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Line 13, by Yuki Toyama is a concise collection of photographs of a life dealing with a death published by Akaaka. I picked it up during my first visit to the Akaaka gallery, and repeated viewings of the work have not made the experience any lighter or even more familiar. Each time through feels as heavy as the first.

Through this beautiful collection of black and white photographs Toyama brings to light an at times overwhelming sense of darkness without strictly relying on obvious visual symbolism. In addition to the beauty in the pictures themselves, the organization of this book also gives emotional strength to the photographs as a whole.

There are no dramatically decisive pictures of obviously noteworthy events, only pictures of what feels like (even before you get to the final statement) a collection work dealing with the aftermath of an event. The statement at the end of the book tells of dealing with the loss of a young friend, and the suggested visage of death certainly finds a place wafting through the frames of the images.

The subject matter is not particularly groundbreaking in and of itself, especially if one is familiar with the lives that Tokyo photo students live and the kinds of pictures that they tend to take. There are plenty of pictures of friends, cats, and crows flying through suburban back streets in west Tokyo. Add in some hospital and love hotel visits, a nude friend, some blood or bruises, and it all looks at first like something you’d come across at an art school’s campus festival or at a Nikon portfolio review in Shinjuku.

But in between pictures that obviously reference death, the content of other work when described sounds all too familiar, and they have been crafted around a detached sense of humor. Even when something ought to be lighthearted, it comes across as oddly depressing. Images of a baby on a blanket or a figure in a panda costume grasping a bouquet of balloons come across more depressing than any such picture ought to be.

In terms of the presentation, the lack of that pervasive Moriyama-esque contrast which influences (taints?) so many young photographers in Tokyo is not apparent here. Rather than relying on the added push of edgy contrast, the gray consistent tones help to clearly carry the mood throughout the book.

What keeps Toyama’s work stronger than the usual photo student portfolio is that it is edited together extremely well. As one turns the pages, time passes with seasons. Weddings, births and haircuts and other life events are pictured, but with apologies to Mr. Frank and Mr. Kerouac, after seeing these pictures you end up finally not knowing any more whether a love hotel is sadder than a cemetery.

More of pictures of Yuki Toyama’s work and a brief biography can be found here.