Photographer Yuki Kumagai’s photo book “Interlude” will be released on May 21 as the second volume of the publishing project “Lula BOOKS”.
On this day, to celebrate the publication, a talk event with photographer Osamu Yokonami, whom Kumagai studied under, will be broadcasted from 7:30 pm on the Instagram account of bookstore and gallery BOOK AND SONS’ Instagram account (@bookandsons).
Prior to this, Lula Japan conducted a special interview with Kumagai.
Memories that are carefully told one by one, and things that stir your emotions.
They are apparently not linked, but deep down they may all overlap.
Unexpected relationships and storylines question the viewer’s mind with every turn of the page, and leads to unrestricted interpretations.
We asked him about his feelings as he approaches a milestone in his 10-year career in photography, and his candid thoughts on this photo book.
First of all, please tell us about your book “Interlude”.
When did you start thinking about publishing your first photo book?
Was there any inspiration?
It has been 10 years since I started photography, so I wanted to bring them together at this point.
I had always longed to be an artist, so I wanted to assemble my own works.
Also, I came up with something else I wanted to do next.
Throughout the works in this photo book, there was a consistency between the human body, the moments of daily life, and the images scattered throughout the collection.
Were these photographs taken in an attempt to take them?
The oldest photograph in this book was taken 5 years ago.
Pictures of waves, tunnels, or woman’s stomach.
I thought again that photographs are memories. I can remember the episodes related to each of them, such as the places they were taken or the moments before and after each shot. I again realized it’s interesting.
This photograph of a cabbage butterfly was taken in a field near my grandfather’s house. They eat the crops, so I took the moment of catching them.
This picture was taken in New York, this in Nagasaki, Vladivostok where I visited for a photo shoot, someone’s office, and the house I used to live in.
I think I press the shutter when there is something that feels good to my sense or something that touches on a theme that I hold inside. And then I organize them into a higher level of accuracy.
I think the act of taking photographs is a sequence of “selection”.
First of all, at the stage of taking a picture, I’m selecting something and pressing the shutter.
I feel nice about something, then I select from it, print it, and the pictures included in this books are the ones I finally chose to put in.
After assembling them all together, I found it interesting again.
I’m also very interested in human bodies. They’re beautiful.
For example the curves or the texture of the skin, no matter it’s male or female.
Do you always carry your camera with you?
I feel a bit forced about it. Like “I have to take pictures”.
I don’t feel this way when I’m at work, but when I’m going somewhere for private, like climbing a mountain for example, I always take my camera with me because I know I’ll regret it later if I don’t.
What are your thoughts behind the title of your book “Interlude”?
Were there any other options?
I was once told that the title gives the work a general rule.
The word creates an outline to what is cluttered.
Then the viewer’s interpretation will increase in that context, so it’s easier to name it if you think this way.
I was told this when I did a solo exhibition a long time ago, and I thought it’s right.
People search for meanings by linking them to words, so I named this book “Interlude”.
Another option was “You can see your breath”.
Breath is visible in certain environments, but what we normally exhale is not.
You only become aware that you’re breathing when you’re under certain conditions or given any triggers.
After all, what those two words have in common is a “space” between something.
These two are similar to me.
So is life and death, or not to say Sanzu River, but a state of pendency.
There’s also a picture taken on a canoe ride in Hokkaido.
I had a really good time. There was a boatman and I could chose to row or not to.
I took on the boat around 6am. It was very beautiful and there’s no sound at all.
So quiet, the only sound I could hear was birds singing.
Sometimes the boatman gives me some explanations, and I listen to the paddling sound. I could feel myself fainting away.
The water surface was close to my viewpoint since I was sitting down, and in the silence, I could see the beautiful view.
“Space” seems to be similar to these feelings.
Many people create as a kind of therapy or dialogue with themselves. Were there these aspects in this production as well?
Yes, it is said that people can only be aware of 30% of their self-consciousness, and the remaining 70% is unconscious.
This means there’s 70% of the space you cannot be aware of.
For example, even if I define myself as a certain type of personality, it’s so unsure. What I think about myself is so unsteady.
I think it is very hard to make something clear.
Unconsciousness may affect self-consciousness, but self-consciousness can’t affect unconsciousness.
To make decisions about something is important, but I think it’s sometimes very good to leave things vague.
For example this is a picture of a beach, which I took from behind the curtains of a hotel room.
Perhaps to keep things veiled like this and not making them clear was the therapy for me.
I felt like I wanted to share this feeling with somebody else. Not only in Japan but also abroad.
I wondered what people from different languages and cultures would think when they get this book.
People who don’t even know what I look like or what I do happen to buy my book at a bookstore, and it stays on their bookshelf forever.
I would be very happy about that, and that was something I’ve always wished for.
If there are opinions that they don’t understand my idea, that’s also correct, and I think my works should not be too obvious.
That’s why I’m tempted to avoid putting it into words.
I’m not sure if it is appropriate to call it a therapy, but there’s a feeling that the way of thinking or looking toward things being organized when I bring them all together like this.
“Interlude” is the consistent theme throughout this book. Meanings and contents are disparate, but like a sense of “space”, it is also right to feel some kind of connection between them.
I have an image that “interpretation” is something that is not easily understood, like the Go games with tens of thousands of patterns, the pictures of stars, the universe, etc.
For instance, this is a picture of a hand, and I think hands are the place on human body where our wills are reflected the most.
Although I attempt to shoot something far from self-consciousness, putting in opposite elements seems to make my works more interesting.
I’m sure that such senses exists somewhere inside of me, it’s just not organized yet.
It’s intriguing that there is always somewhere consistent even if I’m shooting totally different things contiguously.
Different viewers see in different ways, and that’s what my works count on.
