Towards the end of 2009, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art put up two exhibits featuring Japanese photography. The main attraction, “The Provoke Era,” was a straightforward survey of Japanese photography, starting from the immediate postwar period (Shomei Tomatsu, Hosoe Eikoh), moving to the more radical late 60’s (Hiromi Tsuchida, Daido Moriyama, the rest of the “Provoke” gang) and ending with a confused collection of photos from the 80’s and 90’s (cult street snapper Katsumi Watanabe sharing space with landscape photographer Toshio Shibata and art star Hiroshi Sugimoto). All of the photographs in this exhibition were black-and-white, and taken by men.

Having showed all the “old masters”—a few Nobuyoshi Araki prints were up there too, of course—the second exhibit, “Photography Now: China, Japan, Korea“ was meant to give some young guns a chance to shine. But a curious thing happened in the Japan space. After already looking at the work of some 30 different men, all the prints by female Japanese photographers were grouped together, in one corner of the room.

Only so much can be read into this, but I think it may reflect a certain attitude about “female Japanese photographers”—namely, that people are interested in talking about them as “female Japanese photographers.” Ferdinand has given a talk on this topic, but I can’t say if it was any good. There was an exhibit at Kathleen Cullen Fine Arts in NYC, looking at a few conceptual female photographers like Tomoko Sawada who are “often highlighting and questioning stereotypes of traditional female roles in Japanese society.” Without having bothered to research this too deeply—I’m not a scholar yet—my guess is that “female Japanese photographers” are being used to fit some sort of Western critical narrative. (And probably not a very interesting one, at that… waiting for the Brechtian critics to emerge)

But, I digress. As always, I come to celebrate! In this post I want to introduce Mari Sugino, a “female Japanese photographer” who has been participating in the semi-legendary Place M seminar in Tokyo for a couple of years now. I first saw her work at an exhibit at Konica Minolta Gallery with a friend, and we were both really impressed by her ability to capture quick portraits of people on the street in Tokyo. When I talked to Sugino-san she told me that she isn’t particularly interested in “making it” in the art world. She’s shooting for herself, although of course it wouldn’t be bad to find some success. So no critical narratives today, just very nicely done photos.

© Mari Sugino

© Mari Sugino

© Mari Sugino

© Mari Sugino

© Mari Sugino

I think it has become cool in a “controversial” sort of way to proclaim a strong distaste for Moriyama—like, he doesn’t represent Japanese photography, man! My feeling about Moriyama and Araki—who elicits the same reaction—is that at this point, they’re not worth making a fuss over. They are an unmovable part of the landscape, and regardless of whether they produce good work or bad work from here on out, their positions are secure.

I’m going to suggest that everyone adopt this “wild” opinion as quickly as possible! Let’s all talk about how much we hate Moriyama—not so much his photographs of course as what he stands for!—so that we can get through this, have a backlash against the backlash and not have to talk about it anymore.

This conversation frustrates me because it has little to do with photography. The view that Moriyama does not “represent” Japanese photography, or that he has stolen attention from other Japanese photographers, has more to do with the impressions that these photographs have made on foreigners. As it happens, I think a lot of Moriyama’s recent stuff isn’t very strong, and that he’s leaving himself open to fair criticism by overextending his brand, but a quick look at almost any of the recent Record magazines shows he hasn’t lost it—as if he still had to prove or justify himself anyway! A friend pointed out that his fame has only come recently; during the 70s he was literally selling whole boxes of prints to get by.

All that said, I agree with the feeling behind this complaint. It can’t be a good thing that Araki and Moriyama are so often equated with “Japanese photography.” But if we really wanted to see some new faces get recognition abroad, why not talk about… some new Japanese photographers?

Yo, did you know that Yamashita Tsuneo put a whole bunch of his “Another Time on the Ryuku Islands” photos online? He most definitely did, go check them out!

From now until October 15, you can see some Moriyama Daido prints while you engage in that all too common of Tokyo activities, drinking yourself into oblivion. They’re up at Kodoji, a bar located in the Golden Gai district of Shinjuku—an area as infamous for the microscopic size of its bars as for its colorful history.

this photo once appeared in a JAL in flight magazine. i might like it better there actually

Some bars in Golden Gai have themes, and Kodoji is an out-and-out photographer’s bar, complete with a whole bunch of great photo books in a back corner. There are two exhibits up each month, always shot by regular patrons. As for the prints, they’re actually not that amazing, but it’s a nice to literally “hang out” with them. If you stop in on the right night, you might even see the guy himself, and if you can handle a bit of Japanese you’re sure to have interesting conversations with the other patrons anyway.

I’ve added an entry for Kodoji to my map of Tokyo stuff, but beware!! The marker is not exact, it only marks the general Golden Gai area. Golden Gai bars are not exactly secretive, but I’m also not comfortable publishing the exact location online. Here’s a hint, though, the name of the place is written out in hiragana…

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

I was serious! As a living deity of photography, Moriyama is all over the place in Tokyo. (So is Araki, but that’s a different post.) Here are some pictures I took at LOGOS Books in Shibuya, where there’s a month long feature on Moriyama, I think for no reason in particular though I can’t be totally sure.

(But mostly Moriyama)

Bold t-shirts

$50 each

The back of the shirts

I did a bad job of taking a picture of most of the books, which are sitting on this shelf. But down here are issues of “Record,” Moriyama’s own periodical photo mag, which is printed beautifully. (It sells for a little over $20.)

The cover of Record no. 10, and a reminder of why I can’t be seriously cynical about Moriyama’s vast exposure.

I know there are only so many times that I’m going to be able to pass up Record no. 11, which was shot in Moriyama’s old stomping grounds of Osaka, in summertime—and probably in a weekend, if not one day. There’s a lot of photos from in and around Shinsekai, and that flavor really comes through the page.

There you have it, even in the midst of this frankly absurd amount of paraphernalia—and this is not the only time I’ve seen this much Moriyama junk in one place—I still can’t deny Daido his talent. It’s a bit maddening actually.

• Here is another video of Daido Moriyama snapping pictures in Tokyo! This time it’s complete with a narrator and occasional cheesy, Battlestar Galactica-esque music in the background. Seen at Japan Exposures; this is the first one I found (worth watching).

• John Sypal writes about a case that holds 10 rolls of film “in the most efficiently compact manner possible.” I want it.

• People are naturally interested in exploring history through photography. Sometimes these projects get a little bit awkward, like this one from St. Petersburg where modern photos have been “painted” over old images, if not half-hearted, like this NYT photo essay revisiting locations shot by Walker Evans. Why not duplicate an old photo exactly and display the two side-by-side? John Fielder of Colorado did that, and the results are satisfying. Big up Graham!

• A big shoutout to AMERICANSUBURB X, which is full of photography essays and interviews. CHECK IT

• Later 😀 😀 😀

Daido Moriyama is a personal hero: after all, one of his photos graces the header of this blog. Two of his recent shows, though, have been a bit disappointing.

Let’s back up for a second. Moriyama’s signature style is a black-and-white photograph which has been exposed, developed and printed with an eye towards extreme contrast. It is hard to mistake one of his stronger photographs for the work of anyone else. When looking at a book of Moriyama’s photos, you might not be drawn into each image, but they can all generally hold your attention. When you do make a connection with an image, the effect is heightened because of the striking tones of black and white. At his best, Moriyama makes it pleasurable to look at a very plain image, because it has been modified so dramatically by his process.

a Moriyama image from Buenos Aires

So what could go wrong with an exhibit? In short, presentation. The first show I saw was a joint exhibit with the Brazilian photographer Miguel Rio Branco. Moriyama photographed São Paulo, and Rio Branco photographed Tokyo. On the way into the exhibit were five Moriyama prints, well spaced out in a line. This gave time to look at each image. So far so good, but then came the centerpiece of Moriyama’s contribution. Imagine a wall 50 feet long. Then imagine that wall completely covered in a grid of about 100 photographs, all printed quite large, in borderless frames and mounted within an inch of each other. If it’s hard to visualize this, here’s a cellphone picture of the other exhibition I saw (“Hokkaido”), which was presented in the same way:

“Hokkaido” at Rat Hole Gallery

Maybe Moriyama’s books are thrown together at random, but this way of exhibiting seems like a way of not actually editing his work. When you want to move on from one image, your eye can go in eight different directions! I suppose that this presentation does highlight Moriyama’s process—the effect of seeing so much beautifully realized contrast in one place is striking. But it’s also overpowering: how are you supposed to look at anything?