Tambay (The Watchman) {click to enlarge}

Text and images by Michael G Dougan for Japan Exposures

Let me start by saying that I like folding cameras. In fact, I like them so much that between the 59 cameras I own, there are quite a few folders. When I got curious about film photography one of the first serious cameras I bought was an Agfa Super Isolette, then a Balda and a Certo Six and to round it off a Zeiss Super Ikonta. There is just something about these old mechanical cameras that I love.

So, when Fujifilm/Cosina Voigtländer announced the Bessa 667/GF670 Professional I wanted one badly. I’ve long preferred the square format but have recently been looking for a camera with a different aspect ratio and this camera satisfied my love of all things square while offering an alternative by being able to switch to 6×7 when desired.

Fujifilm GF670 Professional next to a Rolleiflex and Leica M6

As advertised the camera weighs in at 1kg but in operation it feels quite a lot less. Though when the camera is folded up it certainly feels like a lump, just not a 1kg lump. Once the lens has been extended the impression is of a very light camera.

In operation I immediately felt very comfortable with this camera, to me it feels very like a Leica to use, the focus is smooth and the aperture ring is easily and quickly adjusted. The built in light meter also takes the guesswork out of the exposures as with the old folders.

Since acquiring the camera I’ve shot it exclusively in 6 by 7 format and I like the opportunities it gives for framing over a square format. The shutter is extremely quiet, quiet enough to use in covertly but carrying a camera like this does attract a lot of inquisitive looks and questions from people.

Vulcanizing {click to enlarge}

Love-Kim Verlie {click to enlarge}

The body on the right hand side has a very grippy rubber coating and grip on the front and back of the body. The left hand side is coated with the same rubber on the front of the body only but as I tend to cradle the underside of the body and lens standard with my left hand the grip is only of use for opening the camera. This way my thumb is in the perfect position to operate the focus and aperture rings. Focus and selection of aperture are achieved extremely quickly, this is a big plus for me as I try to quickly capture people before they have time to pose for the camera. The viewfinder is excellent, very bright with a nice contrasty rangefinder patch that allows you to achieve focus quickly.

I’m also extremely pleased with the camera’s image quality. I find it hard to say what it is but the images from the camera have a certain signature from the 80mm Fujinon EBC lens but maybe people more familiar with other Fuji lenses might say that is the signature of such lenses. It’s sharp, contrasty and the fuzzy bits just melt into the background beautifully.

You can see some samples of the type of photos I enjoy taking, which is out on the streets. I am living in the Philippines and it’s currently the monsoon season, which means it’s stinking hot and raining a lot! I was walking for less than an hour in the afternoon sun and the camera never felt heavy or a pain to carry. Here under these tropical conditions even a Leica can become irritating as you soon fatigue in the sun. The camera got extremely hot in the one hour I was out but the focus still had the same feeling of operation. With some my cameras they get a bit sloppy when they overheat, but this GF670 camera has been super smooth all the time, quick and easy to nail the focus, and the viewfinder’s clarity is excellent!

With the GF670 in my hands and several rolls of Neopan 120 in my pocket, it’s a perfect setup for me.

Life in a plastic chair {click to enlarge}

Break Time {click to enlarge}

Update 28 June 2009: More images below

Bigasan {click to enlarge}

Dried fish {click to enlarge}

Friends forever {click to enlarge}

In the street {click to enlarge}

Mega Buko Juice at the Hard Rock Café {click to enlarge}

Tommy {click to enlarge}

Videoke for rent {click to enlarge}

Four Women and a Boy {click to enlarge}

All black and white images were shot on Fujifilm Neopan 400 Presto, developed in paRodinal 1+50 for 11mins at 20 degrees C. Location: San Miguel, Bulacan, The Philippines

Related posts:

1. Update on release of Fujifilm GF670 Professional We have ju
2. Release of Fujifilm GF670 Professional delayed until end of April We have ju
3. Ginza Classics At most tr

We are also featuring Hoshi as one of our Cover Artists.

Related posts:

1. Haruto Hoshi Haruto Ho
2. Masahiro Kodaira Gallery Japan Expo
3. Sachiko Kadoi Gallery Japan Expo

Marc Feustel, Studio Equis

On current view at the Setagaya Art Museum is a wonderful photography exhibition entitled Japan: A Self Portrait, that uses the works of 11 photographers† to give us a view onto the incredibly important 20 year period following the end of World War II. The milestone events of this period are well known — the ending of the war via the atomic bombings, the American occupation, and the rapid rebuilding of the country and following economic recovery, including the citizens’ self-esteem, that culminated with the hosting of the 1964 Olympic Games in Tokyo. But while these might form part of the structure of the exhibit, what’s really special about this particular exhibit are the details of how those years were lived — details that have manifested themselves in the 168 photographs that make up the show.

The exhibition is the brainchild of Paris-based curator and writer Marc Feustel, one of the driving forces behind Studio Equis, which has organized several important traveling exhibitions of Japanese photography in recent years. Feustel can also be found at the two blogs he maintains — eyecurious and Shashin etc. — which are essential stops for anyone interested in what’s going on with Japanese photography.

Japan Exposures recently asked Feustel via email to talk about the unique evolution of the current exhibition, how he himself got involved with photography, and his thoughts on how an exhibition of Japanese photography curated by a European might be received in Japan.

The following interview was conducted via email at the beginning of May.

Japan Exposures: Marc, anyone interested in Japanese photography and browsing the web will eventually come across your name, a true beacon in the Western cultural landscape. Could you give us a bit of personal background information about yourself and tell us how you came to be so involved with curating and writing about Japanese photography?

Marc Feustel: I am from a fairly international background: one part German, one part Australian, English by birth and Parisian by upbringing. To add to these layers I studied Economics and Politics in Dublin and then International Development in London. I don’t have an academic background in Art History but spent most of my time at university loitering around that department. My central interest has always been photography since I saw a William Klein show at the Maison Européene de la Photographie in Paris, about fifteen years ago. I began to focus specifically on Japan through the book that I authored on postwar Japanese photography, Japan: A Self-Portrait, Photographs 1945-1964. The book was published in 2004, in English and French by Flammarion and in Japanese by Iwanami Shoten.

“I think that there is a lot that contemporary photography can learn from the intensity of the engagement of these photographers with the society and the nation around them.”

JE: It was from this project that Studio Equis began, right?

MF: Yes, that’s right. During the research for the book, we were put in touch with Managing Editor of Illustrated Books at Iwanami Shoten, Tsuguo Tada. He was instrumental in introducing me to the photographers and obtaining their approvals for the project. After the success of the book we agreed to form a company to continue our involvement and to find other ways of introducing more Japanese photography in Europe and in the US. Studio Equis is myself, Tsuguo Tada and my mother, Helen Feustel. Our aim is to promote the work of the individual artists that we represent but also to find projects that promote a better understanding and closer relationships between Japanese and Western photographic circles. We are also involved in helping museums and collectors develop their collections of Japanese photography. Studio Equis is a three-man band so everyone does a bit of everything, however my main role is Artistic Director. I curate the exhibitions that we present, manage our publications and identify those photographers that we represent.

JE: The current exhibition at Setagaya — which we understand will also travel to Yamagata, Aichi, and the Kiyosato Museum†† — is based on the book Japan: A Self-Portrait, which was published in 2004. It’s interesting that this is an exhibit based on a book, when usually it is the other way around. Could you tell us more about the original book and how it came to become an exhibition.

MF: Yes, this exhibition has followed an unusual path. The book initially began as a stand-alone project, but over time we realised that it had the potential to make an interesting exhibition and (hopefully) one that presented these works in a new light. The book is both a study of the extraordinary transformation of Japanese society after the war, as well as a study of the incredibly dynamic evolution in the photography of the period. This was a period where Japan changed radically, and one where photography played a major part in documenting and processing the changes that were occuring. This idea formed the basis for the exhibition as well as the book and while many of the works from the book appear in the exhibition, I modified and expanded the selection of images to 168 prints in total, accompanied by first edition publications from the period. The exhibition was initially planned to first open in Europe, at the Centre Pompidou in Paris, however because of changes in their photography department this was no longer possible. We then decided to collaborate with Tokyo’s Setagaya Art Museum to open the exhibition in Japan and then to travel it in Europe afterwards.

JE: Do you have any thoughts on how an exhibition curated (or co-curated) by a non-Japanese will be met by Japanese, or is that a non-issue? What would be different if this same material was being solely curated by a Japanese person?

MF: I think that the fact that I am a foreigner is a central feature of this exhibition. The eleven photographers in this show are all well-established artists in Japan with several decades worth of exhibitions and books to their names. However, many of them have been lesser known in Europe and the US and, even in Japan, have not often exhibited in a group context. When I began this project, I wanted to try and bring a fresh look to the photography of this period. As an outsider, I didn’t have to contend with the context of the Japanese photographic canon and I made my selection from a different perspective than a Japanese curator would. Of course many ‘key’ images are present in the show, but I have also often been told that my selection is ’surprising’ or ‘unusual’, which I think is a good thing in this context. As an outsider in Japan you can allow yourself a certain number of choices that maybe would be more difficult for a Japanese curator who is very aware of established photographic relationships and reputations.

However, I think that it is very unlikely that there will be a consistent ‘Japanese’ reaction. Already in the first week I was very interested to see how differently different generations reacted to these images. For the older generation, this exhibition is a more emotional experience, one which is tied to their memories of the era. For younger generations there tends to be more of a reaction to the photographic developments of the time and a sense of surprise at how modern these photographs are. My hope is that this exhibition will succeed in presenting these works in a new light and to highlight just what a crucial period this was in the artistic development of photography in Japan.

© Takeyoshi Tanuma - Modern dress versus traditional dress at the Sanja festival. Asakusa, Tokyo, 1955

JE: The time period of the exhibit is 1945 – 1964, a time of intense rebuilding leading up to the Tokyo Olympics. But I’m curious about another Japanese fascination or obsession — that of the “Showa Boom” of recent years, which has manifested itself in countless photo books and exhibits. What do you think is behind this nostalgia for the “Showa” years [The years 1926–1989 in Japanese history, corresponding to the reign of Emperor Shōwa (Hirohito) -- Ed.], and how do you see your book/exhibit in the context of that nostalgia?

MF: As I don’t live in Japan, I don’t feel the ‘Showa boom’ that intensely, but I think the nostalgia for this period is understandable. Since the 1989 financial collapse Japan has been left somewhat adrift, and a new direction hasn’t really been forged for the nation. For a country where there was a strong sense of the group and the collective, many of these collective institutions (the family, religion) are being eroded by more materialistic and individualistic aspirations. Within that context, I think people are nostalgic for the postwar years, as the end of an extremely difficult period of several years of conflict and one when there was a real collective sense of a brighter future. That nostalgia is probably exacerbated by the fact that for the younger generations in Japan, the future seems very precarious and uncertain.

In terms of Japan: A Self-Portrait, as a European in his thirties, nostalgia was not a strong motivating factor for me. While the show may be linked to the current Showa fascination, I don’t think that it presents an overly romanticised image of these years. In my view, while these works portray a sense of positivity and optimism and perhaps sometimes describe a simpler ‘traditional’ life, they also highlight the extraordinary hardships of the time and the negative consequences of the social changes during these years. Whether driven by nostalgia or not, in purely photographic terms, I think that there is a lot that contemporary photography can learn from the intensity of the engagement of these photographers with the society and the nation around them.

JE: If you were going to curate a similar “self-portrait” exhibit of Japan during the “Heisei” years (say the last 10-20 years), at this point in time, how would that exhibit look?

MF: That is a very good question… maybe I should take you up on that idea! I think an exhibition on contemporary Japan would be a very different animal. It would be an interesting challenge, particularly as there would not be the benefit of hindsight that I had for Japan: A Self-Portrait. A few names spring to mind: Miyako Ishiuchi, Osamu Kanemura, Hiroh Kikai, Tomoko Sawada, Yutaka Takanashi, Hiromi Tsuchida, Miwa Yanagi and of course Araki and Moriyama, but that list would take a long time to refine. Happily you would see a much more significant number of female photographers, who have carved out an important place for themselves in the contemporary Japanese photographic landscape. I think that this landscape has become increasingly fragmented, with fewer groups such as Vivo or Provoke, and therefore it is perhaps harder to identify coherent photographic movements. Visually the exhibition would of course be dramatically different, particularly as the changes that have occurred over the last two decades in Japan do not have the visual drama of the postwar years and as photographers today have a radically different visual vocabulary. Also photography today inhabits a very different space than it did during the postwar years, where it was a crucial source of ‘information’.

In terms of approach, you would see far less visceral images that display the engagement of the photographer with the subject. Contemporary photographers tend to have a more detached, sometimes deliberately cold and distant approach and many more works deal with major societal issues through the prism of personal identity and the ordinariness of the everyday. Overall, I think that a contemporary self-portrait of Japan would leave viewers with a very different impression, one which is less dramatic and perhaps more uneasy and uncertain, but one which certainly confirms the richness of the Japanese photographic landscape. •

† The 11 photographers are Yasuhiro Ishimoto, Kikuji Kawada, Ihei Kimura, Takeyoshi Tanuma, Shomei Tomatsu, Ken Domon, Shigeichi Nagano, Ikko Narahara, Hiroshi Hamaya, Tadahiko Hayashi, and Eikoh Hosoe.

†† The dates of these other showings in Japan are as follows:

August 27 – October 28, 2009
Domon Ken Photography Museum, Sakata, Yamagata Prefecture

November 6 – December 13, 2009
Aichi Prefectural Museum of Art, Nagoya

June 5 – August 31, 2010
Kiyosato Museum of Photographic Arts, Yamanashi Prefecture

Japan Exposures Reader Giveaway

For those unable to see Japan: A Self Portrait for themselves, we are excited to offer to a single Japan Exposures reader a copy of the official exhibition catalog. This hardcover catalog measures 18cm by 25cm, features an introductory essay by Feustel (in both Japanese and English), and all 168 photographs included in the exhibition (captioned, also in both Japanese and English).

Simply answer the question below by 15 June 2009 and we will randomly draw the winner from all correct entries. (Please note that the book will be sent via Economy Air, which normally takes two weeks and is uninsured and not traceable).

CLOSED

Related posts:

1. Yasuhiro Ishimoto – On a Tokyo street (1953) © Yasuhir
2. Interview with Masahiro Kodaira In an inte
3. Interview with Sachiko Kadoi Sachiko Ka

In the following interview, conducted earlier this year, Kodaira discusses with Japan Exposures his two major series to date, “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly” and “Onbashira”, how he came to photography, and his relationship with Otsuji, a major influence on a number of Japanese photographers. In addition to the photographs represented here, you can also view an extended gallery of Kodaira’s work.

Interview by Yu Hidaka for Japan Exposures.

Japan Exposures: First of all, as a way of introducing you to our readers, I would like to ask you about your solo exhibition entitled “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly”, which was held at the AiDEM PHOTO GALLERY SIRius in Tokyo in 2002. For the show, you brought together work done over many years, didn’t you?

Masahiro Kodaira: Yes, “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly” was a major outgrowth of many years of work. I had some experience to have my work exhibited before, but this was the first exhibition where I had a clear idea of what I wanted my photography to say. I was looking for the place to show my work that didn’t already have a fixed style or image attached to it. That is to say, not galleries run by camera companies, not small underground types of spaces, and so on. Instead I was looking for a gallery that was open to all genres. Then, I came across an opportunity to try for an open call that was issued by SIRius, and I passed the review.

JE: SIRius has a quite large gallery space compared to other places in Tokyo. How many photographs did you exhibit there?

MK: I showed 30 photographs there. Although usually solo exhibitions held there feature about 45 works, I chose 30 images because I thought the relationship between the works and the white space of the gallery walls important to creating a kind of tension. But after the show, some people told me that fewer photos might have been better for that purpose.

JE: For me too, as a viewer, I remember that exhibition as the first time I had a clear understanding of your work. When I looked at your photographs, photography’s particular way of representation was readily apparent to me, and I was slightly surprised at this. This was probably the first opportunity for you to highlight this aspect of your work, wasn’t it?

MK: Well, it’s true that I am interested in photography’s form, but strictly speaking, how my works look is not my goal. It’s just an outcome of pursuing what I want to express with my photographs. The particularity of photographic representation just helped me to say it. For example, take the abstract concept of “beauty,” which art can help to make concrete and easy to see and understand. I feel that the photographic form can be an essential tool to express photographers’ message.

JE: What surprised me about your show was that, in a sense, the formalism of your photography seemed too “classical” a way for a photographer to express themselves at that time. Around 2002, when I visited your show, photography of younger photographers rarely focused on formal things like composition. Subject matter, or such things like blurry images or grainy images stood out more in other photographers’ shows. Most photographers seemed to rarely care about photographic composition, and only use those techniques and styles that are popular at that time. Some didn’t know that formalism was one of the crucial means of expression in photography’s history, especially in the modernist period. Maybe this is, in part, a failure of how photography is taught in Japan. But your work is quite different.

MK: For me, art history is important. I think that the situation of young people born in the 1990s is different from that of my own generation. They happen to have been born into an information rich society that’s superficial. Because of that, perhaps they’re interested less in formalism and more in textures or the unexpected, by which I mean taking familiar, everyday objects and shooting them with medium or large format cameras, or in close-up, in order to create a raw “anti-everyday” reality. For those photographs, composition is difficult to create. I think that the fad of shooting 6×6 color film of the last few years represents the desires of both photographers and viewers. In my opinion, I think that the role of art has historically been and continues to be one of solving life’s mystery. I also belong to this history, but I use my awareness of what has been done in the past to forge my own way of art. Photography is also an art of form. I want to grasp the mystery of life with the help of the concepts such as beauty or formal “balance.” Why do people say that something is beautiful, or why do people find balance in something — what do such things mean to us?

“In front of me, the world spreads out, uncontrolled by my intentions. I had such a sense when I took these photographs, and wanted to take photographs where the past and the future meets.”

JE: Since art history is important to you, I’d also like to ask you about your own history. I believe that your education at Tokyo Zokei University, where you graduated, and your relationship with Kiyoji Otsuji, were crucial to your development, weren’t they?

MK: Yes, that’s right. Before I entered university I had studied the practical basics of art at a kind of “cram school.” So, I was able to concentrate on photography at university. When I was in my forth year, one of my professors, Kazuto Miura, introduced me to Otsuji-san, who many of my professors had studied under. At that time, he was already retired and pretty much confined to his home, and so some students including me went to visit him and to arrange his negatives in his house.

Whenever I visited him, I always felt like I was visiting my grandfather. I visited his place almost every day for four or five years, before he passed away. What I learned from him is that I should continue to pursue my own way of photography. Like some other photographers who also had close relationships with him often say, I always ask myself, “If he were living now, what would he say about my photographs?” This question is a kind of litmus test for how I think about my own work.

Incidentally, “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly” wasn’t the title I originally had, but Otsuji-san pointed out to me that my original title sounded stiff, so I changed it. The day that I decided on “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly” was also the day that Otsuji-san passed away, so I wasn’t able to share with him the new title of my show.

JE: What originally triggered your interest in photography?

MK: When I was a kid, I already had an interest in art. The first book I bought when I was a junior high-school student was an anthology by Escher. Then I came across the book by Jung and Wolfgang Pauli called “The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche.” After reading this book, I felt that I had found a clue as how to articulate in art what had been up until then just vague thoughts.

JE: Does that mean that you were first interested in producing something artistic or cultural in the broad sense, rather than specifically photography?

MK: Well, first of all, I wanted to be a painter, so I thought it would be better for me to study painting. But some friends that I made at the “cram school” were able to paint precisely what they wanted to paint on canvas. In such an environment I realized that it might be difficult for me to be a painter. So, when I entered Zokei I chose to join the department of design and gave up my desire to be a painter. At that time I also had interest in typography and graphic design.

JE: Then you came to photography?

MK: Yes, that’s right. I tool some photography classes, and found that I wanted to pursue photography. When I saw my professor [Akihide] Tamura sensei’s work entitled “Afternoon” at a group exhibition in 1993, I was taken aback, and this work was the trigger for me to start concentrating on photography. I learned a lot from one class in particular. This particular class required me to visit about 100 galleries within a year and to write an essay about each exhibition I attended. Also at this time I was “collecting” photography and art magazines to supplement my studies. When I started studying on photography, I thought it was easy to take photographs. However, when I saw that taking photographs of the world around me was a way to represent myself, I came to realize the profoundity of photography as a medium.

JE: Your next exhibition after “Dr. Lorenz’s Butterfly” was “Onbashira.” I imagine that you had to take some risks to show “Onbashira.”

MK: Well, you know, the show “Onbashira” deals with a festival in Japan*, so quite a few people reacted like, “Why did you take photographs of festivals?” Many people who had visited “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly” expressed disappointment and said it would have been better if I had kept the direction of that show. But some photographers also appreciated this exhibition. Although basically I seldom take photographs of people, I wanted to experiment with taking snapshots of people for this series.

JE: Certainly at first glance, this series appears to be different from “Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly.” For me, as someone who knows your position vis-à-vis the history of formal art and photography, some parts of “Onbashira” seem connected with the conception of the previous show. Both exhibitions show an adventurous pursuit of the possibilities of photographic form. Yet each show is received by viewers as completely different. If people concentrate only on the content of your photographs, there is a danger of them missing the forms that are there for them to discover, though.

MK: It’s easy to miss this aspect of my photography, because they directly represent the past traditions of Japan.

JE: People tend to look only at the surface content of photographs and overlook the aspect of photography as a transformed reality. But such way of looking is not enough. At a festival which is very dynamic, you look at the movement of the world in front of you through your viewfinder and release the shutter.

MK: In front of me, the world spreads out, uncontrolled by my intentions. I had such a sense when I took these photographs, and wanted to take photographs where the past and the future meets.

JE: Finally, could you let us know what you are doing now?

MK: I sometimes do black and white printing, and I had been making new prints of Otsuji’s work for the show called “Jikken-kobo,” (“Experimental Workshop”), which will be held in the UK in this October. I myself am preparing for a solo exhibition called “Tsuzukinokawarini” to be held from June 9 (Tues.) to 15 (Mon.) at the Gekkoso annex KONPARU Gallery in Ginza, Tokyo. Then, if possible I would like to publish a book of my work.

* Onbashira (literally “honored pillar”) is a festival that takes place in Nagano Prefecture once every six years.
 

Yu Hidaka is an Assistant Professor at Gunma Prefectural Women’s University, where she teaches on visual culture. Her book, Reading Contemporary Photography: Toward Democratic Vistas, will be published by Seikyu-sha this June. She has written on photography and other forms of visual media for various Japanese publications, including Studio Voice and Asahi Camera. She received her MA in the Course of Culture and Representation from Tokyo University.

Related posts:

1. Masahiro Kodaira Gallery Japan Expo
2. Masahiro Kodaira – from Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly series Masahiro
3. Interview with Marc Feustel On current

Related posts:

1. Masahiro Kodaira – from Dr. Lorentz’s Butterfly series Masahiro
2. Interview with Masahiro Kodaira In an inte
3. Sachiko Kadoi Gallery Japan Expo

The early 1980s saw two major changes for Contax: in 1983 Kyocera Corporation acquired the Yashica company. Kyocera is an industrial conglomerate with a very diversified product palette ranging from industrial ceramics (which gave the Kyoto-based company its name), to audio components, photo copiers and laser printers, solar cells, mobile telephones (due to a merger with Sanyo Electric) and ceramic kitches knives, just to name a few. Kyocera inherited Yashica’s agreement with Zeiss and an expansion of the photography division was pursued by developing new products such compact cameras and even a medium format system, all equipped with Zeiss lenses.

Another significant development of that decade was Minolta’s introduction of the 7000 AF (MAXXUM 7000) 35mm SLR camera. It marked yet another significant milestone in photography as it was the first camera to feature both integrated auto-focus (AF) and motorised film advance.

Minolta 7000 AF (MAXXUM 7000) 35mm SLR camera

Obviously this was foreseeable for Zeiss and Yashica. The pressure to introduce AF had been building up over a long time. Yashica, perhaps unsurprisingly, was prepared to go ahead; a prototype based upon the Contax 137 SLR with a coupled Carl Zeiss 50mm f1.4 lens was presented at Photokina in 1982 and its workings were, in principle, identical to the 7000 AF introduced three years later. However, Zeiss disapproved of AF. It feared that the optical performance of its lenses was compromised by the entailing use of lighter materials. Especially the helicoid, the device controlling lens to film distance for focussing, had to be made of a lighter material to let the rotation be carried out by electric motors. The helicoid and the spacer rings, positioning and holding in place lens elements, had to be made of plastics. These components were not up to the longevity and optical expectations of Carl Zeiss. Consequently the plans for a conventional AF camera were dismissed and R&D continued.

An alternative to moving the lens for focussing was to move the film plane. This seems to be an alien thought after years of being used to turning a lens to achieve focus. Still, since the beginning of photography, using a view camera, it is normal to focus by moving the film plane — which is exactly what the Contax AX was designed to do when released in 1996.

The AX was an incredible engineering feat. It is said that over one hundred patents have been granted regarding the technology in the camera. At the core, two main technological achievements made focussing possible: the first is ceramic technology; a very finely finished ceramic rod acts as a guide rail and motor part to move the film plane forward and back. Secondly, an Ultra Sonic Motor (USM) drives the ceramic collar and an inner camera body forward and back on the rails to obtain focus.

Contax AX

USM offer precision control and extremely quick and quiet operation. The Automatic Back Focusing system on the AX can move from minimum focusing distance to infinity or back in less than 450ms, irrespective of focal length. The Contax AX utilized three computer CPUs to control all of the camera’s functions, a more sophisticated computer system than in any other camera. One of the CPUs controls the Automatic Back Focusing system, one to oversee auto-exposure, and a third, the Indicator CPU controls wind/rewind, shutter charging and viewfinder indications. Almost a byline is the novel concept of user configurable camera parameters, called Custom Functions, which are common today.

In 1994 attention once more shifted to rangefinders. The Contax G series was a 35mm rangefinder system with interchangeable lenses — with a difference. The G1 camera was unique in that it offered auto-focus by means of a rangefinder. Instead of displaying a fixed magnification viewfinder, the first G1 had a zooming viewfinder adjusting itself depending on the lens in use. The viewfinder is very similar to an SLR displaying focus confirmation and distance and of course light metering information.

Contax G1 AF rangefinder advertising in Oct 1994 issue of Nippon Camera (click to enlarge)

Unlike AF in an SLR camera determined through the lens alone, the G1’s auto-focus used the typical twin-window rangefinder. The difference was that the alignment determination was performed electronically, not by the photographer, by means of a phase-detection sensor. The system was very novel but to this day draws criticism from many rangefinder photographers as it did not conform to the classic heritage cameras like the Leica. Auto-focus, auto-winder, no frame lines, all in a modern titanium body were pushing the RF paradigm. The first incarnation became known to be finicky at time with AF speed and accuracy, improved in the G2 follow-on model. With the G series Zeiss and Contax celebrated a return to its rangefinder heritage. Rangefinder lenses are generally assumed to offer superior optical performance as there is no need to accomodate the reflex mirror box of an SLR, demanding a greater lens to film distance. Even by today’s standards the G lenses are considered stellar performers in their class. Unfortunately the G lens mount is proprietary and lenses cannot be used on other cameras without modification.

By now the digital age loomed, and unlike with auto-focus, Kyocera Contax could not afford to miss the boat. A number of compact digital cameras were made, but the top of the line was the Contax N series. The Contax N was an autofocus 35mm type DSLR system, announced in late 2000, and began to be sold in spring 2002, after several delays, for around ¥800,000 (~US$6550 at the time). Three models were made: the N1, the NX and the N Digital, an early Digital SLR. The Contax N Digital was the first professional digital SLR with a full frame size CCD chip (made by Philips).

Contax N1 DSLR

The N-series bodies required new N-Mount lenses which made them incompatible with the older manual focus SLR system. A total of nine lenses were produced and received high acclaim. An adapter that allowed lenses from the 645 medium format system to be used on N bodies was also offered. The N camera system itself was a market failure. While some aspects worked very well, like colour fidelity and resolution afforded by the Zeiss lenses, the camera also had serious shortfalls like sensor noise and power consumption, although that may not be too surprising provided it is a first generation digital product. Many observers criticised Kyocera’s haphazard release of the system and in retrospect this could be interpreted as an indication of a lack of commitment to the camera division. Contax users had their hopes pinned on an improved revision of the N-series DSLR, however on 12 April, 2005 Kyocera Corporation announced that it had “decided to terminate CONTAX-branded camera business. Although Carl Zeiss and Kyocera have entered into a long term co-operation regarding the development, production and sale of CONTAX-branded cameras, Kyocera has decided to terminate such business due to difficulties in catching up with the recent rapid market changes.”

In 2008, Kyocera sold the trademark rights of the Yashica brand to a Hong Kong-based company to use on photo products such as digital cameras, digital camcoders, digital photo frames, portable DVD players, digital audio players, digital voice recorders, binoculars, mobile phones and SD cards — undoubtedly a sad fate for any camera maker with such great history, but not the first and probably not the last time.

Contax Salon

What else is left in Japan of the proud Contax heritage and history? Like most other camera manufacturers Contax maintains a photo gallery called Contax Salon in the centres of Tokyo and Kyoto. I have to admit though that the work on display there is of little interest as it falls into the mainstream nature and landscape categories so often seen in Japan. Like other manufacturers there is a Contax Club.

Next to the Contax Salon Tokyo is the Kyocera Service Station (other locations also have their Service Stations) which is able to supply spare parts and little pieces like caps and covers for Contax cameras and lenses. Repairs are also accepted here for the the products still supported by the company (including the ROM upgrade for the G1 rangefinders); a list can be found here. Often repairs are impossible because parts are no longer available. In such cases a third-party repairer needs to be found, which for electronic cameras might not be easy.

The last remaining question is: what will happen to the great Contax name? Statements issued by Zeiss in reaction to Kyocera’s announcement in 2005 indicate that the agreement between is still in effect: “Kyocera has several years left of its agreement with Carl Zeiss. If they keep paying the minimum royalties, they could block any developments. Currently, we cannot initiate talks with a possible new partner until Kyocera makes a decision. In the meantime, they will have to keep using the Contax brand name or give it up.” Kyocera has not commented on the licence issue.

My personal experience with the Kyocera Contaxes is very good. I own a RTS II with a Distagon 28/2.8. I bought the RTS II due to its enormous focussing screen, it shows 97% of the image taken on film, which is great. The RTS II also has the best shutter release button I have ever experienced. Since it is electrical, there is only very light resistance and immediate response. Moreover it has no half-press, the first time you use it you wonder what is going on and how to obtain a meter reading. For that another button is placed in the front of the camera. My only qualm with it is the placement of the shutter speed dial on the left. It should really be on the right where the ASA/exposure compensation control is. With a manual focus camera your left hand is occupied focussing, so it is difficult to change shutter speeds as well.

The other Contax I own and currently actively use is the G1 rangefinder. A lot has been said about its perceived shortcomings, but perhaps it is often misunderstood. The G1 is an autofocus, autoexposure rangefinder camera offering a great degree of user control to meet the demands of the experienced photographer. This is not a Leica, and not trying to be one. This system offers its own advantages and would even complement a manual focus rangefinder: focussing in low light, focus tracking of moving subject, motor wind, auto exposure with bracketing just to name a few things that become easily possible.

The most important aspect of the Contax G system is the line of Carl Zeiss T* lenses that rival, or might even surpass, the quality of Leica lenses — at a fraction of the price.

The German-Japanese Contax venture was extremely popular in Japan and I think with the history we recounted in this article it is easy to understand why. Here are the world’s best engineers working together in creating top quality photographic products, with a great heritage. This is something that the Japanese very much appreciate. The popularity of Kyocera Contax has an interesting side effect: since there are so many cameras and lenses out there, with the change to digital enormous quantities of Contax equipment is reaching the second hand market at extremely low prices. Obviously these are still very capable cameras, and the quality of the fine lenses is not diminishing. Using an adapter, C/Y lenses can even used on digital bodies like the Canon EOS or Micro Four-Thirds bodies like that of Panasonic Lumix G1.

Please consider the Japan Exposures Equipment Sourcing Service if you are looking for any of these cameras.

Ken Rockwell’s review of the Contax G system

Contax Cameras UK

Contax and Zeiss Ikon on Camerapedia

Very detailed information on Contax RTS, RTS II and RTS III Series SLR camera pages

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Text and images by Christoph Hammann for Japan Exposures

If you‘re using color negative film in a hybrid workflow, does it matter what film you use? Or is it true that you can do everything in post-processing? Essentially, in the digital age, what exactly does your choice of film itself bring to the table?

I had occasion to ponder these questions while testing the new Kodak Ektar 100 against DNP’s Centuria 100 film. While the former is lauded far and wide for it‘s fine grain and color reproduction, the latter is said to be a no-frills, mass-market oriented version of Konica‘s color negative film with high color saturation.

DNP Centuria 100

For the purpose of this comparison, I took photos of a field of crocuses in Düsseldorf‘s Nordpark at the beginning of February. In most shots, I used a Micro-Nikkor 105 VR and a R1C1 macro flash kit with colored gels.

DNP Centuria 100

I also used these two films in a studio lighting workshop held by Jens Brüggemann. This proved to be an excellent learning experience! The shot above shows a mixed light situation (daylight from above and the flashes modeling light out of a huge umbrella from front left) rendered by the Dai Nippon Printing film.

The lead image on top shows Kodak Ektar coping with light from two strip softboxes aimed at the model from 90 degrees left and right.

Apart from these single images, how did the test go?

Methodology first: I took care to develop the films the same way, putting one of each in a Jobo 1520 tank and developing them with the Naniwa Color Kit N.

The negatives were scanned with a Minolta Dimage Scan Elite 5400, using no anti-grain dithering and the same light grain reduction in both films.

DNP Centuria 100 at left, Kodak Ektar at right

Grain did indeed turn out to be a major difference between the two films. The 100% crops in the picture above had their levels adjusted, but were not sharpened or reduced in grain. Kodak‘s claims of extremely fine grain for the Ektar are fully justified.

DNP Centuria 100 on top, Kodak Ektar at the bottom

Color balance was markedly different, too. The prohibition sign in the picture above was photographed with the macro flash (without gel filter, of course!) and white-balanced with a levels layer on the white circle denoting the bike‘s crankset. The sign‘s colors weren‘t nearly as garish as the DNP film makes them look, more faded and muted as in the Ektar version. So, a high saturation color negative film the DNP Centuria 100 surely is!

DNP Centuria 100 on top being color corrected with a color balance and a saturation layer

When I tried cheating and to adapt the color correction of DNP Centuria to match the one of Kodak Ektar with layers in Photoshop, the green parts of the sign quickly fell apart along the film grain. I could neither get the same yellow nor do much about the saturation. They don‘t call it a color balance for nothing!

DNP Centuria 100 at left, Kodak Ektar at right

Skin tones suffer under the DNP film‘s color rendering, while I find Ektar‘s skin tones to be quite natural. Granted, these are two different models with different casts to their skin, but the left one wasn‘t that orange-y. And to be fair, the all-rounder DNP 100 has never claimed to be a portrait film.

If all that sounds like I‘m slamming the DNP Centuria 100 film, making an easy target out of it, I‘m not. In the crocus shots, I actually prefered it‘s saturation and color rendition. I also see a role for it photographing urban environments in their multicolored facets and a kind of grainy hastiness. Kodak‘s new Ektar is more true to life, though — mind you, it‘s colors are saturated enough. It has stunningly small and unobtrusive grain. If you are attracted by peculiar color and light combinations and want to capture them just the way you saw them, this is the film for you.

You have the choice, and that‘s the beauty of using film for color photography. Your results don‘t have to be predetermined by the sensor in your digital camera. Film matters, so take your pick and have fun.

Christoph Hammann is a fine art photographer from Waltershausen, Germany. He works with traditional film and silver halide papers as well as digital post-processing and alternative printing techniques. His website is “Mostly Black & White”.

 We have DNP Centuria 100 film available at very attractive prices in our web shop. Why not treat yourself to an abundant 100 pack for summer?

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gallery KAIDO utility pole sign -- photo by Tyler Ensrude

Text and images by Tyler Ensrude for Japan Exposures

Have you ever been to a gallery and felt as though the reception almost didn’t want you there or could care less that you entered the room? Even in Japan, a country known for it’s outstanding customer service, some places can still hold their noses in the air a bit when it comes to big art in a small space. Maybe it’s my foreign face that frightens the staff working in some galleries here to go back into the storeroom or look busy? I don’t know.

Actually, I take that back. I have had very friendly experiences in and out of Japan from helpful staff or artists who are very grateful to know their work is appreciated. Especially in parks, cafes, some more local/down-to-earth galleries and people doing joint exhibitions around Tokyo. I even remember a few free alcohol occasions! I think it must be the sterility of some of the bigger name galleries that gets to me sometimes and I think that sterility makes them come off as inhospitable or cold.

So despite my slight frustration at times I love many Tokyo galleries. Many of them are very impressive and open to new artists, but usually come at a hefty price. Young photographers and artists could always use more places to show their work at a price and a location that won’t make them think Ginza is actually made of silver, and fortunately some places have been popping up lately.

Ginza may be known for it’s pricy shops and exclusive, but very attractive, galleries. But if you want to get a good taste of what Tokyo really has to offer, you may be in for quite a hike. Galleries are rather spread out around Tokyo, especially photo galleries. You can wander for ages and it’s hard to hit too many in one day. If you’re a gallery savvy visitor to Tokyo, but you’re not sure where you’re going, this can easily turn a day of casual gallery hopping into a frustrating day of hitting up police boxes fumbling over a tiny map and talking to policemen who think you’re trying to find the nearest place to develop your film.

If you want to take a weekend afternoon to hit one of the best off-the-beaten-path photo spaces while you’re here, one that greets you with a smile, talks with you like you’re an old friend and maybe even stuffs a few extra post cards in your pocket as you’re leaving you should definitely try to find gallery KAIDO.

“
You keep expecting someone to come walking out of a room wearing a bathrobe and slippers!”

I’ll try and give you a little help getting there, for while it’s not the easiest gallery to find, it’s definitely worth the trek. First, take the Tokyo Metro Marunouchi Line (subway) to Minami-Asagaya station. (You can also take the JR Chuo Line to the area, but the Marunouchi Line is more convenient). It’s only a few minutes from Shinjuku by train or subway. When you get there look for or ask how to find Ome Kaido (Ome Avenue). Gallery KAIDO is only a few minutes walk off the side streets near Ome Kaido. Ome is a busy road that starts from way-out-west Tokyo and ends around Shinjuku and is actually the inspiration behind the gallery’s name itself.

I was surprised I remembered how to get there without the use of a map the second time I visited. The map makes it look somewhat simple, but amongst the many turns, the never ending rows of houses and the narrow paths they call “streets” here, things can look quite similar. I took a few shots of some landmarks along the way to help you find the right corners, along with a scan of the gallery’s flyer map with some translated English.

gallery Kaido English map -- click for larger map and photos along route

Once you’re in the vicinity, the gate of gallery KAIDO is the next challenge. You’ll see a sign on a utility pole telling you to make a left. But then you’re stuck guessing where to go next, because you’ve turned into a dead end. If you live in Tokyo, it could very well be exactly what your apartment entrance looks like and there isn’t really much more than a small sign on the gate. It’s on the left side, about half why down the dead end. From this point, walk up the steep, steel steps, take off your shoes in the entryway and… it sounds like home already, doesn’t it?

As I mentioned before, you’ll probably be greeted with a smile and the curiosity of an old style Japanese inn owner welcoming a weary guest. If you’re not the shy type and you show enough interest and have some time, you may even be offered a cup of tea. It seems a bit like you’re walking through someone’s apartment and you keep expecting someone to come walking out of a room wearing a bathrobe and slippers! It feels old, but warm and real. It’s basically two bedrooms of photos with some closed rooms I only assumed were workshop space or possibly a darkroom. One of the rooms, which was apparently the old kitchen, is now the gallery gift shop.

If you come on the right day and happen to know your Japanese photographers, you maybe even get to meet gallery KAIDO’s creator, the renowned photographer Koji Onaka. Onaka-san’s most recent photo book, A Dog In France, is starting to gain Onaka attention overseas and is a great look into his life over 20 years ago. [The Japan Exposures online bookshop has signed copies available. -- ed]

Fifteen years ago Onaka-san had a gallery in Nishi-Shinjuku, which he also called KAIDO near the same Ome Avenue. That has since closed. Several years ago, Onaka-san and his wife Yuko, who runs the gallery gift shop, started looking for a new space not so near the bustling Shinjuku area. After a thorough internet apartment search, they came across the current KAIDO in Asagaya which also happened to be near Ome Avenue.

His original intention for the Asagaya gallery KAIDO was unclear for him at first, but he mainly intended to show his work there, and use the extra rooms as darkroom work space and Yuko could even use the space for some of her own interests. But recently, he’s converted it into a full-fledged gallery, welcoming his students to show their own work there for several weeks at a time. His “students” are actually attendees of his weekly workshops he holds at Kaido and random places around Tokyo and Japan. [Japan Exposures Cover Artist Sachiko Kadoi is a past workshop participant. -- ed] Each week Onaka offers advice to workshop participants and gives critiques of their work. (Workshop info and exhibition schedules, as well as pictures of past critique sessions, can be seen at the workshop’s blog — Japanese only).

gallery KAIDO exhibition postcards for recent shows

The most recent works on display (from March 20th-29th) in KAIDO’s tiny rooms when I visited were a small series of black and white images by the young Tatsuhiro Nakahara entitled Machi-Nagara (While Waiting), all of which were taken in his hometown of Hiroshima near his father’s farm. In the “PIN-UP Gallery” a playful color series called “empty, but” from Miki Iwaoka of Yokohama residents. Also a set of about 12 images from Onaka-san himself, all printed in Onaka-san’s wonderful signature mundane, smoky-grey style and taken between 1994-1999 in Hakodate, Hokkaido. Some past exhibitions included works by Tomomi Matsutani, Takeshi Dodo, and Shuhei Motoyama.

I found KAIDO a great place to see some straight-forward, down-to-earth images from some photographers who seem to love Japan and aren’t afraid to show it like it is. It’s kind of what I’d expect from a Japanese gallery in some ways after living in Japan for many years myself. It’s not exactly Ginza, but hey, Ginza’s just a dressed-up place made of silver and it’s too crowded anyway.

So, on top of the fact that gallery KAIDO provides that real, or even gritty Japanese art experience in a somewhat surreal Tokyo atmosphere, you also can rest assured that you’ll be welcomed back. KAIDO is open Friday, Saturday and Sunday from 1pm-7pm.

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Carl Zeiss in Jena around 1910

The first Contax did not manage to fully live up to its ambitions. It was a very sophisticated and also complex little device and soon became known to suffer from a lack of reliability, especially due to its complicated shutter. Hubert Nerwin, Zeiss Ikon’s camera designer par-extraordinaire, picked up the pieces from the first unreliable Contax designs, and re-designed it to one of most famous and desirable 35mm cameras ever to have been produced; the Contax II. In 1936 it was brought to market with many revolutionary improvements, such as a combined viewfinder and rangefinder. In terms of features, it beat the comparatively primitive Leica hands down. Not resting on its success, Zeiss immediately started working on the next generation, the Contax III. But another ambitious project was already lined up beyond it — the Contaflex twin-lens reflex camera (TLR).

Zeiss Ikon Contax I, image courtesy of Tomei Collection

The second world war saw the cities of Jena and Dresden become the Soviet sector of occupied Germany. The production facilities were damaged and everything salvageable was relocated to Kiev in the Ukranian province, to provide the Soviet Arsenal conglomerate with the means to construct a world class camera called the Kiev, initially entirely from leftover parts from Germany. Prior to the handover to the Soviets, the withdrawing US Army had recognised the significance of Zeiss and facilitated the relocation of over 100 key personnel, management and engineers to West sectors. This chapter alone is a fascinating period of Contax history and many papers and books have been published trying to establish on what exactly happened under the Russians’ control and what cameras where built at what location.

Like Germany itself, Carl Zeiss was now divided into East and West. In the West, Zeiss continued working on improving the classic II and III series rangefinder cameras, whereas in the Soviet sector work concentrated on developing the single-lens reflex. In 1949, at the Leipzig Spring Fair, an industrial showcase, Zeiss Dresden (East) released the Contax S (for Spiegelreflex [reflex mirror]. Due to increasing disputes around the Zeiss trademarks, which occupied German courts for 15 years, Zeiss Dresden renamed their cameras to Pentacon, derived from the combined words PENTAprism CONtax). It was the one of first 35mm SLR film cameras featuring a pentaprism allowing direct viewing from behind without a reversed image.

Contaflex ad in National Geographic, January 1958

The era of the rangefinder camera started drawing to a close and the SLR’s rise began. Carl Zeiss (West) released their first SLR in 1953, the Contaflex. Unlike its pre-war TLR namesake, it was a single-lens reflex camera (SLR) it featured a leaf shutter and but unlike the TLR only at a later stage was it equipped with a built-in (selenium) exposure meter. The follow-on model was called the Contarex and showed German engineering at its best: the world’s first exposure meter-coupled, focal plane shutter camera; it even sported interchangeable film backs. Despite its sophistication, the Contarex and its follow-on models were not commercially successful. While it was superbly crafted and packed with innovation, it was an engineer’s camera, which is to say ugly and heavy. Its selenium metering cell in front of the pentaprism gave it the name Cyclops or Bullseye. Production of the renowned Contax rangefinders IIa and IIIa (the a distinguishing them from the pre-war models) was ceased in 1961.

Meanwhile Japan had risen from its own ashes and started the onslaught that would leave the German camera industry practically wiped out (except for, ironically, the more and more archaic seeming Leica M). The Japanese practical design and not least pricing of cameras like the Nikon F simply could not be matched. Nonetheless, Zeiss continued to deliver in its cameras many world firsts that are taken for granted in today’s cameras: electronic auto-exposure, attachable motor drive and the technical feat of an electronically driven and vertically travelling shutter (a shorter travel distance means that shorter shutter speeds became possible). Undoubtedly SLR cameras would not be the same today if it wasn’t for the continuous innovation by Zeiss in their Contax cameras. The economic perspective was different, however. Zeiss simply could not continue to produce cameras in Germany alone, facing the fierce Japanese competition.

Yashica Electro 35 GSN, image courtesy kenrockwell.com

Perhaps it was the experience of the cyclops that prompted the addition of another ally: the F. Alexander Porsche Group. Industrial design was still in its infancy as a concept or product development consideration, yet Zeiss and Yashica must have recognised its importance and potential. Porsche Design were a pioneer in ergonomics and consulted on appearance and human interface design. The fruits of this collaboration were introduced at Photokina 1974 — the Contax RTS SLR.

Contax RTS

Read in Part 2 about how ceramic kitches knives from Kyoto helped Contax to remain on the cutting edge, tackling the challenges of auto-focus and the looming age of digital…

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Yutaka Takanashi Field Notes of Light Exhibition

Yutaka Takanashi’s current retrospective at The National Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo, — it runs until March 8 — is a great opportunity not only to view the trajectory of a career that has spanned close to 50 years, but also to trace the city of Tokyo from its pre-1964 Olympics days up to the present day. Over 11 different series, we can follow Takanashi’s varied takes on the loose theme of “The City”.

“Figures of commuters solitarily ensconced in the bubbles of private space on a packed train.”

Early on we have Takanashi as “economic miracle” chronicler in the mold of Shomei Tomatsu with the series “Tokyoites”, a series of 15 photos all taken in the year 1965. The photos are not all about boom and prosperity, to be sure, but the mood is generally upbeat. The images for the most part are intimate, a single figure captured in his or her world — a boy peering into a doll house, a woman nursing a baby in a speeding Mazda, or the figures of commuters solitarily ensconced in the bubbles of private space on a packed train.

Yutaka Takanashi: from "Towards the City" series

But on the other side of the wall, literally and figuratively, we have the series “Towards the City” of photos from the 60’s and 70’s. It is one of the few series where the capture details — when the photos were taken, the locales, etc. — are not provided, an aberration for the inveterate note taker Takanashi (the exhibition does after all bear the subtitle, “Field Notes of Light”). Takanashi was one of the founding members of the short-lived avant-garde group Provoke, known for their grainy, blurry black and white aesthetic, and these pictures, like that of the other “Provoke” artists of the time, are grainy in the extreme, poised between carefree and careless, and without any focus (both types). In contrast to the “Tokyoites” photos, the images here are generally long distant scenes, landscapes in a way. The angles are skewed, sharpness definitely a bourgeois concept. You get the feeling these were taken out in the country, from speeding cars, no doubt traveling “towards the city”.

Takanashi settled down after that heady time, and we don’t see again the same level of angst in his later work — but the restlessness is there in the ways Takanashi has taken on various projects and adapted various modes of working to accomplish them. Some more successful than others, it has to be said, in part I think because some of this work was driven by series published in the camera monthlies of the time, and carries with it vestiges of Takanashi’s commercial photographic work.

Along a long wall of the exhibit is the series “Hastukuni: pre-landscape” shot from the mid-80s to the early-90s, across the whole of Japan from Okinawa to Hokkaido, often taking as its focus various shrines and temples, as well as festivals. It’s a difficult series to grasp, in part because many of the photos for me are not compelling in their own right. You get the feeling it is a project that comes better across in book form, though personally I’m not familiar with Takanashi’s 1993 book of the same name.

“Empty, people-less spaces, yet stolid, girded for the coming decades.”

Yutaka Takanashi: From the series "Visages of the Metropolis"

The series Visages of a Metropolis, from the late 80’s (published in book form in 1989), are photos Takanashi shot at night with a 6×7 camera, focusing on Tokyo buildings and structures that date from the 20s and 30s. They have a film noir feel to them — empty, people-less spaces, yet stolid, girded for the coming decades we know in retrospect they have survived. Though in earlier series on view — Machi (Town, 1977) and Text of the City: Shinjuku (1982-83) — Takanashi explored space as a type of city-dweller in and of itself, both series (one of storefronts and store interiors, the other of bar interiors) seem a bit cold and inaccessible, the various tightly framed, claustrophobic spaces more typological than individual. In the “Metropolis” photos, we get something in between the ephemeral gobs of grain of Towards the City and the specificity of these two series.

In the current decade, Takanashi has continued to explore the spaces of the city, alternating between a static, formal mode of exposition, and a decidedly more fluid one. In Nostalghia (2004) and Kakoi-machi (2007), he uses color film to explore the modern urban landscape of Tokyo and its environs. These two series are presented together, and unlike any of the series on view at the exhibition, here the photos are printed large and hung mosaic-like along three walls, so that walking through this semi-enclosed space indeed does feel like walking through a city where city planning has been thrown out the window, a city moving forward by accumulation rather than regeneration.

Yutaka Takanashi: From the series "Kakoi-machi"

In both series, but in Kakoi-machi in particular, many photos use as a visual motif those blue billowing tarps that are used to enclose buildings as they are being constructed, or the solid fences that enclose — and cut off — construction sites from the rest of the city. (We can translate the title as “enclosed city”). Takanashi uses these veils, as it were, to explore the fact that while the intention is to keep these places from view until their unveiling, we as dwellers of this place can’t avoid what is in effect the proverbial elephant in the room.

Takanashi has taken the idea of enclosed space in a completely different direction in the two other series that close this retrospective, WINDSCAPE (2004) and silver passin’ (2008), both a return to black and white and a more hand-held aesthetic. In the former series, which was included in book form as a supplement to Nostalghia, Takanashi shoots the landscape, both urban and rural, from local trains throughout Japan. (The series was shot between 2001-2003). There is no attempt to hide the fact that Takanashi is behind the glass of a train car, often incorporating the reflections and glare into the photographs.

Yutaka Takanashi: From the series "silver passin'"

Likewise, Takanashi’s most recent work has been a series of photographs taken while riding Tokyo’s city bus system. Taking advantage of his age to qualify for a “silver pass” — a reduced-fee bus pass for senior citizens — Takanashi haunts the city in an entirely different way. Unlike the train journeys, here he is in the midst of the city, only a meter or two from the sidewalk, and while there are one or two photos that give away he’s on a bus, the overall effect is a disconcerting one where Takanashi is both on the street and above it.

Takanashi’s early books like Towards the City (1974, self-published) and Tokyoites, 1978-1983 (1983, Shoshi-Yamada) are works of art in their own right that would cost you dearly if you can find them (expect to pay upwards of $2000 for the former, Takanashi’s first book). If you ever have the opportunity to see these books in person — the library at the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography is one such place — I recommend you seize it.

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