Demons and Deities. Water, salt, sand, and fans. Colossal bodies cutting through the air, revolutionizing the laws of motion. Sumo is not just a sport; it is the very essence of Japanese identity. On the dohyō, ritual sacredness and athletic profanity cease to be opposing forces: they’ve been this way since the distant 6th century, evolving a tradition that has become a cornerstone of culture, society, and the sporting imagination of the entire Land of the Rising Sun. But what happens away from the misty arenas that embrace the feats of these monumental human beings?

“I wanted to capture the daily training of these wrestlers,” says Eren Saracevic, describing his reportage. “Sumo is a cyclical dance between resistance and surrender, where repetition plays a pivotal role. The bodies of these athletes resemble landscapes: curves, folds, scars, and bruises tell stories. I love the texture of the sand clinging to the skin, the dirty bandages wrapping ankles and knees, the sweat running down the back—every detail is part of a visual language of effort and vulnerability. For me, sumo is a collision of two natural forces, but it is also everything that happens in between: the pause, the exhalations, the defeat… Illuminated by beams of light filtering through the windows of a heya (the legendary training centers of the discipline), sumo reveals much more than its already known brute power. The dim light contrasts with shadows surrounding these massive forms, creating an unparalleled environment, and a sacred atmosphere…”

His lens marks the rhythm of daily life within a heya, showcasing the routines and aesthetics of training centers synonymous with brotherhoods: forges of exceptional athletes who lead monastic lives, while simultaneously forming lifelong bonds, nourishing the balance between the sacred and the profane that defines a sporting cosmos like no other.