Yuragi is the very fact that the world is constantly breathing.
The wind stirs, light shifts ever so slightly,
and the surface of water ripples in quiet motion.
All these movements exist as minute phenomena,
so subtle that they almost escape the eye.

When the photographer senses this,
the boundary between the world and the self begins to dissolve.
This sensation is what I call Nagi.
Nagi is not complete stillness,
but a fluctuation alive within silence.

From a scientific point of view,
it may resemble what is known as the 1/f fluctuation,
a natural rhythm found in waves, in wind, or in the beat of the heart.
Yet within Zero-horizon, it is never defined by numbers.
Nagi is a felt phenomenon,
born between the mind and the world,
and photography is the act of receiving the trace of that breath.

To photograph is not to dominate the world.
It is to align one’s own breathing
with the rhythm of light, of wind, and of silence.
In that instant, the world and the human being breathe in the same tempo,
and the photograph is born as the form of their resonance.

This is what Zero-horizon means by “photographing phenomena.”
Nagi arises at the point
where the world’s phenomena and human awareness intersect.
The act of bringing this balance of breath into harmony
is called Shadō—the Way of the Photograph.
Shadō is a discipline of attunement
through which the world may reveal its own reflection;
the human role is not to intervene,
but to be the one who quietly brings things into balance.

Both Yuragi and Nagi are instinctive memories of sensitivity that dwell within us.
When the sight of a blooming flower softens the heart,
when the sound of wind awakens a gentle nostalgia,
within that sensation lies the ability
to share the world’s own breath.

Photography, then, is the act of lifting a fragment of that breath,
of quietly receiving the moment when the world speaks for itself.
That silent exchange—
the synchrony with the breathing of the world—
is what Zero-horizon Photographic Art ultimately seeks to embody.