Field Notes from My Master's Project in Japan 1997: Week 6

Week Six
Tuesday, August 19, 1997 - Kawabe, Japan
Found Treasures
analysis
I spent the day at Akita Junior Arts College going through all of my film. For about seven hours, I pored over negatives, organizing them into category, marking ones that I liked, and noting it in my computer. Some of my notes to myself include: watch the edges of the frame, keep an eye on background foreground separation, and wait for a face. Other notes that I take include ideas of photos that I want to shoot or that I want to do better. Many of my earlier images seem like garbage. Can't figure out why I took them. Lesson number one, I guess. And I can honestly say that in the later rolls, there is more of a structure and I am looking for expressions and interactions. There are also a lot of images with people doing things nicely framed, but looking at them now they feel empty. I feel like many of these images are more of a study of the society, like the women sitting in a line with a man looking out the window. The ideal is to combine some nice light with this kind of study.

There was another student in the darkroom and she was just as frustrated as I was. After six hours of looking at photos, I kind of flipped out and started to hop up and down, and run back and forth. Several minutes after, she asked me where I was from.

Broke my 80-200 yesterday. It fell off a truck at this farmer's house. The mount is bent. But a friend of a friend loaned me his 80-200 mm. That is nice. The lens is to be sent to Tokyo to be fixed.

Wednesday, August 20, 1997 - Kawabe, Japan
You don't check out
Mrs. Noto left for home today. She had her bags packed by noon. All day long she had a smile on her face and a light in her eye as she made sure she told everyone she was not going to be around for dinner. She waited outside the entrance of Kawabe So for 30 minutes before a cab came sprinting up and a middle-aged woman jumped out to help her. According to Mr. Iwaya, Mrs. Noto has had a hard time adjusting. Everyone knows that you check in but you don't check out. Mrs. Noto is one of the lucky ones. How long she will be gone I do not know. I thought I heard four days, but I will miss her bright smile and simple complaints. She also told me that her daughter was going to take her to Tokyo in the fall.

The short sprint is over and now it is time for the long haul. I am no good at distances, I am great at walking into a place, getting real good access at first. But when I have to keep going back that is when I notice the little frowns, the faces looking the other way. I am no longer a newcomer, just someone around who is here taking pictures, and pictures, and pictures. I wonder how tough your skin has to be to do this work. Too tough and no access, too soft and no pictures. Today I went to Kawabe So. I didn't take many photos. After looking at my negatives for six hours the previous day, I didn't see much that really grabbed me today. I had also forgotten one thing. Access. Access is re-negotiated by the hour as far as I am concerned. And getting access is hard work, almost as hard as the shooting, though I think some might disagree. The Obosan came and sang for about 10 minutes while they passed around incense. The store came today and people could buy fruit and crackers, and the doctor came. All the light sucked. Of course, the doctor wanted to bitch about Clinton and I had no idea what he was talking about. All the nurses became increasingly embarrassed as did I because he ranted and raved for about 15 minutes while I sat there and said I didn't understand. I got the feeling that not many people like him. When he came to do the blood pressure of Mitsu, a woman who can't talk, she lay rigid as a rail. When he walked away he tripped on a trash can and Mitsu started cracking up and quickly covered her mouth, but as soon as I would look at her she would lose it again.

I did photograph in the bath of the day center folks. There is a care worker there who I am fond of and she is fond of me. I photographed the women getting their hair washed. They put these surreal halo-like things around their heads so the soap doesn't get in their eyes. I like the feeling of just seeing the top of the head, and the arms reaching under the white halo thing. Of course my lenses fogged up to no end. I tried to photograph more from my gut than from my head. But with lame light that was kind of hard.

Today I did figure out loud and clear who I have good access with. Mr. Sato, Mitsu, Mrs. Noto, Mrs. Toita, and a few others. Several of these folks are in the home because their family lives in Tokyo. Perfect for my project on the survival of rural Japan. I guess I figured out that the people I like and who like me are who I am going to spend my time with. Not earth-shattering but limiting in its own way. I kind of have a policy that, when working on a story like this, I do not photograph people who don't want to be photographed.

Thursday, August 21, 1997 - Kawabe, Japan

Bent over and picked up a flat rock today, after my run. Someone had penned in a smiley face with a single tooth in black ink. Felt like a good omen so I picked it up.

I spent most of the day at the town government office doing research for this project “Eclipsed by The Rising Sun.” I, rather young boys and girls who work at the office scratched their heads and pored over thirty years of government documents in an effort to figure out what the trend for this town is. Underpopulation is the big concern here, all the young people leave for the city leaving the old people to fend for themselves or go to nursing homes. Also the fact that the government is allotting less and less land for rice. Naoko helped me a lot as I struggled to figure out what the social security policy is for older citizens. Next week I am going to call an English teacher friend who is retired to ask about this.

Friday, August 22, 1997 - Kawabe, Japan
The Best Found Treasures Are to be Given Away
Gave away my smiley rock to Mr. Sato today. He grabbed my hand this morning in a warm welcome and kissed it. Jokingly, one of the nurses called him a skebby old man which means perverted. He got upset and I said I knew he was being my friend and gave him a wink. Later I gave him the rock which he promptly placed neatly among the tissues that he rolls every morning and keeps stuffed in his shirt. Some kind of treasure chest. Tonight I went to say goodnight and I noticed he placed it on his night stand, next to his Real Gold drink (a drink with tons of caffeine and nicotine and supposedly a few vitamins). I have a good idea who I have good access with. And I wave to them all none the less. Some times as I see them flipping through old photos, or standing by the door as their family members leaves, my eyes fill with tears. Today Kikue Itoh's son came to see her. He sat her down at the table and left, she asked him quietly are you coming again? And then got up and followed him out. He was awkward and embarrassed. I think I got a nice shot (I hope) of her from behind looking down a dark hallway as he walked out. She followed him and then he started to tell her to go back. I took her hand and led her back to the lunch room saying I would take care of her. He sighed with relief.

Tonight I am writing this from Kawabe So. As I type, Mr. Takahashi (different from the taiko Mr. Takahashi) is trying to read over my shoulder. It is raining hard and there is a dragon fly the size of a bird flying the halls. A baby bird is chirping loudly in Mrs. Toita's room, I think it is stuck in the vent. I am spending the night here. Weather permitting, the morning is when I catch the residents at their best and most active, and the light is nice. I am also told that there are deer around here that occasionally can be seen.

I spent the morning thinking about my essay. Two main themes seem to be emerging here: Family and Work and how they are changing here in this little community. Kawabe So has two different sections, the permanent residents and the day center where residents come for the day. The bulk of my work has been with the permanent residents. They have created more of a family setting. The bulk of my photos are of residents helping each other, and of the care workers helping the residents. I also like to photograph the ofuro (bath) time because the residents are happy and relaxed. Their faces shine with pleasure as they enter the bath. Also I like how the care workers gently wash the hair and bodies of the older members. I am interested in how the younger workers interact with the older residents. Next week, I want to photograph my friends, Akiko, Asami, and Yoko if they do the bath time. They are all about 20 years old and are incredible with the residents.

The weather has not been very cooperative. The light has been fairly flat. It seems like there is some kind of separation between dark and bright, and so I am trying to keep that in mind as I set my aperture and shutter speed. But I usually end up shooting at about 1/60 and f2.8.

“Naita” "Niye ta"
I cried
Mrs. Noto returned to Kawabe So today. Half undressed, wearing a see-through thin white sleeveless undershirt and a nice skirt, she sat in the dark crying and unpacking her things. There was a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes as she told me that she came here in a car by herself because her daughter was too busy to come with her. She couldn't stay at the house alone all day because she couldn't do anything by herself. Her daughter leaves for Tokyo tomorrow. We sat together on her bed and she cried. The other care workers came in and made fun of her, this is very Japanese. Emotions are OK, but deep ones should not surface. I took a few photos of her with tears in her eyes but it was dark so you probably can't tell. In the dark I helped her unpack her things and told her about what I did today. She continued to cry, and with her smiling eyes, in a faltering voice, she said even though everyone here is nice, she still wants to go home. It nearly broke my heart but the harsh reality is that she is never going home. And she is never going to Tokyo.

Saturday, August 23, 1997 - Kawabe, Japan
The baby bird that was chirping non-stop in Mrs. Toita's room is dead. It was stuck in the vent, although no one seemed to notice. The daily monotony got to me today. Today was a long day. I got no sleep last night. Nothing happened, I just couldn't sleep. The night shift was boring and long. Having no car means I am reliant on kind souls to transport me and my camera about. This means that when I go to photograph it is usually for the entire day because I come with one person and leave with another.

I did photograph several women praying to their dead husbands in the morning. When someone dies, they become a kind of God that you feed rice and water too every morning. And every year you remember the day of their death, plus have a big party with the entire family during August (Obon). The (older) Japanese think that the fact that we do not have any ritual built into our day to remember the dead is horrible and strange. But what I find even more touching is that the majority of their pity lies not for the living, but for the dead. They all say to me how lonely it must be to be a dead person in the United States. Anyway this photo situation was perfect for this essay. Mrs. Noto had a picture of her husband on her night stand, but it was obscured by a small coffee cup that had Tokyo blazed in English all over it. At first I thought, damn, I can't see the picture. Then I thought, SHAZAM, I can't see the picture. I want to look at how rituals are being supplanted in the institutions into which these people are being placed.

The light was kind of flat. But the light at Kawabe So has this soft quality about it. It models the faces of people. There was some good interaction between staff and residents today. But by 1:00 p.m., I had had enough. The smell was driving me crazy and I was exhausted. I think on nights that I spend the night I will go in the afternoon so I am more refreshed. It takes a lot of energy working with all the residents. More than I realized. Much of the time I spend asking about their pictures, their family and their lives. More often than not, I walk away with small cakes and cookies that have been forcefully shoved into my fanny pack.

Sunday, August 24, 1997 - Kawabe, Japan
An arm is just an arm until its wrapped around the shoulder
I have two cassette tapes to listen to here. This is a lyric from a song by Iris DeMent but it describes how I am trying to photograph, successful or not. I keep trying to think about how people interact and how precious those moments are. How people care for each other. How do people show it? Who directs the show? Who sits back and watches? Who has the best facial expression? Who lets me see that?

Searched for a four leaf clover today while the farmers were taking a break. I didn't find one, but that's ok, I still think I am lucky. I wanted to give it to Mr. Kawakami because he says to me all the time that he is unlucky. I keep telling him that he has three healthy boys, a smart wife, and a healthy mother. I gave him a penny that I found the day I left the States. He asked me if it was OK, thinking maybe I would lose the good luck it had brought me. I explained to him that if you find a penny and pick it up and then give it away to a friend, it is even more lucky. Satisfied, with a red face and a beer in one hand, he took the penny in the other and held it for a while. He has not had good luck in the past year with his peppers, and two of his cows are sick.

He is the pepper farmer that I am photographing. Many rice farmers have had to find other sources of income. Some have completely changed the crops they farm, others have taken full-time jobs which means farming is done in the morning before 7:00 a.m. or on Sundays. In every neighborhood, groups of farmers come together and do certain farming tasks. Three times during the summer this group of seven comes together and sprays chemicals on their fields. Mr. Kawakami is the president. I asked whether people pool their money and buy tractors to help each other harvest and plant. Mr. Kawakami said no because the farmers are too competitive. This is the only thing they can do together.

Today was spent trying to make good photos while seven men were spraying toxic chemicals on small green patches of land that host rice. As we rode the tractors deep into the mountains, I felt like I was in Thailand or Indonesia. It seemed ironic when we stopped at a natural spring that had a glass cup sitting neatly on a stick and all the men had a drink of the delicious water and then continued to spray. Mr. Kawakami said the water came from the mountain gods. All the men were at least 40. Mr. Kawakami said that there are no farmers that he can think of who are in their 30s.

I dodged the hose and the wind and was almost run over by the tractor, but that is lucky, at least I didn't get sprayed. The chemicals were to kill bugs. I saw no bugs, only small frogs and dragonflies fleeing the poisonous clouds. The men wore no masks and more often then not were down wind of the white cloud. With brown faces and towels wrapped around their heads, the men smoked cigarettes as they walked holding this yellow hose connected to a silver gun that blanketed the fields in a milky liquid. We passed the stream that I went fishing in last week with Mr. Kawakami's son. At the end of the day, they had a small party. It was dark. Two of the men got into a huge fight. Huge in Japan means harsh words are spoken and everyone tries to shut up the guy who has had too much to drink and is instigating the fight. I couldn't figure out what was going on, so I watched trying to string words together while sipping on beer and eating peanuts. The embarrassed men kept telling this one guy Suzuki, to shut up, saying that some people shouldn't drink because of how they change. I said it was the same in America. And there was a nodding and a general consensus that anywhere you go people are the same. People seemed comforted by that and so the revelry continued until I was rescued by Mrs. Kawakami to come in for dinner. When I left the house Mr. Kawakami was passed out on the floor, and the mother was chatting with her friend and her two children who had just consumed two beers, the grandmother was sipping Japanese tea trying to take part in the conversation, and the twelve year old was asleep in front of the TV after drinking a small glass of beer.

I am struck by how disconnected the families are. The parents have no idea what their kids are doing, where they go, who they meet, what their interests are, etc. There is a real feeling of separation.