Umibōzu—otherwise known as the Sea Monk—is one of Japanese folklore’s most enduring creatures, although the details of the legend shift from region to region. Sightings have been reported throughout Japan, and the being is often understood as the vengeful spirit of a Buddhist priest. Its appearance remains strangely consistent: a vast, slick-black figure rising from the sea, its bald, shaven head breaking the surface first. The water may have been perfectly calm moments earlier, but once the Umibōzu appears, the ocean becomes violent—surging, churning, and generally behaving as though it has developed a personal grievance against everyone aboard. There are too many uniquely eerie versions of the myth to count, but my favourites are what many call the fear check versions. The spirit asks the sailors whether they are afraid of it, or what they are afraid of. Those who show fear are doomed, while those who remain unwavering are the ones to scare Umibōzu away. The creature would immediately retreat—like an animal that cannot smell the fear on you it needs to attack, and suddenly realizes it has double-booked its evening. The most delightful one is "The Legend of Kuwana's Boatman Tokuzo.” Kuwana’s Tokuzo was an unparalleled boatman, and had a common rule amongst boatsmen and sailors not to take out their boats on New Year's Eve, as that was the night the Sea Monk was considered most active, alive. But one year, he took his boat out on New Year’s Eve, and offshore, a great wind and waves suddenly arose, and a giant monk as big as a mountain appeared in front of the boat. Tokuzo, without the slightest fear, took the boat and continued on. The monster asked Tokuzo, 'How can Tokuzo not be scared?' Tokuzo without a single flinch replied, “There is nothing scarier than the life of a sailor.” This should tell you more about the sailor Kuwanaya Tokuzo’s unflinching greatness, clearly not one to be intimidated by the sea monster, but instead does the intimidating. The famous print by Utagawa Kuniyoshi has always fascinated me because its Umibōzu looks less like a terrifying sea monster and more like a mischievous child who has become much too large and been left unsupervised near several boats. I have always felt empathy for the so-called “evil monster” in the mythic lore, in the fairytale. Since childhood, I have had a soft spot for the antagonist commonly found in stories telling us not to trust. Usually, that softness isUmibōzun into them somewhere—but I imagine beings like Umibōzu experiencing vengeance and destruction with the same urgency that the living experience oxygen. After so long without a human form, perhaps they forget they ever had a human side at all. In my version, two ballroom dancers fall from the sky, a lore from another world delivered unto it and entered the myth unfolding over the open sea. Their performance awakens something in the Sea Monk: his humanity, his love of culture and fine art, and memories of his wife and family. Mesmerized, his malevolence becomes benevolence. Instead of shipwrecking the sailors, he protects their vessels from the storm and from waves rising like weaponized walls—beautiful from a safe distance, fatal from basically every other one. Normally the cause of the wreck, Umibōzu becomes the hero. He is later invited to dinner with the captain’s family, and my version ends as every deeply cursed maritime legend naturally should: Happily ever after. Just as poverty breeds crime,
cursed souls breed shipwrecks,
drown sailors with ladles,
and conduct fear tests at sea. Life, to me, will always be a dark comedy. I animated the original print in its entirety, then created my own Ukiyo-e inspired, digitally created print and prior to being able to complete a video generation absent from the historical works: the Sea Monk’s dinner visit, the dancers, and the return of memory. I had to fill those in, the dinner scene especially was created from nothing. A generation I wasn’t happy with happened, I took a screenshot, made edits with my line up of specially chosen apps, never judged by their no name status. My work and version is ultimately about how easily the parts of us that seem permanently active can become dormant. Memory grows lazy without the right stimulus. Consciousness forgets. Sometimes something extraordinary must awaken what has gone quiet—reminding a being what it is, what it once loved, and that it still possesses certain traits, including emotion. Emotion may be the first thing deliberately suppressed when vengeance needs to continue uninterrupted and in its rawest form. For the story-inscription section, the most fitting addition seems to be a link to the astonishingly vast collection of Umibōzu myths and regional variations. There is no single definitive Sea Monk—only a restless ocean of versions, each surfacing with its own warning. Sound on! I feel repetitive but chances are even if you’ve read me write this before, you won’t remember: I also create the noisecore melodies and experimental soundscapes for 99.9% of my animations. I’m hands on all over, but love collaborating and getting my hands on someone else’s work and vice versa.