When meeting other photographers in Tokyo I often was confronted with a different perception of photography than what I was used to. The decision how pictures are taken was distinct to how I was working—no asking why or intense consideration for when, nor fine tuning in composition. It was the pure satisfaction of preserving a tiny piece of time and space driving the constant need to take new photographs.
One evening I was talking to a Japanese student showing his work in a small group-exhibition in a gallery in Nakameguro. His pictures were all of him hanging out with his friends, random streets, vending machines or seemingly mundane moments and things like his recent purchase at the kombini. It seemed like a detailed archive of this person’s recent being. When I asked he answered that there is not a single minute he does not carry his small compact camera with him. In fact, he has several of them to be covered at all time. Why call yourself a photographer if you do not have a camera with you? And more importantly why be a photographer if you do not show a maximum of your work?
Carrying a camera with you without prior contemplation; seeing it as an extension of your arm; a tool you do not always have to look through to take a photo. This is reminiscent of Daido Moriyama’s work. Without saying he invented a completely new approach to photography but considering his influence on Japanese photography it was not bewildering to see that many intuitive and casual understandings of photography in Japan.
Back home I reconsidered my previous way of working with my photography. All these pictures I never really showed in full scale—many disappeared ina box buried next to other film strips (not too often left unscanned); others were only used for a quick show on the internet or given away as a single small print.
This very publication here resorts to Daido Moriyama’s same-named series “Record”, a logical completion of photographic work. It is the process of
archiving a small period of time and collecting pictures that probably never would have been printed before, combining them to something important: The recording of a procedure.
This record is supposed to be the first part in an ongoing sequence in correspondence with friends and their fellow work.