I think it has become cool in a “controversial” sort of way to proclaim a strong distaste for Moriyama—like, he doesn’t represent Japanese photography, man! My feeling about Moriyama and Araki—who elicits the same reaction—is that at this point, they’re not worth making a fuss over. They are an unmovable part of the landscape, and regardless of whether they produce good work or bad work from here on out, their positions are secure.
I’m going to suggest that everyone adopt this “wild” opinion as quickly as possible! Let’s all talk about how much we hate Moriyama—not so much his photographs of course as what he stands for!—so that we can get through this, have a backlash against the backlash and not have to talk about it anymore.
This conversation frustrates me because it has little to do with photography. The view that Moriyama does not “represent” Japanese photography, or that he has stolen attention from other Japanese photographers, has more to do with the impressions that these photographs have made on foreigners. As it happens, I think a lot of Moriyama’s recent stuff isn’t very strong, and that he’s leaving himself open to fair criticism by overextending his brand, but a quick look at almost any of the recent Record magazines shows he hasn’t lost it—as if he still had to prove or justify himself anyway! A friend pointed out that his fame has only come recently; during the 70s he was literally selling whole boxes of prints to get by.
All that said, I agree with the feeling behind this complaint. It can’t be a good thing that Araki and Moriyama are so often equated with “Japanese photography.” But if we really wanted to see some new faces get recognition abroad, why not talk about… some new Japanese photographers?
Yo, did you know that Yamashita Tsuneo put a whole bunch of his “Another Time on the Ryuku Islands” photos online? He most definitely did, go check them out!
From now until October 15, you can see some Moriyama Daido prints while you engage in that all too common of Tokyo activities, drinking yourself into oblivion. They’re up at Kodoji, a bar located in the Golden Gai district of Shinjuku—an area as infamous for the microscopic size of its bars as for its colorful history.
Some bars in Golden Gai have themes, and Kodoji is an out-and-out photographer’s bar, complete with a whole bunch of great photo books in a back corner. There are two exhibits up each month, always shot by regular patrons. As for the prints, they’re actually not that amazing, but it’s a nice to literally “hang out” with them. If you stop in on the right night, you might even see the guy himself, and if you can handle a bit of Japanese you’re sure to have interesting conversations with the other patrons anyway.
I’ve added an entry for Kodoji to my map of Tokyo stuff, but beware!! The marker is not exact, it only marks the general Golden Gai area. Golden Gai bars are not exactly secretive, but I’m also not comfortable publishing the exact location online. Here’s a hint, though, the name of the place is written out in hiragana…
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
I was serious! As a living deity of photography, Moriyama is all over the place in Tokyo. (So is Araki, but that’s a different post.) Here are some pictures I took at LOGOS Books in Shibuya, where there’s a month long feature on Moriyama, I think for no reason in particular though I can’t be totally sure.
(But mostly Moriyama)
Bold t-shirts
$50 each
The back of the shirts
I did a bad job of taking a picture of most of the books, which are sitting on this shelf. But down here are issues of “Record,” Moriyama’s own periodical photo mag, which is printed beautifully. (It sells for a little over $20.)
The cover of Record no. 10, and a reminder of why I can’t be seriously cynical about Moriyama’s vast exposure.
I know there are only so many times that I’m going to be able to pass up Record no. 11, which was shot in Moriyama’s old stomping grounds of Osaka, in summertime—and probably in a weekend, if not one day. There’s a lot of photos from in and around Shinsekai, and that flavor really comes through the page.
There you have it, even in the midst of this frankly absurd amount of paraphernalia—and this is not the only time I’ve seen this much Moriyama junk in one place—I still can’t deny Daido his talent. It’s a bit maddening actually.
Daido Moriyama is a personal hero: after all, one of his photos graces the header of this blog. Two of his recent shows, though, have been a bit disappointing.
Let’s back up for a second. Moriyama’s signature style is a black-and-white photograph which has been exposed, developed and printed with an eye towards extreme contrast. It is hard to mistake one of his stronger photographs for the work of anyone else. When looking at a book of Moriyama’s photos, you might not be drawn into each image, but they can all generally hold your attention. When you do make a connection with an image, the effect is heightened because of the striking tones of black and white. At his best, Moriyama makes it pleasurable to look at a very plain image, because it has been modified so dramatically by his process.
a Moriyama image from Buenos Aires
So what could go wrong with an exhibit? In short, presentation. The first show I saw was a joint exhibit with the Brazilian photographer Miguel Rio Branco. Moriyama photographed São Paulo, and Rio Branco photographed Tokyo. On the way into the exhibit were five Moriyama prints, well spaced out in a line. This gave time to look at each image. So far so good, but then came the centerpiece of Moriyama’s contribution. Imagine a wall 50 feet long. Then imagine that wall completely covered in a grid of about 100 photographs, all printed quite large, in borderless frames and mounted within an inch of each other. If it’s hard to visualize this, here’s a cellphone picture of the other exhibition I saw (“Hokkaido”), which was presented in the same way:
“Hokkaido” at Rat Hole Gallery
Maybe Moriyama’s books are thrown together at random, but this way of exhibiting seems like a way of not actually editing his work. When you want to move on from one image, your eye can go in eight different directions! I suppose that this presentation does highlight Moriyama’s process—the effect of seeing so much beautifully realized contrast in one place is striking. But it’s also overpowering: how are you supposed to look at anything?
