Photographs from a small group of islands
Recently, when putting together a set of traditional Japan images, I went back to the photograph of this intense looking Shinto priest from December 2012. A portrait that at the time seemed much better suited to black and white.
Now, however, I’m not nearly so convinced. In fact, if pushed to pick one or the other, I’d probably opt for colour.
This one-room little workshop in an old part of Tokyo was founded just over 90 years ago. Producing handmade tatami (traditional Japanese flooring mats), it’s both a business and a part of the local community — opening, as it does, onto the area’s little shopping street.
Going back to those early years, tatami was ubiquitous in Japanese homes, so presumably it would have been a decent money earner. The situation would also have been very similar when the original owner passed it on to his grandson, the man in the photo below.
Now, however, tatami is nowhere near as common as it once was. Neither, it has to be said, are such traditional little businesses. Younger generations simply aren’t interested in running them. So when the grandson, who is now himself a grandad, finally calls it a day, the shutters will come down on another part of Tokyo’s past.
Regardless of whether it’s hot or cold, fine or otherwise, this old Buddhist monk is almost always stood in the same spot. A display of patience and commitment that is nothing short of incredible. He diligently prays. Rarely seems to receive offerings. And when unintentionally provoked by an impolite foreigner, the displeasure he showed was characteristically fleeting.
Old and meticulously cared for bonsai are incredibly beautiful things. In our fast-moving, increasingly chaotic world, they are also objects of quiet, almost ethereal calm. Creations that elegantly take a stand against the prevailing desire for quick results or regular reinvention.
Nurtured and cared for over centuries, the trees’ anonymous and often long gone custodians neither craved for, or were rewarded with, any kind of recognition whatsoever. Instead, they were simply temporary guardians. Skilled practitioners granted the pleasure of such works of art, but at the same time given the far more important task of preserving their beauty for future generations.
Traditional Japanese festivals often require a lot of effort, but the pay-off is that they are almost always a tremendous amount of fun.
