Memories of Japan

Japan is walked with eyes lowered and ears attentive. In this notebook I don't look for the postcard: I look for the gesture. Pairs of geta aligned in front of a tatami. The red hakama of a girl crossing alone the Meiji Jingu esplanade. A cook searing meat with a torch in a market alley. A subway car turned, for an instant, into a still life. Kyoto's autumn gives colour to silence: the momiji burn red over the pagodas and the slow boats of the Hozu-gawa float as if time there ran at a different speed. The series alternates the architectural scale — temples, stations, murals — with a more intimate register, almost domestic, where fabric, wood, the skin of the light matter more.