Photographs from a small group of islands
With Tokyo’s long summer now finally at an end, it seems like a good time to show this collection of photos taken over those hot and humid months. Weather that in relation to human habitation doesn’t offer much in the way of benefits, but it does at least provide the perfect conditions to make long-abandoned bicycles look really quite beautiful.
When looking for a photo the other day, I also found the first one in this little series, prompting a rummage back in time for the rest of them. It was a building that always fascinated me. The wonderful mix of signs, and in particular the pachinko ones, got me each and every visit. Plus there was its incredibly ramshackle and overgrown state. Oh, and the silver Mercedes that had inexplicably been dumped next to it. All of that right by Yoyogi station and only a short walk from Shinjuku.
It wasn’t just the exterior either. There was the wonderfully dated entrance, with stairs leading up to the last remaining business — a bookshop so densely stocked it was more akin to a maze than the home of a merchant. Books were even balanced overhead in some parts. A cramped environment, in a crumbling structure, that made it hard not to think about earthquakes and whether it really was all that wise to be wandering around in there.
The rest of the building was rather frustratingly sealed up. Then one day so was the entrance. An inevitability of course, but it was no less sad to see. As was the subsequent demolition. A bit of history gone, along with a very real sense of how much of the city must have once looked.
Down a narrow, now mostly abandoned old alleyway, this cluttered little bar is a world away from the often touted Japanese traditions of design, subtlety and minimalism. And yet, in its own rough and ready way, it’s arguably just as traditional in regards this less exalted but still important part of everyday culture.
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.
Like a lot of old Japanese shops, this is one to enjoy and leisurely take in all the lovely details. There’s the sign, colourful awning and the way the building seems to lean this way and that. It’s also interesting to imagine how many years such places have been in business, along with the incredible changes they must have seen.
All that said, this one is different from most. Not in the way it looks, but in regards what looks out from it.
On a much less disturbing note, I should mention that Tokyo Conversations, a new photobook made by my friend Giovanni and I, is still on Kickstarter, but the campaign ends Sunday lunch time (JST), so if you’d like to help us out, and get a book at the same time, the link is here. A publication that I’m happy to confirm contains no images of unsettling old mannequins whatsoever.
Situated on the old shopping street of the capital’s poorest neighbourhood, this dilapidated corner was never going to garner a great deal of attention. A long-closed off license and some slowly disappearing urban art are very much a niche interest even in a city like Tokyo.
That said, in its own way it was special. It also changed quite a bit over the years. The shopping street used to be covered until the roof was deemed unsafe and had to be removed. Then there was its unique artwork — the increasingly ripped and faded nature of which only added to its appeal. Plus those cracked and taped up windows that for one reason or another simply never got replaced.
All of which made it something to look out for and occasionally photograph. A building that didn’t really make sense in a modern, ever-changing metropolis. And yet there it always was with its many nods to the past and the people who’d called it home. Or at least it always was there, until one day quite recently when suddenly it wasn’t.
