| Written by Chris Yeager, on 10-06-2008 00:00 |
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Lamenting Japan’s departure from the sensibility of traditional aesthetics, Tanizaki Junichiro’s 1933 essay In Praise of Shadows poses the question: what might Japan have done with the technologies introduced by the west had they come to develop them indigenously?
Masao Yamamoto's photography certainly employs some traditional aesthetics and could offer insight into such an alternate history. Using the camera to capture suggestive, observational imagery, Yamamoto provides the viewer with an experience quite similar to that of reading haiku. His photographs are simple, unparticular images that give little to the eye, but offer up the ingredients for a deeper engagement of the work on some emotional or personal level.
The power of haiku and of Yamamoto’s work is the power of suggestion, a method of expression highly valued in traditional Japanese aesthetics. By tactfully providing the bare stimulus and leaving something unsaid or undefined, the viewer is given the chance to complete the idea and thus become part of the work.
In a medium that typically serves to record, document, depict, or dazzle, many of Yamamoto’s photographs are seemingly mundane and unremarkable. Landscape and still-life are dominant subjects, and although the images can be vaguely suggestive of a beautiful moment or location, the way in which they are captured suggests a deliberate disregard to the technical prowess that is a common merit in the world of photography. Yamamoto has no interest in creating a mere record of any time or place, and there is no attempt to depict with clarity, particularize his subjects, or offer a stunning spectacle. his photographs, often unclear and nearly devoid of color, instead seem to privilege a lack of context and definition.
Yayako Uchida wrote of Yamamoto’s work:
Almost all the photographs are in black and white, but to be honest, of all the photos I have seen until now, these black and white photos gave me the strongest sense of "color" that I have ever had. And conversely, looking at the very few color photographs that appear, I wanted to say, "How clear and transparent… " with a sigh.
The lack of color in Yamamoto’s photographs has a twofold effect. As Uchida notes, the color photographs seem to stifle the imagination -- the visual definition of color is a limitation on the viewer's experience of the photograph, and it wouldn't surprise me to know that Yamamoto's sparse inclusion of color photos is intended to emphasize this fact by contrast. But aside from being a means of using this "power of suggestion," the lack of color lends itself to a sense of nostalgia and agedness that is a large part of Yamamoto's work.
I attended a special discussion event held in conjunction with the Nakazora exhibition at The Print Center (9/10 - 11/26/08), during which Yamamoto answered a number of questions regarding his work and passed around an old briefcase containing his photographs. Attendees were encouraged to open the briefcase and leaf through the photos with no particular concern for maintaining their physical condition. Yamamoto explained that this not only benefits the viewer, who is given a more intimate experience with the work, but it also helps to photos themselves to acquire this warm, timeworn feeling.
Toned and torn over the years, the weathered prints do much to make us contemplate the passage of time. However, the subject matter would seem chosen to avoid placing the viewer within a particular moment or historical context. Our attention is instead drawn to the broad brushstrokes of time -- the objects, scenes, and situations that are common to the human experience. The result is an almost sublime sensation of timelessness that strips away the particulars of life and puts the viewer in touch with things both familiar and eternal. Our personal response to the image is a significant part of the experience -– perhaps we are made to recall certain memories or feelings that may be associated with the image. What moves the viewer to greater heights, however, is the sensation of having that personal experience minimized by the time-transcendent quality of the image.
Nothing is more hallowing than the union of kindred spirits in art. At the moment of meeting, the art lover transcends himself. At once he is and is not. He catches a glimpse of Infinity, but words cannot voice his delight, for the eye has no tongue. Freed from the fetters of matter, his spirit moves in the rhythm of things. It is thus that art becomes akin to religion and ennobles mankind. It is this which makes a masterpiece something sacred. -Okakura Kakuzo, The Book of Tea
Setting aside the the nature of the photography itself, Yamamoto's installations represent a truly unique process and take his art to a whole new level. The printed photographs are arranged on a wall to form a vague sort of environment or structure in which the images are to be experienced. Usually done with no particular chronology or story in mind, Yamamoto describes this selection and placement of images as the most difficult part of his work. The result is a sure treat to viewers, whose reactions will vary greatly as they stand before this orchestra of visual cues.
Stop by The Print Center to experience Yamamoto's Nakazora
installation for yourself -- now through November 26, 2008.
Last update: 10-07-2008 15:07
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