Aihara Eiji: "Tonari kinjo" (1977)

Aihara Eiji (b. 1940, Shizuoka Prefecture, Japan) started working as a freelance photographer at the age of 20, but as of 1963 decided to play it safe by pursuing a more dependable career in the textile manufacturing business alongside his artistic effort. This proved to be a wise decision since it took another twelve years for a selection of his photographs to make a first appearance in the photo-magazine Asahi Camera (in the December issue of 1975 as part of a section called twelve up-and-coming photographers). The periodical continued to serve as a platform for his photographs. But it can be argued that the first contribution, entitled tonari kinjo (neighborhood), would always be the most important one because it laid the foundation for Aihara's only ever published photobook of the same name.

Eiji Aihara: Tonari kinjo (1977).

Tonari kinjo - a slipcased softcover of square medium size - was brought out by the publishing house Nora-Sha in 1977, under the supervision of Kitai Kazuo and the help of editor Ōsaki Norio (b. 1940, Saitama Prefecture). By then this duo had already co-produced other noteworthy photobooks, including Kitai Kazuo's sanrizuka (1971), Kimura Ihei's pari (1974), and Hashimoto Shōkō's goze (1974). The new project's layout resembles that of the earlier ones mostly because of the repeated use of full bleed printing. New, on the other hand, is that the image sequence is not interrupted by inserted blank pages or text as utilized for instance in Hashimoto's book, in which the photographer captured the austere lifestyle of blind female musicians (the so-called goze) in accordance with the four seasons.

Eiji Aihara: Tonari kinjo (1977).

The most intriguing feature is paradoxically hidden in plain sight. Only when inspecting the photographs near the gutter it becomes apparent that the book is in fact compiled of roughly 109 juxtaposed black-and-white photographs rather than a smaller number of double-page spreads, as presumed at first sight. Ōsaki apparently chose to pair two images not solely according to their subject matter but rather made efforts to align their unique marginal grain patterns. As a result, two separate shots of the same or even different rural landscapes, street scenes, or interiors often appear to be belonging together, when in fact they are not. This editorial strategy works so convincingly because the majority of photographs depict grasses, flowers, trees or bushes either growing or withering at the margins of the image. Often seemingly untouched by man, these naturally grown structures create a dramatic photographic effect that on the printed page manifests itself in random patterns of stark black and white. It is this richness of detail on two juxtaposed photographs inside that camouflages the missing connection and ends up mimicking a complete landscape shot.

Eiji Aihara: Tonari kinjo (1977).

On the surface, tonari kinjo seems like a simple photographic portrait of life in a typical countryside during the last decade of Japan's Shōwa era (1926-1989). And indeed, for several years Aihara had aimed his camera - in line with the book's title - on the immediate neighborhood of his native Sagara-chō (known today as Makinohara-shi after merging with the neighboring town of Haibara-chō in 2005). The rusticity of this once small town with its dirt roads, untended gardens, often decrepit architecture, and surrounding rice fields is emphasized in every photograph but without the slightest hint of criticism. On the contrary, these images of children (either dressed in shorts and t-shirts but also in yukatas) eating ice cream or playing at a riverbank, of local workers going about their own business, of a shop's refrigerator filled with lemonade bottles, or tomatoes in a vine all posses a strong sense of affection towards their subject. It is safe to say that Aihara portrayed the inhabitants of Sakara-chō as people at peace with life in the countryside and their local traditions. The photographs of children, in particular, evoke a notion of innocence - that precious and short-lived state of mind.

Eiji Aihara: Tonari kinjo (1977).

However, those feelings of affection are promptly followed by an equal amount of nostalgia. It would be going to far to interpret the abundance of withered plants as a reminder of every living thing's mortality, but a certain presentiment of loss can certainly be sensed in Aihara's way of photographing his hometown. In a similar fashion to Araki's self-published Sentimental Journey (1971), the atmosphere created by these images is located somewhere between life and death. Sure, when looking at photographs in retrospect one's view of the things depicted unavoidably becomes biased. No one is able to ignore the apparent temporal difference. Everything that happened yesterday will never be present again. It will therefore inevitably be subjected to human nature's sentimentality which is fostered by the knowledge of the ever-growing gap between now and the past. Interestingly enough, one of the interior shots shows a wall with a calendar from 1977 pinned to it. The words kyōdo no mukashi-banashi (old local folk tales) are small but legibly printed. Why would Aihara include such an image in this particular book? Could Aihara be hinting at the fact that the innocent rural life as presented in the photographs was then already part of the past, thus, nothing more than a tale told by means of his camera? Considering Japan's rapid political, economical, urban, and cultural transformation after World War II - changes that were felt throughout the country -, this theory appears not too far-fetched. Whatever answers there may be, fact is, it is nothing but impossible to look at Aihara's book as the result of a thoughtless photographic habit.

Eiji Aihara: Tonari kinjo (1977).

In times of emotional distress the mind tends to wander to places in the past. In retrospect, these moments often present themselves as a simpler, less hectic and overall more innocent way of life. In the late 1960s and early '70s, a period notorious for its social and political turmoil, more than a few photographers looked back instead of ahead in order to find a link to the old Japan - one that was untouched by the horrors of war and the burden of survivors's guilt. This notion of the past, many thought, could only be still found in the countryside.

橋本照嵩：「瞽女」（1974年）

　美術史研究で、最も喜ばしく、胸が躍る瞬間は、出版当時には特に注目を得ずに埋もれてしまった作品を再発見することだ。特に日本をテーマに研究していると、こうしたことがよく当てはまる。日本の美術作品は19世紀半ばには西欧でも目にされるようになったとはいうものの、学術分野として多くの学者から十分に受け入れられるようになったのは、ごく最近だ。その結果として、ヨーロッパや北米の優れた美術は20世紀を経て、論文、書籍、学会、展覧会などで評価されてきたのに対し、オーソドックスなヨーロッパ中心の美術史においては「よそ者」である日本の美術作品は、今後まだまだ評価されるべき、中身のある分野であり、今日の世界的美術史の中ですでに評価のある作品の中に同様に正しく位置づけられるべきである。

　今回のFaraway Eyesでは、のら社より出版された写真集についての記事シリーズとして、先ほど述べたような背景でごく最近まで見過ごされてきたアーティストの一人、橋本照嵩（1939年宮城県石巻市生まれ）の1974年に初出版されたデビュー作「瞽女」を取り上げたい。ここで一つ言っておきたいのだが、橋本の作品を選んだのは、単にのら社から出版された写真集についてのブログ記事シリーズを完成させるためではない。過激とも言える写真のヴィジュアル・スタイルに相反した極めて伝統的なテーマを組み合わせるという橋本のやり方が興味深かったからだ。これから記述する内容は、以前、宮寺三郎の「路地」（1979年）についての記事の序論でも記したように、引き続き研究余地のある写真家の作品に対する現段階における仮の結論と見なしてほしい。

橋本照嵩：「瞽女」（1974年）

　橋本は、日本大学芸術学部写真学科卒業後、1964年よりフリーランスの写真家として活動を始めた。その後、新潟県で数少ない瞽女として生活していた女性たちの姿を撮ることが彼の主な取り組みとなり、1969年までそうした写真を撮り続けた。瞽女という言葉は、文字通り盲目の女性を意味し、江戸時代初期から小さな集団で苦行の生活をしてきた女性たちのことである。それは女子修道院に似た厳格な規律と明確な階層的構造が特徴であった。彼女たちは幼い頃から家族と離れて生活し、昔から伝わる歌や三味線を先生から習う。そうした長い修行を積んで瞽女となり、仲間と一緒に旅に出かけ、旅芸人として東北地方を転々と回る。行く先々で歌や三味線を披露し、その施しに米を受け取る。これが当時、障害者として生計を立てる数少ない術の一つであった。

橋本照嵩：「瞽女」（1974年）

　「瞽女」に含まれる写真のほとんどは、1972年から1974年の間に撮られたものである。この写真集には、8ページに渡るテキストが小冊子として付属でついている。それを執筆したのは雑誌ライターの森忠彦であるが、彼もまた定期的に橋本と一緒に旅に同行していた。このテキストには写真集で扱っているテーマがわかりやすく説明され、橋本と共に参加した旅の様子がよく記されている。橋本自身も写真集の最後の10ページで旅の日記を綴っている。このように死にゆく職業を記録しようとする写真家は多くの場合拒まれてしまうが、橋本と森は高田と長岡の2派の瞽女の女性たちと密接な関係を築くことができた、とマーク・ピアソンが指摘している。森は、瞽女の女性たちは心優しく、相手を大事にする人たちだと記している。例えば、森が3年振りに高田派の瞽女たちの前に現れた際、先生は声を聞いただけで森であることを認識した。また、橋本が前回プレゼントとして渡した小さな鈴を大切に持ち続けていた。

橋本照嵩：「瞽女」（1974年）

　瞽女の姿を写真に収めるために橋本が費やした多大な時間と努力によって、彼は彼女たちの生活を四季を通して捉えるができたのだ。外箱に入った写真集は、季節ごとに4つのチャプターに分けられ、冬から始まる。このテーマには橋本の努力と情熱が詰まっているものの、彼の捉えた瞽女たちの生活の様子は完全に正確とは言えない。なぜなら、撮影当時の1970年代初めには、彼女たちはすでに現役を退いていたからだ。しかしながら、彼らが目にしたもの、例えば高田派の瞽女が畳の上で並んで座って先生の歌に耳を傾ける姿など、めったに見れない光景は間違いなく本物であったと記している。

橋本照嵩：「瞽女」（1974年）

　最後になってしまったが、橋本のモノクロ写真の粗くハイコントラストな質は、一見するとプロヴォーク関連の写真に似ている。興味深いことに、橋本はプロヴォークの創設メンバーの一人である中平卓馬（1938〜2015）と親交があったのは事実だ。とはいえ、「瞽女」に見られる橋本のヴィジュアル・スタイルに彼らの関係がどの程度影響したのかは明確ではない。当時、中平と森山が、写真のメディアとしての機能の枠を超えながら、写真の中で匿名性を追い求めて懸命に奮闘していたことを考慮すると、橋本の民俗学的な作品がプロヴォークの精神にインスピレーションを受けたとは言い難い。しかし、橋本の写真に見られる粗めの質感は、写真集のテーマを表現する役目をしっかり果たしていると言える。その質感によって、瞽女の古めかしい風姿が強調され、厳しい寒さ、民間信仰が深く根差していることで知られる東北地方の田舎の荒々しさが表現されているのだ。

Hashimoto Shōkō: "Goze" (1974)

Rediscovering works of art that have been overlooked by previous generations is one of the most exciting and gratifying aspects of art historical research. This is especially true for studies about Japan, a culture whose artistic output - although having come into fashion in the West initially during the second half of the 19th century - has only recently been fully accepted by the majority of scholars as an equal field of scientific research. Consequently, while most remarkable art in Europe and North America during the following 20th century has been acknowledged in the form of papers, books, conferences or exhibitions, the former "outsiders" of the by now obsolete orthodox Eurocentric art history still hold a rich body of yet to be appreciated artworks that likewise ought to be given their rightful place amongst those already accepted in the canon of today's international art history.    

In order to call more attention to one of those artists largely neglected only until recently, Hashimoto Shōkō's (b. 1939 in Ishinomaki, Miyagi Prefecture) debut photobook Goze, first published in 1974, will be reviewed here as the second installment of Faraway Eyes' series on publications distributed by the Japanese publishing house Nora-Sha. The decision to include Hashimoto's work was certainly not made simply for the sake of completeness but because of the photographer's interesting choice to combine a rather radical visual style of photography with a subject-matter that was in contrast highly traditional. As previously mentioned in the introduction to the review of Miyadera Saburō's book Roji (1979), the following notes should be regarded as interim conclusions to a photographer's work that requires further research.

Hashimoto Shōkō: Goze (1974).

After studying photography at the Nippon University's Fine Arts Department Hashimoto started working as a freelance photographer in 1964. His primal engagement would become the portrayal of the few remaining Goze still living in Niigata Prefecture, which he photographed repeatedly as of 1969. The term Goze, literally meaning blind woman, describes visually impaired women who, since the beginning of the Edo Period (1603-1867), had been living together in small ascetic organizations characterized by austere discipline and a clear hierarchic structure similar to that of a convent. The women lived separated from their family members from an early age and were trained by a teacher in several arts such as singing traditional songs and playing the shamisen. The long lasting training would eventually enable the students to become a Goze and join their group's periodical travels across the rural areas of northern Japan as itinerant musicians who collected alms in form of rice; one of the few respectable ways of earning a living as a handicapped person at that time. 

Hashimoto Shōkō: Goze (1974).

Hashimoto, who took most of the photographs included in Goze between 1972 and 1974, was regularly joined on his travels by the magazine writer Mori Tadahiko who contributed an accompanying text which is enclosed in the book as a small eight-page brochure. The text serves as an easy to understand introduction to the specific subject-matter as well as a good overview of the trips he took together with Hashimoto. The photographer himself also kept a detailed diary that is reproduced on the last ten pages of the book. Unlike most photographers who, as Mark Pearson pointed out, were often rejected in their efforts to document the last survivors of this dying trade, Hashimoto and Mori managed to develop close relationships to the members of two Goze groups who had been living in Takada and Nagaoka. Mori illustrated the nature of their mutual respect by noting that the teacher of the Takada group still recognized him only by the sound of his voice after three years of absence or that she had kept a little bell that Hashimoto had given to her as a gift on a previous visit.

Hashimoto Shōkō: Goze (1974).

The considerable time and effort Hashimoto spent in order to photograph the Goze allowed him to capture their lives as it was linked to the four seasons. Consequently, the slipcased book is divided into four chapters starting at winter time. But in spite of all efforts and devotion to his subject the publication should not be mistaken for an absolute accurate portrayal of the lifestyle of the Goze since they had in fact already been retired by the time Hashimoto came to photograph them in the early 1970s. Nonetheless, Mori wrote that at least to them rare sights such as the Goze of Takada, as they crouched one day side by side on the tatami floor listening to their teacher's singing, was undoubtedly real. 

Hashimoto Shōkō: Goze (1974).

Last but not least it should be said that the grainy high contrast reproduction quality of the black-and-white images at first sight resembles that of photographs directly associated with the Provoke group. Interestingly enough, Hashimoto was in fact a close friend of one of the founding members, Nakahira Takuma (1938-2015). To what degree this friendship might have actually given Hashimoto an impetus to pursue the particular visual style seen in Goze is however uncertain. Considering that in particular Nakahira and Moriyama around that time had been striving for maximum anonymity in their photography while simultaneously trying to push the medium beyond its mediative capabilities, it seems rather unlikely that Hashimoto's folklore work was greatly inspired by the Provoke spirit. It is nevertheless safe to say that the gritty grain texture of Hashimoto's photographs serves the book's subject matter very well. It underlines the archaic visual appearance of the Goze and helps to visualize the asperity of Japan's northern countryside; a region that is well known for its harsh cold climate and deep-rooted folk beliefs.

Miyadera Saburō: "Roji" (1979)

The Japanese publishing house Nora-Sha is probably best known today for distributing Kimura Ihei's color photographs of Paris, taken during several visits to the city from the mid-1950s to 1960 and posthumously published in the 1974 slipcased hardcover book simply titled Pari. Only since recently, due to Martin Parr's reissue of five diverse protest-photobooks in his PROTEST BOX (Steidl, 2011), the included Sanrizuka (Nora-Sha, 1971) by Kitai Kazuō (b. 1944, Anshan, Manchuria), which documents the civil resistance of local residents against the construction of Narita Airport, may be added to that list. Considering the extraordinary distinct qualities of these two unique publications, it seemed necessary to me to gather further information about other releases by Nora-Sha in order to acquire a more profound knowledge of the history of this particular publishing house as well as the photographers and editors involved.

Miyadera Saburō's Roji, dating from 1979, is presented in this context as the first book of more to be reviewed in the future. Since, to my knowledge, Miyadera's work has not yet been discussed in detail outside of Japan, the bits of information gathered here are to be regarded as interim conclusions that require further study. It is, nevertheless, my hope to give a first insight into a photographer's oeuvre that exhibits aesthetic and methodological similarities to those of by now much-celebrated "masters" of Japanese photography.

・・・

Born in 1945 in Fukushima Prefecture, Miyadera belonged to the first generation of the so-called après-guerre - the immediate post-war years that were characterized first and foremost by the omnipresence of the U.S. occupation forces as well as Japan's consequent struggle for a new identity after a long period of fascist politics and warfare. It is well known that as a first attempt to present itself to the world as a renewed nation that had undergone positive economic, infrastructural and ideological change, Japan became host of the 18th Olympics held in Tokyo in the summer of 1964. Around this time Miyadera entered the Department of Dairy Farming at Rakuno Gakuen University in Hokkaidō. Being geographically detached from the capitol, the epicenter of the vivid student and New-Leftist movement against the repeated renewal of the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty, it is difficult to say to what extend Miyadera was personally affected by those events and the overall political zeitgeist of the 1960s.

It is, however, safe to say that after graduating from university in 1968, it would take him another five years to develop a serious interest in photography. Interestingly enough, after only one year of active practice, Miyadera was already awarded a prize as best freelance photographer by the renowned Asahi Camera in 1974. The following year he moved to Shizuoka Prefecture and - after working for some time at an in vitro fertilization laboratory for livestock breeding - eventually founded his own photo studio in the small port town of Numazu, approximately 125 kilometers (circa 80 miles) south-west of Tokyo. It was precisely in that town, as well as the neighboring municipality of Mishima, that from 1977 to 1979 Miyadera took a series of photographs that would make up his publication Roji. The book's Japanese two-character title is best translated into English as "Alley" and already provides an apt description of the publications photographic subject.

Miyadera Saburō: Roji (1979).

The 24 x 18 cm softcover book is housed in a simple blank cardboard slipcase and contains roughly 104 black-and-white full bleed photographs, each printed according to the image's format either as horizontal double- or vertical single-page spreads. Even though, like many other well-known publications printed during the 1960s and '70s, Roji also exhibits the notorious rich, matte black ink combined with a noticeably heightened contrast, the book's overall impact is comparatively reserved. The pages are continuously unpaginated and no foreword or captions are enclosed. Only a short biography in note form as well as the book's credits can be found on the last page. Kitai Kazuō is listed here as publisher and seemingly had - as we will see in future posts on publications by Nora-Sha - a crucial impact on the book's final appearance.

Miyadera Saburō: Roji (1979).

Throughout the entire book, Miyadera points his camera consistently at the daily spectacle of his immediate surroundings - the local people going about their everyday business in the alleys of Numazu and Mishima. Unlike the cityscape of the country's ever-changing capitol Tokyo, the small Shizuoka port towns and their citizens seem to be more or less immune to both the positive and negative side effects of the economic miracle. Accordingly, the places depicted are hardly ever free of signs of decay. Nevertheless, considering the entire scope of subjects covered, Miyadera finds an interesting balance between the joy and sorrow of life in Numazu and makes Roji therefore an unlikely candidate to be seen for example in the tradition of earlier social documentary work by photographers such as Domon Ken (1909-1990). The apparent interest in the partly dramatic partly playful effect of light and shadow - a subject that also fascinated Moriyama Daidō (b. 1938, Osaka) and eventually led to his publication entitled Hikari to Kage (Light & Shadow, 1982) - is a clear indication of the photographer's individual interest in the visual potential of photography and thus an unacceptable attitude within the realms of classical photojournalism as proposed by Domon and the influential editor Natori Yōnosuke (1923-1962).

Miyadera Saburō: Roji (1979).

Instead, Roji is to be regarded as the result of a photographer's committed relationship and involvement with the places and people that make up his own living environment. While doing so, Miyadera shows no sign of a condescending attitude towards his subjects, even when shifting his attention to unappealing scenes such as a shirtless man bend over to clean the scruffy entrance of a building that has the warning "No Peeing" written in white paint right next to it (see above right). In this process of carefully observing his surroundings while roaming the narrow streets of Numazu and Mishima, Miyadera's photographs clearly reveal an unbiased receptivity to reality and an eager desire to use the photo camera as a tool to decode the hidden mechanics of everyday life frame by frame.

Miyadera Saburō: Roji (1979).