Music (September 15, 2006 - Essay)

Yesterday, I was watching synchronized swimming on TV. Of course, I thought Japan was wonderful. Although I was watching Japan most intently, I felt a visual rhythm in the performances of the Russian athletes in particular.

Beautiful circles are created on the water's surface by the footwork of the solo performer. Circles spinning around along with the music. They are discs playing sound on the water. In reality, the direction from which the sound is heard is different from inside the water. However, as I stare at those circles of water, it is as if the competitor in the center of the circle is playing the music.

I also look at the lines marked on the pool lanes. They are like the staff lines in sheet music.
On those lines, the competitors become musical notes, embodying various melodies.

Along the way, a triangular guitar pick spins around.

The musical notes continued to play perfectly harmonious music at every moment.

In the end, one musical note took the shape of a quarter rest high up, and the music reached its completed form.


The surface of the water became the page of a musical score. The competitors became musical notes. The competitors synchronized with each other to become music. And ultimately, it becomes a collection of songs where the music of every country is written down. It is a collection of songs, and there is no winning or losing. There is no best song. There is no worst song. There is only the superiority or inferiority determined by how much spirit the competitors put into it, the degree of their training, and things of that nature.

Perhaps the criteria for determining excellence in music and in water sports are no different at all.