Haikyo

These photos were taken almost exactly 6 years ago, and as I was recently reminded of them, I decided to go back and both re-visit and re-edit some of what I originally shot.

The village was a combination of open, sealed and collapsed structures, and whereas some of them had been abandoned for 40 years or so, others were inhabited as comparatively recently as 2012. A mine closure in the area was the likely cause of people leaving in the 1980s, but signs of agriculture helps explain why other residents stayed on.

Those are the only real details we could glean, and even they are rather lacking. It was the same in regards any genuine information about the people who once lived there, except for what some of them looked like, and to a small degree, what their lives may have involved. Elements that together made the village the fascinating find it was, and also what prompted me to look back at the photos again, with the recent publication of an interview I did with Tokyo Weekender magazine being the initial catalyst.

In recent years quite a bit of my work has involved trying to capture moments and scenes that represent the before and after, all of which is covered in the article. And this village was probably the first time I properly documented (or at least properly understood) the power and importance of taking such photographs. The poignancy of faces staring back, along with the almost palpable silence of places that were once filled with people, voices and music are hard to ignore. Moments that while long gone, can now at least be imagined, which in a way allows them to be remembered once again.

There’s no shortage of abandoned homes and small settlements on these pages. Places that provide hints of stories, but little in the way of real facts. The train below, on the other hand, is very different.

Approaching the location there was the growing worry that what we were planning to photograph wouldn’t actually be there. On a trip several years ago we’d missed a similar find, as after being left abandoned for years, the locomotive we wanted to see had frustratingly been taken away mere months before our visit. Thankfully there wasn’t a repeat of that disappointment. Quite the opposite in fact, as the train turned out to be more impressive than either of us had dared to imagine.

Also, unlike those aforementioned former homes, there’s an easily pieced together backstory. The carriage was in use until 1985, but rather than being scrapped at the end of its scheduled life, it was restored, given a new home, and thus saved for posterity. The very same spot it still stands in today, only the museum that housed and maintained it closed for business around the turn of the century. A fate that also befell the line the train was once used on, as after beginning operations in 1923, it ceased the majority of its services in 1985, and then finally carried its last passengers on October 4th 1999.

All of which are interesting details, but what really sets the carriage apart, at least for me personally, is the incredible level of decay. A unique kind of beauty that made simply being there as the light slowly faded feel very special indeed.

I’ve featured photographs from this long abandoned apartment complex before. Situated up in the mountains, it once housed employees from a cement company, but it has stood quiet and uninhabited since the early 1980s.

The thing I find most fascinating about abandoned homes is what’s left behind. The personal items that hint at all manner of stories, along with details about what the former residents liked and did with their time. Even who they loved in some instances. Elements that this place unfortunately doesn’t really have. However, visiting again, I realised that what did interest me about it was simply the very visible passage of time. An aspect of existence that we are continually surrounded by, but rarely are we confronted with it in such a stark, wholly unsentimental way.

For over four decades then this building has stood empty, meaning no people and none of the usual day-to-day experiences it once provided, such as buying food, getting a haircut etc. So much was once contained inside these walls, meaning the decay that has occurred since its abandonment makes it even harder not to think about the intervening years. There’s personal consideration involved of course. One’s own losses and gains during that period. Experiences both good and bad. Plus, it has to be said, the inescapable future that in so many ways this structure represents. Even more prominent though are thoughts about the people who once lived here. How many are still with us? Has the time since they went elsewhere treated them well? And also, the question I have about every place like this — do the former residents ever think about the building they once called home?

Abandoned places invariably possess a melancholic charm and beauty all their own. A mixture of unknown stories and past lives, along with the often hard to articulate appeal of slow, natural decay. Elements that this striking old shopping arcade had in abundance, particularly so with the added details of more personal scenes found in the living quarters above a few of the collapsing stores.

The location was originally a black market in the post-war period, then during better economic times in the 1960s, the arcade itself was built, incorporating shops and connected residences. The growth of supermarkets and large suburban outlets, however, changed consumer habits forever, resulting in the decline and eventual closure of every single shop in the arcade — the last one apparently pulling down the shutters for the final time around 40 years ago. That said, some people did continue to call it home. Calendars we saw dated back to the early and late 90s, but according to one report, an elderly lady lived there as recently as 6 years ago.

Now though the arcade simply stands as a dilapidated, but also quietly beautiful reminder of what was, and what will never be again.