One-legged Torii Gate
Oil, charcoal, graphite on paper
18” x 24”
Oil, charcoal, graphite on paper
18” x 24”
On August 9, 1945, at 11:02 a.m., the United States dropped the second atomic bomb on Nagasaki, Japan. Although the bomb was more powerful than the one used on Hiroshima, its effects were confined by hillsides to the narrow Urakami Valley.
On the day of the bombing, an estimated 263,000 people were in Nagasaki. It is estimated that around 25,000 people were injured and 75,000 people died by the end of the year. Most were civilians, including many conscripted Koreans and Chinese. The intense heat, blast, and radiation destroyed much of the city within seconds, including homes, schools, hospitals, and religious sites.
Courtesy of the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum
Photograph by Shigeo Hayashi / Courtesy of Sanno Shrine
Sanno Shrine was located just 800 meters from the hypocenter. Before the atomic bombing, there were four torii gates lining the approach to Sanno Shrine. These gates—large, traditional Japanese Shinto structures typically made of stone—stood as sacred markers leading worshippers to the shrine. Of the four torii, only the first and second gates, which happened to stand parallel to the direction of the blast, survived the explosion. The others were completely destroyed.
The first torii remarkably survived the atomic blast with its original form intact. However, in 1962, it was dismantled due to damage from a traffic accident. The second torii suffered severe damage: the side closest to the blast was blown away, and the remaining top lintel stone was twisted about 12 degrees. Yet, astonishingly, the remaining half continued to stand, balanced on a single column of stone.
The area around Sakamoto-machi, at the foot of Mount Konpira, became an escape route for survivors fleeing the fires after the bombing. Many passed through these torii gates on their desperate journey over the hills to safety.
Even today, the second torii of Sanno Shrine stands on its one remaining leg—silent, yet powerfully symbolic. It witnessed the suffering of those who fled, and its scarred, unyielding form continues to speak to us of the horror and resilience born from that tragic day.
