Posts tagged 'photographer features'

Kitai Kazuo, "Spanish Night"

Posted on January 21, 2011
photographer features

At 66, Kitai Kazuo (Kazuo Kitai) may be the oldest photographer I’ve featured on this blog yet. While he doesn’t have instant name recognition, he’s very well-respected in Japan for his black and white snapshot work: last year at Tokyo’s Metropolitan Museum of Photography, his work was given equal footing alongside Daido Moriyama, Masahisa Fukase, Hiromi Tsuchida and others. He’s also the recipient of the first (sometimes career-making) Kimura Ihee prize in 1975, which is kind of funny because he was Kimura’s friend.

Kitai has an interesting history: he was born in Manchuria, and has returned to China a number of times to photograph it. He was present at, and photographed, the 1967 Narita protests, which the government crushed, putting an end to Japan’s student movement. In the 1970s, he ran into Hiromi Tsuchida a number times in remote villages, while they were each shooting projects on rural Japan. (The story goes that Kitai would give Tsuchida a ride in his car.)

In the fall of 1977, Kitai took a trip to Spain, shot some rolls of color, and never did anything with the film. Now, 30 years later, he’s made these photos into a book published by Tosei-sha called “Spanish Night.” There’s been no effort to undo the effect of time on the negatives, and I really like how the colors turned out. It’s fun to guess what the people here were thinking. I’d imagine something along of the lines of, “what the hell is this Japanese guy doing here taking pictures of us?” I don’t sense any hesitation on Kitai’s part, though, more like the thrill of exploring a new place. This is a short book but it really hits the mark.





© Kitai Kazuo





© Kitai Kazuo





© Kitai Kazuo





© Kitai Kazuo





© Kitai Kazuo





© Kitai Kazuo





© Kitai Kazuo



---


Hayato Wakabayashi, "Vanishing"

Posted on September 27, 2010
photographer features

A while ago I sent Hayato Wakabayashi a short email to see if he was free to meet up, and he wrote back, “sorry, there’s a typhoon in Kyushu, I have to go shoot!”

Wakabayashi is the most concept-driven photographer I have met in Japan so far: his personal work is the result of a logical system which he has worked over and over until it arrives at a somewhat stable point. His current series, “Vanishing,” was shot in and around volcanoes and typhoons, and he is after some connection between these natural phenomena and the experience of early man. Really though, because he has such strong ideas about his own photographs, I know I am doing him a small disservice by not reproducing (or attempting to clearly explain) his statement for this series, but you can find the original Japanese version here. (I’m thinking of maybe doing some interviews for this blog, a conversation with Wakabayashi would be interesting and maybe then we can dig into his concepts.)

My initial reaction to these photos was that they were too “pretty”; to turn a powerful, and quite possibly hazardous phenomenon into an aesthetically pleasing one might distract the viewer from comprehending what’s going on. But I think enough of Wakabayashi’s own experience is visible to prevent the series from slipping into pure fascination, i.e. “dude isnt nature amazing?” (And it is! But I don’t want or need a photograph to tell me that.) This is especially true of the typhoon photos, where his own struggle to create these images is clear. In his statement, Wakabayashi talks about getting knocked down by waves while shooting, and conceptual as this work may be, being able to refer back to the human being clicking the shutter kept it interesting.

It’s a bit late, but this work is up at Tosei-Sha Gallery until Thursday (9/30) of this week.





© Hayato Wakabayashi







© Hayato Wakabayashi







© Hayato Wakabayashi







© Hayato Wakabayashi







© Hayato Wakabayashi







© Hayato Wakabayashi







© Hayato Wakabayashi





---


Koji Takiguchi and material tension

Posted on May 07, 2010

This post comes ahead of Koji Takiguchi’s exhibit “PEEP,” which opens on May 10 at Tokyo Visual Arts Gallery and runs until June 5.

Koji Takiguchi is a young photographer from Yokohama who looks to be on the verge of breaking out. He won a Canon New Cosmos Prize in 2004, winning praise from Nobuyoshi Araki. In 2008, he published “Sou,” an unflinching, often difficult look at a number of events in his family life: the death of his wife’s parents and their cat, followed by the birth of his own child. Two years on from that project, Takiguchi is in the middle of a new series, “PEEP.” This work should earn him a new level of appreciation within Japan, and hopefully outside of it as well. “Sou” is remarkable for its direct approach to Takiguchi’s own pain and joy, but with “PEEP” he has distinguished himself from many of his contemporaries by making a similarly direct inquiry into questions of class, happiness, family, work and vice in current Japanese culture.

PEEP” is a series of portraits of Japanese people, where each person is photographed three times: in their home, at work, and at play. This approach seems well suited to Japan, where one’s private life is often kept hidden from view.* Photographing a person wearing these three different masks, so to speak, might seem like a good way to “reveal” who they are. And indeed, in his statement for the series, Takiguchi claims that the concept of “PEEP” is to avoid a “one-sided only” approach, and allow the subjects to “have self-direction and stare back” at us.

Magazine editor




“He edits an economy magazine. He has lots of hobbies, including reading books of course, but he is also interested in collecting music (records, etc.) and various subcultures. Besides cultural activities, he also likes table tennis and it seems he sometimes exercises in order to alleviate stress. I think he is fully enjoying a life on his own.”

In other words, despite its title, “PEEP” is not meant to be an exercise in voyeurism. Takiguchi is very deliberate about the way he photographs his subjects, to the point of making his own disruption into their lives clear. After all, he is something of an intruder: he has to follow them into their home and workplace, then set up a large format camera and snap away! After going through such trouble, how would it be possible to let someone have “self-direction” while trying to shoot a candid photo?** So the subject always looks directly into the camera; they can control the way that they represent themselves, which allows the viewer a chance to meet their gaze comfortably.

Deai site operator














“He’s been working at a dating website for a long time. He’s dreaming of musical activities in an indie band. It seems like a lot of the people who are active musically are employed at places like dating websites. Work is work, and he’s doing that work in order to do things he wants to do and make a living.

The friends in his area know what his job is, but they don’t seem to know what he does in a concrete sense.”

In that sense (i.e. as a concept), “PEEP” functions properly, but there’s more to the series than Takiguchi is letting on. This work documents certain material realities of contemporary Japan, without using a photographic vocabulary of “this is good” or “this is bad”—as if we could say those words with a straight face anyway! The power of this series comes from the tension that exists between the roles one must play in society; namely between one’s work and everything else, because at any time, work can demand sacrifices against one’s will. Group activities can create similar demands, with almost as much power behind them, not to mention one’s obligation to family.*** In the face of this condition, how do people enjoy themselves? What relation is there between class and happiness? Is there any connection between work and play? What does having a “good” job do to someone’s life? Is it possible to balance work and family? “PEEP” brings out these kinds of questions, which is remarkable for a work of Japanese photography.

Painter




“As an artist, she has a number individual domestic exhibitions every year. At the time (she currently lives alone), she was living in her parent’s house. I thought she always seemed to have an enjoyable life there (the children in the picture are her younger sister’s children).

Her hobby is pachinko, and when she goes to a pachinko parlor she
seems to be there the whole day, from dawn until dusk. A painter who is surrounded by family and has pachinko as a hobby – I think this unexpected combination of things in her life is interesting.”

Certain “types” of people appear that might be familiar to a Japanese audience appear in these photos, but they often show these roles in a complex light. Take the magazine editor, a neat-looking young professional by day, who turns out to be a record-playing, whiskey-sipping Lothario by night. Having seen this come-hither pose, his little smirk in front of the mountains of paper which have built up at his desk takes on a different meaning. The artist’s pachinko habit is surprising in that pachinko is associated with old men, or the lower class in general. She can also afford a devious smile, but that’s not true of the deai site worker, who looks unable to hide his glumness in all three of his portraits. Some people are able to make work less painful—a surfboard maker seems to have struck the best balance—but others seem unable to deal with this tension.

Takiguchi is working in a documentary tradition going back to August Sander, whose portraits still provoke questions about the lives of the people he photographed. Only a historian would look at this work and wonder about Sander’s own life! Because Takiguchi takes a similarly uninterested stance with respect to himself, his work reflects back the lives of his subjects with maybe even more power than he intended—the work well surpasses his concept. (…and how’s that for a change?) Takiguchi has shot around 40 people so far, and he’s hoping to have 100 people completed by next year, at which point he’ll end the project. When it’s over, “PEEP” could very well come to be viewed as a seminal work of Japanese photography for the early millennium.


More images from this series can be seen on Koji Takiguchi’s website.

Captions written by Koji Takiguchi, translated by Adam Bronson.

*Yeah, I do think this is something particularly true of Japan. If you walk down the street and see that someone is dressed a certain way, you might be able to draw one conclusion about them (they like visual-kei, they’re a construction worker, they work in an office, they’re a host, they’re a student) but not much more than that. Many people wear uniforms in Japan, and not just school or company-issued ones; fashion functions in a similar way. Clothes can function like a mask, which makes it easier to preserve one’s private life—which is why it’s so interesting to see two other sides of someone in “PEEP.”

**Philip Lorca-DiCorcia’s “Heads“ series functions, and succeeds, in the exact opposite way.

***I want to suggest that this happens more frequently, and with more finality (especially in the case of work, which is totally incontestable) than in other countries.



---


Aya Fujioka's "I Don't Sleep" and the Akaakaesque

Posted on March 18, 2010

“I just think there’s nothing more satisfying than the narrative thrust: beginning, middle, and end, what’s gonna happen. The thing I’m always bumping up against is that photography doesn’t function that way. Because it’s not a time-based medium, it’s frozen in time, they suggest stories, they don’t tell stories. So it is not narrative. So it functions much more like poetry than it does like the novel. It’s just these impressions and you leave it to the viewer to put together.”

Alec Soth

I would like to start this post by introducing the word “Akaakaesque,” a term coined after the art book publisher Akaaka-sha. Akaaka has established a strong point of view for themselves in photography books, and while not every book they publish is actually Akaakaesque, they are consistent about publishing color work which is highly personal, to the point of willfully excluding the “real” world, or the one outside of the photographer’s head. In cinematic language, this might be close to cinéma d’auteur—damned if the photographer’s going to let anything get in the way of their vision.





Aya Fujioka’s “I Don’t Sleep” is published by Akaaka-sha, and it strikes me as extremely Akaakaesque. Events in Fujioka’s life push this book along, and more than an exploration of photographic technique or “photography itself,” they provide the tension which makes “I Don’t Sleep” quite difficult to put down once you’ve started looking at it. These photographs document a family trauma, and it sometimes seems as though Fujioka wants to grip the viewer, hold them up to her experience and not let go. If this sounds uncomfortable, it can be, but the book’s palpable intensity really sets it apart.

What makes the work so strong, though, is that Fujioka does not generate this intense effect through an exploitative or overly sentimental treatment of her subject. On the contrary, she has made an honest effort to communicate her experience as clearly as possible. If the work is not actually, as it were, clear, this isn’t because Fujioka set out to make a vague book.* The structure of “I Don’t Sleep” provides some insight here.





The first half of the book establishes Fujioka’s photographic style: basically, a refined snapshot. To be successful, snapshots usually rely on a tension between elements in the frame, and there is certainly tension running through these images: we see the strange combination of a flower bush and a staircase, a stray branch filling out the composition of an empty scene, and a fractured vista signboard in front of view it’s supposed to represent. In each case, the images have a tenuous balance; this is particularly true of the flower and the staircase, whose equal weight within the picture strikes me as quite strange. There are slight indications that the photographer is traveling somewhere, with someone else, but still, these photographs don’t indicate what’s happening.

The second part of the book addresses the central trauma more directly, and brings home the intensity of Fujioka’s experience. Up until this point, the book is edited like a collection of snapshots; there’s always a clear change of place and subject from one page to the next. But the second part starts off breaking this rhythm, with two separate 8-page digressions, each showing a series of one thing, all taken from similar perspectives. (You can see some of these photos in the Japan Exposures gallery.) These digressions come as a shock, certainly with respect to the pacing and editing of the book, but also because they it reveal the reason for Fujioka’s journey, and maybe also why she “Can’t Sleep.” They almost make a red herring out of the first half of the book—its delicate tension can be read differently in this new light, but it seems more like a foil for the second half, a kind of misdirection to bring you in close before revealing something darker. These two passages make the intensity of Fujioka’s experience clear.





After Hiromix, there have been any number of books published in Japan of color snapshots, especially by women. But “I Don’t Sleep” distinguishes itself from this crowd through its tight sequencing: the book has a beginning, middle, and end, always striving to maintain clarity in the face of severe personal stress. It’s an impossible task, of course, but as a method it yields compelling results. “I Don’t Sleep” is more than just Akaakaesque—this word imparts nothing of the coherency of the book. There are dramatic events here, but no dramatic effects. “I Don’t Sleep” came out in late December of last year, which makes it either the last essential book of 2009, or the first essential book of 2010.


Available at the Japan Exposures store.


* We could say that each photo is like a musical note which needs to be arranged to create a coherent piece of music. On its own, the photograph has only a tangential relation to experience. The work might have an internal coherency, but even then, expecting it to have some meaningful relationship to experience is like hoping for a spiritual revelation after sending some holy book through a game of “telephone.” (Which doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen)



---



---