"Sun Child" featuring Meera Kumar on vocal (Version with English subtitles)

I started writing a narrative lyric about a fictitious character. The character is an ordinary man who is fantasized about by a mysterious child figure and eventually taken to a “wonderland-like” place. I was imagining something along the lyrics of Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play.”

I began the lyric with three words: “Oh, Moon Child.” As I continued writing, I suddenly remembered that King Crimson has a song titled “Moonchild.” I thought, “Oh no, I can’t plagiarize such a famous song.” So I looked for an alternative and came up with “Sun Child,” an easy variation on Moon Child. At the same time, it felt almost too easy—thoughtless, even—and I worried it might be a stupid decision.

However, the phrase “Sun Child” triggered a memory. It reminded me of a little girl who I saw in Toronto, Canada, when I traveled there for sightseeing in 1995.

I visited an old historical building, Casa Loma, which I was told is the most famous castle in Canada. I enjoyed exploring both the interior and exterior of the building, but perhaps because of my underlying “socialist” ideological way of thinking—my subconscious disapproval of wealthy people’s lifestyles (in other words, maybe I just hate rich people?)—I didn’t feel like taking photographs of the castle itself or its exhibits. Instead, I photographed people walking around, sunlight streaming through windows, fire extinguishers—things not necessarily related to the historical significance of the building. Eventually, I made my way to the highest floor, which appeared to be an empty storage room whose walls were covered in graffiti. I doubt visitors were meant to enter this room; perhaps someone had simply forgotten to lock the door.

The graffiti was typical of what you see in public bathrooms all over the world: anarchistic political slogans, pornographic drawings, scatological obscenities, and visitors’ names scrawled as proof of their presence. I found the room fascinating, especially in contrast to the castle’s formal and intimidating appearance, and began photographing the graffiti from several different angles.
Then I heard someone coming upstairs.

A little blond girl’s head appeared at the top of the stairway. She stood there, wide-eyed, staring into the room. When she noticed me, I thought it would be an interesting image to capture this artless child against the dirty graffiti-covered background. I said, “Hey, look at me and smile.” She did so awkwardly, clearly a little frightened by a stranger, her expression confused and uncertain. I took the photo.

It remains one of the best shots I’ve ever taken.

Later, I made a postcard from this photo titled “Angel” and sold it as part of my Japan Relief Postcards Project at the Ann Arbor Artisan Market, Ann Arbor, Michigan. All profits from the sales were donated to the Red Cross and the Salvation Army for Japan tsunami relief in 2011.
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I have always been very fond of this Angel photograph. Its dry sarcasm and black humor, I believe, strongly appeal to viewers. So when I later thought of the song title “Sun Child,” I immediately associated it with this little girl in the photo. That connection inspired me to write lyrics featuring a symbolic, innocent child figure—one who represents immaculate sincerity, something all human beings should possess in this confused and unhealthy world.

In the second verse, the line “Oh, Sun Child, you’re here hanging around wiping out the graffiti inside” refers to this angelic girl entering the graffiti-filled room. Of course, she didn’t actually come to erase the graffiti. But to me, she embodied the Sun Child—someone who arrives in this world to eradicate pain and sadness.