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2014, Nov 03
Ryuichi Ishikawa in Shibuya

Ryuichi Ishikawa 1, a promising photographer from Okinawa who I’ve introduced here, has a show at a space in Shibuya from 11/7 – 11/24.

Update 11/8/2014: Ishikawa will also be releasing two photobooks with Akaaka 2 very shortly. Big moves!



							

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AKAAKA, Ryuichi Ishikawa

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2011, Aug 29
Bye Bye Akaaka / さようなら、赤々舎

At the end of this month, Akaaka is moving from its current location in Kiyosumi-Shirakawa to Nishi-Azabu. It’s a little sad, because the current space is a converted totan house which made for a unique viewing experience. It was clean and modern without being a sterile white cube. Here are some photos to mull over while I pour one out.

今月末に赤々舎が清澄白河から西麻布に引越しする予定だ。僕にとってちょっと寂しい、なぜならば今のスペースはとても素敵です。きれい過ぎて白い三乗ではなくトタンハウスでユニークなギャラリーだった。見たくなる可能性高いね。


							

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AKAAKA

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2011, Apr 26
Seiji Shibuya, “Flame” at Akaaka

Last week I wrote a post on Seiji Shibuya for La Pura Vida, talking mostly about his recent photobook “Dance.” I liked the lightness of the photos, and for the “Dance” exhibit, Shibuya went as far as to write a very coherent statement explaining why he put together such an un-“serious” book.

Shibuya also held a second photo exhibit at Akaaka’s gallery, “Flame.” Here are some photos from the exhibit:

Some photos were hung on the walls, but this table was the centerpiece of the exhibit.

The photos of these flowers were shot just a couple of weeks ago, in Miyagi, an area heavily damaged by the tsunami.

It’s my first time to see a show presented like this. It looks like pins have been driven through the photos, but actually, each photo is sitting on top of four metal posts, with a small magnet placed on top.

I thought this photo in the center might have also been taken in Miyagi, but it was actually taken at the funeral of Shibuya’s grandmother.

“Flame.”

This was taken at Shibuya’s talk event. He has a good way of speaking in public, the word I would use is “measured.” He’s on the left, though I guess you can’t make out his face, or the Budweiser that he and the moderator were drinking. That was also a first, I’m glad to see Tokyo’s photographic community beginning to rally around this fine beer.


							

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AKAAKA, Seiji Shibuya

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2010, Mar 17
Aya Fujioka’s “I Don’t Sleep” and the Akaakaesque

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

Alec Soth

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

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

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

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

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

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

Available at the Japan Exposures store.

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


							

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AKAAKA, Aya Fujioka

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