Into the City

There’s a picture I remember by a British painter, C. R. W. Nevinson. It shows a railway ascending slowly into what looks like the deep set heart of a city. The tracks follow a straight path to a point in the distance crowded by skyscrapers, and then, just as it meets them, turns left and once obstructed, is gone. More than just a clever act of perspective, it seems that the closer the line gets to a destination we can’t see, it is consumed and there, close to the centre, that imagined heart becomes at once illusive and a place removed. It says much, at least to these eyes.

Then adjacent to this recollection comes the film, Metropolis, and the scene that opens onto a vast canyon of man-made landscape. It is the grandest of views and again we are drawn inwards. On either side are tall, imposing structures, full of hard geometry and shadow. In between and far below, betraying their size, is a fast moving auto-expressway. All together the scale on show is one that aspires to match nature’s and easily invokes an appropriate and corresponding awe.

Now then, though the visual linkage shared by these prompted images to the picture above may seem strained, even tenuous, it is all the stuff we bring, the emotional synonymy of each, that overlaps and unites them.

There’s something in all three which acknowledges the experience of the city. It’s the feeling of being here, in one, that living in and being part of, remains, even after all this time, a wonder. And of course it is this, that is many things to many people. As for myself, gazing through a provincial town upbringing, I’m accustomed to the silhouettes of smaller streets and slower rhythms, the kind I’ve come to understand endow a life of routine in Tokyo with a peculiar resonance and surprise.

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This picture was composed and taken using the LX3, with settings finally looking like this: ISO 80, f8, 8

Transport 3

Should you have experienced the raw delight of changing the oil and filter on an engine where a leaky head gasket is allowing coolant and lubricant to blend, you might recognise the ominous colours of the sky in the picture. Those depthless and murky shades are what I recall when I look at this version of a Tokyo night.

The elements within this shot quite easily reveal its relation to an earlier post. The imposing dominance of overhead structures running towards a crowded horizon, cooperating with the roads below to create a sharper sense of perspective; the hot laser beams of now invisible traffic, searing lines on the image sensor; even the absence of people in an environment apparently full of activity. It is a striking arrangement but something about it, something within perhaps, threatens to make it less than what it is.

In my defence, it was taken on the wrong end of an already late evening. What started out as a wander in the happy-go-luckiest sense, became a bona fide session lasting hours and despite a smalltime drama with the cops, I found myself unexpectedly energized. I was on a roll, fired up, mooching around and feeling purposeful, eagerly trying out viewpoints, and finding what looked like, good shot after good shot. But I’d become tired and had a couple of celebratory drinks, and the killer haul I thought was taking away turned out to be thinner and less impressive the next day.

The problems with the above composition demonstrate this. They are the kind borne out of excitement and impatience. They are the kind, ultimately, that burden the experience and get in the way. Like ropey grammar might upset a piece of prose, the disappointment is one of a possible pleasure interrupted.

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Not used as well as it could’ve been: EOS 400D, Tamron 11-18mm lens, with settings at ISO100, f/4.5, 6

Mode Gakuen, Shinjuku… Say, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?

lens flare, light beams and a building ready for lift-off

Where do I start? Mmm…yeah, random thoughts. It’s like this. The dominant feature of this shot is undoubtedly Mode Gakuen, otherwise known as the Cocoon Tower, finished last year (2008). To the left is the Sompo Building, an older though altogether a more beautiful piece of work, but that’s just me. Now then, not having firm grasp on architectural trends over the last decade or so could weaken my next observation.

Once in a while, something is constructed that, not just because of scale, secures the attention (and affection) of the public. Mode Gakuen, primarily a building that houses a university fashion school, is such an example. It’s easy to understand – unorthodox, funky, a curved thing, no less, in an environment full of imposing, often dull, geometric plains. However, it is the flagrant borrowing from other, less recent, but brighter stars of architectural ingenuity that irks. Yes, I know, we all borrow and inevitably today insures that tomorrow will be alike. I just think that even with the cursory browse through professional and popular publications, it is both surprising and disappointing that not one review mentions either the Swiss Re Building (The Gherkin) or The Beijing National Stadium (The Bird’s Nest) as influences. As templates, too, the former provides the shape and latter provides the shell. A Google image search might assist those not in the know – check them out. Although this demonstrates that the culture of plagiarism in Asia extends beyond dodgy Louis Vuitton handbags and the car industry, the Skyscraper District in Shinjuku is a better place for it.

Apart from that, in the space of a day, I’ve grown to like the above picture. When I took it, I winced, ‘…damn, forgot the lens hood.’ But the radiant flares, redolent of planetary rings, are an accident that amiably accompanies the the futuristic rocketness of the leaning tapering tower. So, too, the halo of soft beams that rain down on the scene. From cursing to smiling, the happy snapper.

Used my Canon for this shot, with Tamron 11-18mm glass, mounted on a lightweight Velbon tripod.

Earthquake (not included)

For discerning appreciators of fine photography, this post’s picture is unlikely do it for you. It’s here because there’s a story to it. It’s the second in a series of two. The first was spoilt by none other than an earthquake. For any natives with a photo habit, this may have happened before but for me it was an unqualified first.

I was in Ueno and taking the long way home after some hard private tutoring. Three low-level cafe lessons back-to-back approximate brain death in adults around my age and so I needed time to clear my head. Just to the side of the station is the park. I could see lines of paper lanterns hanging from trees and despite having lost my tourist credentials a while back, their soft soothing glow proved an invitation strong enough to call me. Once there, I found myself amid a familiar evening crowd. Buskers played and some even sang. Lovers happily walked between homeless men. Middle-aged couples power strolled (in matching tracksuits). It was pleasant. And like most of them, I made my way Mecca-like around Shinobazu pond.

I stopped though, on the far side, in front of the boating lake. There were two benches, one was tenanted by man murmuring One-Cup soliloquies and the other was empty. I sat down. It was mostly quiet and dark, a good place for taking stock of one’s day, drinking the emergency supply of Asahi I had in my bag and just possibly, taking a photograph, too. I attached the tripod to a low railing and set up the camera: its timer, film speed, exposure duration etc. Once happy, I pressed the button and sat back – on a seat that started to move. It was a quiver rather than a shake but one that lasted for as long as the my picture was taken. The result was as you’d expect. Blurry and unfocused. Instinctively, I binned it – a mistake – but then took it again. Unsullied that time by tectonic shifts from far away, it came out all right. Of course, you can see that the picture isn’t going to set the world alight. It’s summery, yes, there’s an agreeable reflection, there are pedalos the same colour as a Miami beachfront and the streetlights spangly. But what about the crane?

The gear: LX3, f2, 1.6, ISO400, on a Gorillapod