Some of the abandoned homes I’ve photographed over the years have begun the slow process of being taken back by Mother Nature, whereas others are almost beyond belief in their scale and opulence. The house below, on the other hand, felt very different. A lot of it was filled with clutter, but a few rooms gave a real sense of the lives once lived there, such as their interests, and the approximate time period. A weird sense of intimacy that was further added to by the photo albums left behind. Faces that conjure up so many questions, but at the same time offer next to nothing in the way of answers, as despite the words of Karen Carpenter that once echoed throughout the house, it will sadly never be yesterday once more.
Haikyo
The misty mountains and abandoned homes of Tokyo’s far west
Whenever I head out to Tokyo’s westernmost environs, it never fails to amaze me that the completely different surroundings are still part of the capital. The scenery there is worlds away from what most people think of the city, and indeed what the vast majority of it looks like. A feeling that was increased even further last week with the mist that greeted us as we moved towards the area’s mountains.
The idea was to try and find some old houses that we suspected were long-abandoned. A plan that worked out perfectly, although not all the former homes had been unoccupied for as long as we expected. Most had unsurprisingly been left unused for a couple of decades, but one had quite shockingly been lived in until 2016. Accommodation that would have been uncomfortable in the city’s more urban areas, but out there in the mountains it must have made for an incredibly tough life to say the least.
However, a few dates and the locations aside, there’s next to nothing we know about the people who once resided there, such as how they lived and why their homes ended left the way they were. The photographs taken on the day are really all I have, so here they are, along with shots of the journey up to and between the houses. Scenes that prompt a whole host of questions, but at the same time provide little in the way of answers.
Dystopian scenes from a long-abandoned love hotel
The slow, decades-long intrusion of Mother Nature, along with the far more destructive behaviour of human beings, have taken a huge toll on this old and incredibly dated love hotel.
Abandoned for many years, it would have been something special without the wanton vandalism, but unless located in the middle of nowhere, that’s always a big ask. Then again, the damage, along with what remains relatively intact, do give the hotel a truly dystopian look and feel, particularly so given its one-time purpose.
The dated but once plush interior of an abandoned Japanese home
Old homes that nature is rapidly taking back are some of my favourite abandoned buildings to photograph and explore. Along with the beauty of such decay, they are also full of hints about the past and the people who once lived in them.
The large, concrete structure below, on the other hand, is in many ways very different. Condition-wise there’s little wrong with it apart from a bit of damp here and there. Quite a lot of the rooms have been cleared out too, and yet rather weirdly, others remain pretty much untouched. Plus in regards the decor, it’s absolutely nothing like your average Japanese house.
An explanation for the latter is that at least one of the owners was a dentist, meaning their taste may have been debatable, but their wealth most definitely wasn’t. The clinic itself was on the ground floor, but unfortunately the dental chairs have been removed, with anchors in the floor now the only giveaway.
However, despite such differences, the stories, or at least the suggestions of them, are still everywhere — not to mention questions regarding the likes of why the owners left, and why so much remains untouched. None of which I have answers for. The only real detail was a newspaper dated 2008, but that arguably confuses matters rather than clearing anything up.
In some ways such a lack of information is frustrating, but in other ways it’s not. It allows us the chance to imagine and make up our own stories. The possibilities of which are endless. Unlike whatever happened here.
The colours, decay and increasing emptiness of Japan’s countryside
Japan’s ageing demographic and urban migration mean that many of the nation’s smaller towns are slowly, and very visibly dying. Places one can find all over the country, from faded tourist spots to once thriving communities. A seemingly irreversible change that has understandably hit much smaller, and more rural settlements especially hard. Like those in the the photos below, which despite the decline, are only a few hours out of Tokyo.
Our original plan had been to visit some abandoned buildings we knew the location of, but a closed road due to tunnel repairs unexpectedly put paid to that, and with no Plan B in place, we decided to drive round some nearby roads and see what we could find.
That, perhaps unsurprisingly, turned out to be lots more abandoned and long since locked up houses, along with glimpses of what had once been. There were no people out and about, and the few we did see inside their homes were all elderly. A day of exploration that was also contributed to by bright sunshine and some truly ferocious storms, which considering what we saw, seemed wholly fitting.
Completely unconnected, but just a quick mention again of my new book project, Tokyo Conversations, that has very recently gone live on Kickstarter. I’ll do a proper post on it, but in the meantime it’s a collaboration with my friend Giovanni, and is a unique, flip cover, 2-in-1 book featuring 20 colour and 20 monochrome photos. A visual, Tokyo focused back and forth we had over the course of quite a few months.
If that sounds interesting, and you’d like to join in, help us out, and get a book in the process, here’s a link to the campaign: Tokyo Conversations.
A long-abandoned Japanese movie theatre
It’s not all that uncommon in Japan to find, and be able to photograph, the likes of abandoned homes and holiday resorts. Long out of business movie theatres, on the other hand, are without a doubt much rarer.
Opened in 1950, the cinema below was one of two that stood side by side, but the other structure burnt down, meaning it was left to entertain the locals all alone. With a capacity of about 400 people and a decades-long operational run, it must have more than managed that, but nothing lasts forever, and it eventually closed down in the early 1980s.
Since then it has stood silently in a slow, gradual state of decline. It hasn’t, however, been left untouched, as the interior is piled high with boxes. So many boxes. Even stranger is they are almost all empty. Some are obviously from many years ago, with others much more recent additions. Why they are all there is anybody’s guess, but without all that clutter, the auditorium would have looked truly incredible with row after row of empty wooden seats.
That said, it’s still a fascinating place, and while old telephones are always a treat to discover, massive and pristine looking vintage projectors are something else altogether. The room they were in was almost pitch black, but the smell of oil suggested we had found what we were looking for, and in the dim torch light, the appearance of those two machines was as amazing as the movies they once played.