spirit it supports.
In 2017, a storm ripped the roof off and shattered its glass doors, but volunteers—many of whom had used the booth themselves—quickly repaired it. In 2018, donations from the community allowed Sasaki to replace the original wooden structure with a sturdier aluminum version, ensuring its legacy would endure. The Wind Telephone’s profound simplicity has inspired replicas around the world. In Oakland, California, artist Jordan Stern constructed a similar booth in 2017 to honor the 36 lives lost in the Ghost Ship warehouse fire, including that of a close friend. In Dublin, Ireland, an anonymous art collective placed a wind phone on a mountaintop, creating a beacon for the grieving until it was tragically destroyed. Other versions have appeared across the globe (and other parts of Japan), each adapted to the cultural and emotional needs of its community. At its heart, the Wind Telephone is more than an art installation—it is a space where love and grief intertwine, where absence is met with memory, and where silence is filled with meaning. It offers no solutions, only a chance to voice the unspoken, to lean into the ache of loss, and to find a flicker of peace in the act of reaching out. On its hill in Ōtsuchi, the Wind Telephone remains a quiet sentinel, its glass panes reflecting the sky and the sea beyond. Within its walls, the echoes of countless voices linger, carrying stories of heartbreak, resilience, and an enduring connection to those no longer here. It is a testament to the human need for expression, a reminder that even in the depths of loss, we are bound by the invisible threads of love and memory. ●
To find a Wind Phone near you, visit My Wind Phone at www.mywindphone.com, an interactive map that helps locate these meaningful installations around the world.
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