Ueno Park Cleanup


The final image of Nobuyoshi Araki’s Hitomachi (Junposha, 1999), his year-long love letter to the Yanesen area of Tokyo, is a two page spread of a couple and a child at at table in a small tea house in Ueno park.

This image gets its own page (528) in the Phaidon’s Nobuyoshi Araki Self, Life, Death (2005) and the venue of this particular photograph should be familiar to most anyone who has explored Tokyo- the place sat near Bentendō temple in the middle of Shinobazu pond.

I had been past it countless times but only actually went inside once for a rest during a shoot in 2012. Sure enough, Araki’s table was there- as it had been since at least the late 1990’s or even earlier. His is a real photo- my digital re-take is just that, an illustration of recognition. Regardless, I inevitably continued to take photos of and this place as it only became more photogenic over time.

It was then an unpleasant surprise on a morning walk last August that I saw this tea house barricaded up- a sure sign of imminent demolition. Sure enough, on a recent visit only the foundation remains. No doubt another casualty of pre-Olympic “cleanup” for 2020. Other parts of the pond are under renovation. Indeed, the new Starbucks in Ueno park up on the hill usually has a line out the front.

The overwhelming photographic documentation of Tokyo over the years means that one can’t help tread the same paths of previous photographers- I’ve said it before, it’s fascinating how photography is in conversation with itself. And when talking about Tokyo, Araki has one of the loudest voices fueled with one of the richest of vocabularies.



Favorite Photobooks, 2014

Of new photobooks published in 2014, these ten are my favorite. With the exception of the last, they’re listed in no particular order.

Since I’ve got no responsibility to be objective or hip to what’s got the photobook buzz you’ll find no planned out conceptually produced idea pictures below- instead, and with only one and a half exceptions, they’re of black and white photography. Even more important though, with zero exceptions, they are all records of photographers facing the world and their lives with a camera.

 Kineo Kuwabara, A Personal View of the Showa Era volumes 1 & 2, 毎日新聞社 (2013/10/8)、


In Japan, Kineo Kuwabara is a rightful mainstay of the street photography family tree but has had little recognition or fanfare abroad. The son of a pawn shop owner who spent the late 1930’s snapping around the capitol with his Leica, he made a wonderful and vibrant record of the city before its destruction in 1945. During his tenure as a well respected photo magazine editor later in life his pre-war photos were rediscovered by a young Nobuyoshi Araki in the 1970’s and eventually appeared for a wider public in an exhibition and a book. (Side note: Araki provides a quote on the blue obi band of book two in the image above) Despite employment as an editor Kuwabara never really stopped photographing  and continued to make a portrait of his Tokyo into the 1990s.  Kuwabara’s photographic output was the subject of a retrospective at the Setagaya Museum of Art in 2014. While he’s had more than a few books out already, this two volume set re-collects his work neatly and with some fine printing. These books work as proper photobooks but they fit squarely in a swelling genre of Nostalgic Tokyo books of photographs that have begun to appear in stores over the past few years. While most of those collections are made of pictures taken by basic amateurs who steadfastly pointed their lens at one old building or another, Kuwabara’s gift of photographic intuition and sense of form has provided viewers with a rich take on his city over several formative decades.

Hitomi Watanabe, 1968 Shinjuku,  , 街から舎; 第1版 (2014/8/30)


Like much of the world, 1968 was anything but a calm year in Japan and Hitomi got in the thick of it with her camera. Fortunately this book stands out from the glut of late-sixties Japanese protest photobooks by way of the daily street snaps included in the pages.  Tokyo-philes will no doubt recognize many of the places that appear- the nostalgic factor surely resonates with a growing age group in Japan, while the retro-ness will appeal to nearly everyone else.  This is a fine addition to a collection of street photography books- especially considering how few female photographers have been published- the directness of her pictures is paired with a throwback book design that with full-bleed gutter-spread grainy, scratchy student-budget black and white photos that will be well received by fans of other better known Japanese photographers of that era.  Araki’s whimsical self-caricature and quote on the obi is a nice touch for credibility but the tight slipcover, stiff binding, and semi-gloss pages slightly detract from the experience.

 Daido Moriyama, Tono Monogatari, JCII Photo Salon


For a while now the only Moriyama book on my bookshelf was NAGISA- the content of which made his usual across-the-gutter book design worth the effort to engage with.  I’ve never not liked his work, but was put off by the graphicness of them images overlaid with unfortunate layouts and binding.  This Tono Monagatari reprint, more of a thin booklet than a proper “book”, places Moriyama’s images of his journey across pages in a succinct manner that allows the complete picture to shine thorough. The reproductions are a little small- JCII booklets are more suited as reference materials than anything else- but this thin and cheap (800 yen!) edition was a chance for me personally to reevaluate my understanding and appreciation of this photographer.  Moriyama completeists won’t be disappointed.

ERIC, Eye of the Vortex,  Akaaka


I’ve known ERIC (all caps) since at least 2007- we first met soon after he won the Visual Arts Photobook Award with Aya Fujioka.  He’s a constant fixture of the photography scene in Tokyo and has a hustle that seems out of place for Japan but perfect considering the nature of his Hong Kong birthplace. ERIC has produced two books on mainland China through the publisher Akaaka- this newest book, another Akaaka title, takes him a bit farther west into the Indian subcontinent. Here he found subject matter that at times coupled with his flash seems ready to overtake even his extraordinary energy and just about satiate his hungry eye. ERIC is an apolitical photographer, letting his camera roam on eighteen things at at a time but never once becomes something that’s illustration of a narrowed agenda or pre-stereotyped Travel Photography kind of view. Indeed, for all the right reasons ERIC’s India would be suited better on the cover of an Aravind Adiga novel than anything you’ll find in the pages of Lonely Planet.

Lee Friedlander, Family in the Picture 1958-2013,  YU Art Gallery (March 11, 2014)



The recent output of Lee Friedlander’s work over the past years has been pretty exciting, with his new books being exquisitely printed, and paired up with some vividly chunky typography and bold graphic design. Somehow all this design neatly complements all the printed photography it envelops. Someone at Yale University Press deserves a design award or a raise.  Family in the Picture is similar to 2011’s Self in the Picture, in design, layout, and chronological nature- and similar to how Self in the Picture adds to 1970 / 2005’s Self Portrait,  Family in the Picture is an enhanced version of 2004’s Family. Have both of each? Nice. Me too. They’re all worth it.

Nobuyoshi Araki, Love on the Left Eye (Taka Ishii Gallery), Kirishin (Rathole Gallery)

pbDSC_0593 pbDSC_0594

A blood clot earlier this year left Araki permanently blind in his right eye.  Rather than taking this as means to retire or even let up, he instead channeled this unexpected event into influence for drastic direct physical alteration of his photographs.  Seeing as that he didn’t need the right half of his round-rimmed glasses anymore, he coated the backside of the lens with black ink- an act that extended to the pictures that make up Love on the Left Eye as Araki blackened out the right half of each frame of slide film with a magic marker, cheekily mocking his optical disability through dark humor. Kirishin, also shot on 35mm slide film, deals in issues of obstructed vision as well but this time through the pairings of sliced halves of separate frames. There was no attempt to disguise the physicalness of the technique, this wasn’t done in photoshop. The prints for the Kirishin exhibition clearly showed the cellophane tape (air bubbles included) that bound the images together. These images, odd and often disjointed parings of views of empty streets, kimoned women, nude housewives, plates of food, all work as fractured tessera expressing this period of the photographer’s life and sight.

Nobuyoshi Araki, Michi,  河出書房新社 (2014/10/21)


In addition to recent health issues and the loss of his cat, the condominium in Gotokuji that Araki and his wife Yoko made their home from the 1970’s succumbed to the wear and tear that a forty-year old concrete building in Tokyo is fated and was recently demolished. This was the site of Araki’s famed second floor balcony, his studio for countless numbers of photographs of the Western sky. His new residence just one station away and includes a new vantage point from which to make photographs- one that faces eastward. From here Araki has made daily photographs of a small intersection that serves as a stage for life on the street. The book features 108 photos of the same view, each linked through the obvious physical characteristics and basic framing- not to mention the humanity too, that commutes and plays and moves on out of view below.

Nobuyoshi Araki & Jürgen Teller,  Araki Teller, Teller Araki,  Eyescencia


Araki Teller, Teller Araki is paring of work by Nobuyoshi Araki and Jürgen Teller. Or Jürgen Teller and Nobuyoshi Araki, depending on which way you open the book first. This is a catelogue made to accompany a joint exhibition held at Galerie OstLicht this year.

The book itself is handsomely produced with a striking cover design. Inside, the interspersing of Teller’s color images with Araki’s monochrome ones starts off jarring but later finds its flow. There’s an interesting sequence near the middle of Teller’s Irene Im Wald series on and off between portraits of celebrities and housewives by Araki.  Irene Im Wald is another great example of how well Teller combines photographs with autobiographical text- his writing in this book is certainly something that fans of Pictures and Text will enjoy. Other Teller work in this book is photos of/from his Woo! show in London. The video made to commemorate the Araki/Teller exhibition starts off with 20 seconds of pure gold as Teller bluntly replies to a boringly pretentious question with utter frankness.  Araki’s contribution, titled Last by Leica is a connection to two other of his Leica-themed and Leica-shot series: Life by Leica (1999) and Love by Leica (2006, Rathole) . This set consists of recent 35mm diarist black and white work, and while his altered color pictures mentioned above have a jolt one can’t get past the melancholy that his Last by Leica series is embedded with. These pictures continue directly along the threads that link 2013’s Death Novel .

Nobuyoshi Araki, Ojo Shashu: Photography for the Afterlife   平凡社 (2014/4/26)




Regarding this book, in April I wrote that:



Rather than a rote “best of” collection this book instead remasters and remixes Araki’s early work playing against the flow of time and even death itself. The majority of the images are quite recent- many have date-stamps from late 2013. Many others have been taken from his “Happy Photograph That Araki Took” column on 47 News.  The museum’s guidelines against the inclusion of his more popular “ero” images for this exhibition established constraints which allow for an underrepresented (abroad, at least) side of this photographer to come through.

Physically, this book is itself a work of art- rarely will you find a photobook that takes risks as rewarding as this one which work so subtly well. The 300+ pages are comprised of variety of paper stocks- The subway series inside is printed on a delicate almost newsprint type paper that forces the viewer to act nimbly when turning the pages.  Interaction with the book as an object is also accentuated by the stiff cardboard obi and interspersed fold-out pages as well.

The book closes with several written pieces, each in Japanese and English. There is an excellent bit on linking Araki’s work with Japanese Buddhisim and the final bit is a weirdly wonderful hybrid of an interview with Araki framed by a sci-fi short story that midway through had me checking the writer’s name to see if it wasn’t Haruki Murakami at work. It wasn’t, but the author, Kaori Fujino, created something that smartly complements the overwhelming feelings which the work in this book and the aura around its maker creates.


Yep. That still stands.  Eight months later, Ojo Shashu remains hands down my absolute favorite book of 2014. The vein of damaged pictures has been extended from effecting the negatives to the lens itself- Araki took a hammer to the zoom on his Pentax SLR and found a fitting new world within.

The richness in material- both content and construction- and depth of time and emotion make Ojo Shashu an excellent photographic experience.

Negative Disposal / Positive Progression

I threw away two thousand rolls’ worth of archived film last week.

Upon returning to Japan in August of 2004 after two years since finishing a year abroad at a university just west of Tokyo I immediately began picking up where I left off photographically. My film of choice, Fujifilm Neopan 400 was plentiful and I found myself shooting nearly everything to make up for lost time or whatever it was that driving an interest in recording and exploring my new environment. Keeping grounded with the photographic education I enjoyed as an undergrad I had no plan, no real meaning and certainly no “project” to complete. The pace I discovered in the process of bulk loading, shooting, developing, editing, and printing became the means by which I formed my continuing attempt to get a handle on what is going on around me.  This process became as much as a part of my life as reading, walking, eating or sleeping. This was also backed up through a real enjoyment of the dedication which a darkroom encourages as well. And it was fun.

The first roll from the first batch developed in September of 2004 was simply labeled “#1″.  The next was “#2″, and so on all the way to negative sheet #2072 in 2010. Estimating that a roll of film is about a meter long, that’s about two kilometers of 35mm film over six years.

From this stream of images shot in Japan I was able to compile bodies of work for exhibition. The first show, entitled “The Difference Between” was shown at the Konica Minolta Gallery in 2007, and the “Gaijin Like Me” was exhibited at the Nikon Salon in 2008.  For both entries I submitted 11×14 workprints- these were prints pulled from an ever-growing archive, products of regular printing sessions done to see the most recent work. After each frame was printed for the first time the negs went back in their respective, numbered sheets. Upon receiving the invitations to exhibit I had to scour my archived negatives to re-find the frames from which I could re-print for the shows. Each negative strip was pulled from its original negative sheet and this time filed into a new one along with all the other strips which held frames that were used for the show.  These were then contact printed and filed into a single binder labeled “Exhibitions”. If the need arose, it would be simple to reprint any of them at any time.

Contact sheets are really useful. However from 2004-2010 I didn’t print any for 35mm film. While I always kinda sorta intended on making them for my backlog there became a point when it all was just too much. I shrugged that task off and instead chose to simply edit with a loupe on my light table, writing out in a notebook the roll and frame numbers of each image I planned on seeing as a larger workprint for a near-future printing session.  While the “hits” were worth it, this method ultimately resulted in a glut of fairly uninteresting and rough prints that held little value to anyone, even me. But I remained consumed with the process and the prints it produced. Over the course of six years I kept putting freshly filed negative sheets away one after another, filling up thirteen large three-inch thick binders that were kept lined up on a shelf in my spare room.

In late 2010, for one reason or another the daunting problem of eventually having to deal with two thousand archived negative sheets became reason enough to put things on a better track. I got my workflow on course with a determination to slow down and invest time and photo paper into properly contact printing each and every roll of black and white film from then on out. Each year got its own binder and clearfile folder for the contact prints. With these new successful methods, each year gets its own binder and contact prints are filed in separate (usually 2) plastic transparent-sleeved file folders. A full run-down of my methods can be read here.

In the meantime I kept working and soon accepted an invitation for membership with Totem Pole Photo Gallery in Tokyo. Since I don’t work with a deliberate Mission or Story I decided to share work in the most honest and natural way that I can as an individual. This simply means exhibiting work sequentially with content encompassing whatever it is that seems interesting to shoot and that was also interesting as a photograph. While this method has been a target for criticism from some people due to its apparent lack of aim it saw the facilitation of the Zuisha series which I have been exhibiting at Totem Pole since 2011. Since each successive exhibition is always comprised of new work made since the previous show there’s no need to revisit my archives for pictures to include. This approach is what I’m most interested in at the moment. I don’t really want to go back and start fishing out deliberate and unified “themes” anymore.

So while this overhauled approach worked in terms of the present I still had mental clutter from all that un-needed archived 2004-2010 film still in those 13 thick binders. This problem- too many negs- was always in the back of my mind but more literally was actually in front of me the whole time. I could see them lined up across my apartment on their shelf each time I sat down at my computer. But with an ongoing workflow and exhibition prep (and a few blogs, a social life, a full-time job, etc) I was unable to find time or enthusiasm to properly deal with them.

I actually began to resent the binders sitting there in that other room.  I had already been removed from the images within for some time in two ways- First, the time of exposure/creation of the image, and Second, the most previous time that I really looked at them. I felt that I had already harvested all of what I felt was important for the exhibitions and anything else I didn’t want to feel connected with any more. In a sudden flash of inspiration or maybe exasperation I decided to clean house. I switched on my lightbox, and grabbed binder number 1. I popped out the metal bracket holding the sheets and started a massive re-edit, sheet by sheet, frame by frame. There were only two possible destinations for the negative strips about to go under my loupe- the trash, or a new negative sheet with along with its spared brothers.

A Metallica songs popped up in my headphones while I was working: No Remorse.

None indeed!

Almost ten hours over a few weeknight evenings the result of this experience looked like this:

The tower of negative sheets consists of what was about 2000 rolls of film, give or take a few dozen. That’s the trash pile.

The small stack at the bottom was what I saved and labeled under my current archival system. Each section begins with the year and each sheet holds negative strips from film shot during that time. It worked out to this:

2004 (Aug.20-Dec.31) 17 sheets
2005: 29 sheets
2006: 14 sheets
2007: 11 sheets
2008: 2 sheets
2009: 4 sheets
2010: 12 sheets

Eventually I will contact print each of these 89 negative sheets and file them accordingly. 89 contact prints is (with a change of developer and fixer) only an afternoon of darkroom work. Once finished, this will mesh with my current catalog. Each negative sheet holds seven strips of film- there are six frames in each. If any were saved it was because there was one frame of the six worth keeping. This comes to about 623 images that I still have to work from should I ever want to return to this era of my photographic history. This is much easier to handle than the previous and approximate 72,592 frames taken in those years.
Since the surviving negatives all fit into one binder there’s a lot more open space on those shelves in my spare room now.

It’s funny- from the info above it looks like I was in a slump between in 2008 and 2009- But in actuality instead of 35mm I was shooting another 700+ rolls of 120mm film through some medium format cameras. Interestingly enough I had filed and contact-printed each neg sheet from the start due to the investment of time it takes in relation to the number of frames per roll. Go figure!

What was left was to dispose of the rest.

As for looking through sheet after sheet for so many evenings- this was an experience that at a lot of different times was embarrassing and exciting. I always had a pretty good recollection of what I have shot but to see each and every frame was fascinating. Sometimes even moving. And then frustrating. As time flowed by in the form of exposed frames of film I was able to develop an understanding on where I had been and what and who I was dealing with at the time. I could track visual and personal interests as the months passed though all those little negative pictures. Sometimes it was hard to say goodbye, others I discarded with a grin. The prevailing feeling though was that I would never really need those images- or in the case of negatives, need the potential to create those images, again.
Part practicality, part moving on.  This is the point: I traded Possibilities for peace of mind. Setting aside thoughts of cost and time in making this archive, I don’t regret anything. Even though I felt like I was breaking some kind of Way of the Photographer I didn’t care. This wasn’t some kind of mental crisis or cry for help. There was just nothing worth keeping in those trashed negs. And I should know— I took them!

During roughly the same timeframe I seriously shot color 35mm film from and by 2012 I filled up fifty albums- each holding 294 small 1-hour photo prints. 2006 alone took up sixteen. Those all sat on a shelf, too. (Let’s forget for the time being the 20,000 digital images on my hard-drive, and the 8,000 I deleted from that set, too)
Starting with the first color album from 2006 I began to reassess what was pictured and the importance of its existence as a photo.  What began as “fun” gradually, album after album, became something much heavier to deal with. Photographs- especially several thousand of them in a row, tell one a lot about the photographer who made them.  This isn’t at all about “Great Shots!” or other aspects which the average amateur photographer gets worked up over-  I have no love for or even belief in the Rule of Thirds or other compositional bullshit like Leading Lines and Triangles-  it was that they were too accurate in showing how much I didn’t know yet. Life and Photography, for starters (and enders).
It was time to move on and I didn’t want what was exposed to keep holding me back. From those 50 albums I took out three trash bags of prints. Next up was two very full binders and a box of polaroids from 2001-2011. The cull from that collection wound up filling two plastic grocery store bags. Since there are few(?) landfills in Japan it is most likely that everything ended up in the local trash incinerator.

Looking through so many negatives (it’s funny how one’s eyes can adjust to the reversed look at the world within them) I felt almost like I was photographing all over again. Instead of a shutter I had a new negative file to capture my images. Each old negative sheet had notes written out at the bottom in black marker from the first edit. Before starting in with the loupe I checked to see what frame numbers interested me the first time I saw them. Having so much time and so many more exposures in between made for a very clear approach to selecting the survivors. Some of what I tagged then still held interest. A vast majority didn’t. But there were some snaps that I wasn’t ready for in 2004 which gave me pause a decade later. No one ever seems to want to accept the fact that we’re all able to make better pictures than we realize! Whereas an earlier attempt at the medium was to test myself against an agreed upon rubric that serviced “The Greats” forty years ago what caught my eye in this review session were the frames that surprised me by suggesting an ability to teach me something new.

While reviewing this vast archive I began to piece together some insight into my own ongoing understanding of photography. Namely, I’ve always been able to keep at keeping on- the seeds of my ongoing Zuisha series were always there. Hell, “Zuisha” is more or less just cover for an approach more than it is an essential title. There’s enough material though to make a Pre-Zuisha show or collection.

My current personal success with my current methods and work has essentially created a feedback-loop in terms of my approach to photography. What I’ve learned from these pictures and exhibiting them has undoubtedly and subconsciously affected how I make new ones. Simply, I’m more interested in “mistakes” now- pictures that are taken and not made. At the same time, after a decade of photographing in and around Tokyo I’ve covered a lot of ground both literally and figuratively. What at in 2002 or 2004 seemed clever- say, the juxtaposition of a salaryman against a billboard featuring a Western female model, or the thrill of snapping the shutter into a crowd of pedestrians while crossing the street (over and over and over…) has after these many years become less and less interesting. “Street Photography”, too. It’s obviously not that Japan has run out of things worth photographing, but rather I’m feeling the effects of being on a path which leads towards a gradual realignment with or against a whole slew of influences, experiences, and even antagonisms. I’m not about to stop so this all gets shoved into that feedback-loop.

Maybe this process is like running some sort of chipper that makes trees sprout out of a pile of shredded wood chips. You snap off some branches from the new ones and toss them back in for the next round. But there’s a point where you got too many trees in the way to figure out how you are going to keep walking through this forest.

The main goal in tossing all those parts of my photo past was to be able to see a little clearer.

Found Pictures

There is an antique shop in Asakusa (map) where I’ve been picking up vintage snapshots for a growing collection.  I have posted some of them individually on my other tumblr here.   While most antique shop booths I’ve visited in America will have some photos I don’t see a lot of amateur snapshots sold here in Japan. I’m not able to speculate on reasons why, but it is nice when they do appear.  Dealing with mute images that lack Statements, Intent, Context, and even Meaning is refreshing.  There is a lot to learn here.




Regarding personal family photo albums, in a rare interview from 1992, Lee Friedlander stated the following in regards to his photos of his wife and family:

Is there a prototype in the history of art photography for what you’ve done in these photographs?

Friedlander: “I think there are a lot of protoypes. Look at any family album. Up until about 15 years ago- when technology began to change family portraits and they all started to look alike- you couldn’t go wrong looking at an old album, because they all had one shot to make. People didn’t have money to shoot ten pictures of their baby or uncle. They said “OK, Uncle Charlie stand in front of the car.” They had to be dressed up.  Then there would be all that little incidental stuff. The dog would be pissing on the tree- the little things that wouldn’t occur to them as interesting but that I love to look at. Then I think people began to pose for photographs. They learned how to do it. They weren’t so innocent.”

But those albums done belong in the canons of art photography.

“I think they’re as good as any you can find. There are real lessons to be learned from them. Give me anybody’s family album and I’ll find lots of interesting pictures.”





Nobuyoshi Araki made a similar statement in regards to the personal album in his brilliant essay My Mother’s Death or, An Introduction to Home Photography:

A photographic album is a photographic collection par excellence. Apart from the portraits, the editing and layout of an album are usually far superior to those of any published collection of snapshots. My mother’s album, which she herself had fastidiously edited and laid out, is infinitely better than Wisconsin Death Trip that Masahisa Fukase brought back from New York as a gift.  My mother exists in this album.




If you’re interested in seeing a phenomenal published collection of snapshots I recommend the book The Art of the American Snapshot 1888-1978 , a catalogue from an exhibition of the same name at the National Gallery of Art in 2007. This book smartly chronicles the path that vernacular snapshot photography took for ninety years of American history in terms of aesthetics and equipment available to the amateur photographer, or rather, causal camera-user.

Here’s a great short film (6min) about a snapshot collector/dealer in L.A. that illustrates quite well the power that these forgotten and unknown little images possess: The Photo Man.  


It’s not just obviously old photos that can be of interest.  A few years back I plucked a small album off the top of a trash pile outside a neighboring apartment building. The original owner had apparently moved and left a heap of things she must not have felt a need to keep.  Inside the album were a few common snaps- mostly snaps of peace signs with friends at Disneyland- but also these slightly bewildering pictures:


Finding these pictures is kind of like taking photographs.  Like the best aspects of photography, they are an adventure in seeing.


quote sources:

1. Maria Photographs by Lee Friedlander (pgs 7,8)   

2. Nobuyoshi Araki Self, Life, Death. (pg 558)