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The Werther’s Photography Blues
As any foreign youth in Japan, I was attracted to everything that smelled of vintage linoleum and rusty paper; if it screamed “showa” to eyes – it whispered “Japan” to heart. What else do you expect from a young boy raised on novels by Japanese writers of a forgotten era? You dreamed of sisters who can’t decide what obi they should wear on the premiere of a new black and white film; you stared at cherries endlessly, trying to imagine the Izu dancer’s breast… all that jazz. Instead, you got girls with fake everything dreaming of DJ-ing in clubs(15 years ago, that is) and nail salons…
It took me some time to realize that Japanese girls only wear a shell of “modernity,” You need to be an experienced diver to know what shell hid the pearl of genuineness. You have to be delicate yet determined in everything and, most of all, you have to be in love… you can’t rush a flower to bloom. Instead, you warm it up to it.
And so I danced with lights and camera, whirling inside dusty and narrow hotel rooms - serenading my love to forgotten era one shutter click at a time.
