Why Michael Kenna Still Shoots Film - and What Japan Taught Him About Patience, Prayer, and Photography
Welcome to this edition of [book spotlight]. Today, we uncover the layers of 'Japan | A Love Story,' by Michael Kenna (published by Nazraeli Press). We'd love to read your comments below about these insights and ideas behind the artist's work.
The show is currently on view in Hong Kong and is scheduled to travel to New York in September.
In an age of instant everything, Michael Kenna still waits.
He waits for light, for stillness, and for a feeling that can’t be rushed. While most photographers move quickly from shot to shot, Kenna works with film, long exposures, and a deep sense of patience. He doesn’t try to capture what something looks like. He waits until he feels ready to photograph what it is. That’s what makes his work different.
This interview is about what Japan taught him over nearly four decades. It is about photography, but also about trust, silence, and how not knowing can sometimes be the best guide. Since 1987, Kenna has returned again and again, forming a quiet connection with Japan’s landscapes, culture, and philosophy. He doesn’t speak the language, but he understands something deeper. He knows how to pay attention. If you have ever felt the pressure to go faster, this is a reminder that slowness still has power.
The Book
Japan / A Love Story is a monograph by Michael Kenna, published by Nazraeli Press in 2024. The book showcases 100 of Kenna’s black-and-white photographs of the Japanese landscape, many of which are published here for the first time. Kenna’s connection with Japan began in 1987 during his first exhibition in Tokyo, and he has since returned numerous times, capturing the country’s diverse landscapes. The book includes an essay by critic Kohtaro Iizawa and is printed in duotone on natural coated art paper, bound in linen and silk. It was released to coincide with a 2024 traveling exhibition in Tokyo, Los Angeles, and London. (Nazraeli Press, Amazon)
Connection to Japan: Your love affair with Japan spans decades and has resulted in numerous iconic photographs. What initially drew you to Japan, and how has your relationship with the country and its landscapes deepened your understanding of its culture and aesthetics?
I was first invited to Tokyo for an exhibition and book publication in 1987. It seems only yesterday, and yet is astonishingly 38 years ago. My first conscious memories are of walking through orange lit streets in the Meguro district of Tokyo, in the middle of the night, slightly dazed, but wide awake with jet lag. All the shops were closed, yet mountains of merchandise lay unattended on the pavements in front of closed doors and shuttered windows, apparently safe from theft. It seemed surrealistic at the time, and still does. I recalled this experience many years later when I inadvertently left my Hasselblad camera, lens, film back and meter on a public park bench in Kumamoto, Kyushu. I discovered my loss, a few hours later, after driving many miles to another location, and was shocked and horrified that my guide appeared to be wholey unconcerned, not in the least bit perturbed! He assured me that my equipment would be completely safe. He was correct, of course, for we were in Japan, and my camera, after being handed in to a park attendant, was waiting for me to pick it up. These were some early lessons about what respect means in Japan.
During the 1987 trip, I visited Kyoto for the first time. I can clearly recall my first explorations there, wandering the lanes of Gion, shyly entering dark, exotic Buddhist temples and colorful Shinto shrines, attending ritualistic tea ceremonies, marveling at beautiful scrolls with inscrutible kanji characters, discovering the mysteries of hot ofuro bathing, sleeping on tatami floors, eating in convenience stores and attempting my first faltering words of Japanese. I fell in love with Japan quickly, quietly, and irresistibly. It was easy! Having returned to Japan many times since, now it always feels like an inviting home.
Artistic Philosophy: You’ve mentioned that you prefer suggestion over description in your photographs. How does this philosophy reflect the broader principles of Japanese art and culture, and what specific elements of the Japanese landscape lend themselves to this approach?
I have never been very interested in trying to reproduce copies of what I see. I prefer interpretations, they seem more interesting and stimulating. Early on in my photogtraphic journey, I experimented with double exposures, the use of harsh grain, high contrast printing, long exposures, infra-red film, plastic cameras, extensive retouching, etc., all efforts to escape from literal renditions of what was in front of me. Of course, I failed to produce interesting images most of the time, but in retrospect, these failures were key components to whatever successes I subsequently achieved.
Early on, when I attended exhibitions or viewed images in books of well know photographers, I remember thinking that all those photographers knew exactly what they were doing. Perhaps, at first, I also aspired to a similar clarity of expression. But, today, I regard this presumed intelligence to be more fiction than fact. I am now convinced that I never knew what or how I should photograph. I just went with the flow with fingers crossed. Even now, a part of me is afraid to analyse and try to work out formulas, answers or pathways. I suspect in that direction lies predictable and boring short cuts to creativity. A road with an unknown destination has more appeal to me than one with a defined end point. I think it is in the twists and turns, the detours and deviations, where creativity has more possibilities to flourish. I suspect that I probably know less about creativity now than when I started out on my journey.
I’m not sure how all this connects to Japan. But, as the wonderful Japanese architect Tadao Ando tells us, “our imagination is piqued by what we cannot see.” There is something called “wabi sabi” in Japan – a term which is somewhat inscrutable and difficult for me to decipher. Khotaro Iizawa, in his introduction to my new book, Japan / A Love Story, writes: “The words “wabi” and “sabi”, are often used to describe a uniquely Japanese experience of beauty. Wabi comes from the verb “wabu”, meaning to remove oneself from the world and lead a modest life, and describes a mindset of honouring and even finding beauty in that which is plain, imperfect, and humble. Sabi, on the other hand, comes from the verb “sabu”, meaning to age or fade with time, and it implies solitary and lonely characteristics.” Iizawa san is very smart and wise, but my general bafflement prevails, perhaps because I am, after all, still a gaijin (foreigner). What I can say, is that in my very limited knowledge of wabi sabi, I find there there are many aspects alluded to that greatly appeal to me, including such elements as imperfection, impermanence, incompleteness, the patina of the past, and the transience and fragility of the present.
Analog Process: You are known for your dedication to analog photography. How does the slower, more contemplative process of working with film influence your perception and portrayal of Japan’s landscapes, and what does this reveal about your personal connection to the places you photograph?
Growing up in the North West of England, I spent seven formative years in a Catholic boarding seminary school. Each night we would experience Magum Silentium – the great silence. No talking was allowed for around ten hours. I also experienced numerous three day completely silent retreats. Perhaps these, in some way, prepared me for a life in photography – analogue photography – where everything is quite slow, where patience is required, focus, discipline and even meditation, where long exposures, sometimes up to ten hours, take place.
I bought my first Hasselblad film camera in 1987 – the same year that I first went to Japan. Now, almost forty years later, I remain committed to both Japan and the analogue process. I continue to love the long, slow, unpredictable, hands-on journey, all the way from the first exposure to the final print. I recently had an exhibition of one hundred tree photographs spanning the years from 1973-2023. The prints were exhibited “salon” style, in double rows with no regard to the years in which the photographs were made. In the press event, I referred to them as my family, in so far as they were all, at least in my evaluation and perhaps imagination, completely comfortable sitting next to each other, rather like in a family gathering.
Regarding my way of working, before I approach a location, whether in Japan or anywhere else, I rarely do any elaborate preparation. Essentially I walk, explore and, hopefully, photograph. I never know whether I will be in a place for minutes, hours or days. I feel that photographing is akin to meeting a person and beginning a conversation. How can one project ahead of time where that meeting will lead, what the subject matter will be, how intimate it will become, how long the potential relationship will last? Connections are not always comprehensible. Certainly, a sense of curiosity and a willingness to have patience and allow a subject matter to reveal itself, are important elements in this process. There have been many occasions when interesting images have appeared from what I had considered uninteresting places. The reverse has been equally true and relevant. After fifty years of photographing, my conclusion is that one needs to relinquish the notion of control and accept any and all surprises. Control over outcome is not always necessary or even desirable.
Minimalism and Serenity: Many of your photographs are characterized by their serene and meditative qualities. How have principles of Zen Buddhism and Japanese minimalism influenced your work, and how do you capture the essence of these philosophies in your work.
Perhaps each and every person has certain proclivities to styles of living and ways of working. I just mentioned my experiences in a seminary school. Escaping noise, distraction and clutter have long been ways for me to embrace quiet, calm and minimal environments. Since boarding school I have voluntarily experienced other religious retreat situations. Perhaps it is predictable that I would also do the same in my photography work. Visiting Japan for the first time was a breath of fresh air and I always want to return. I suppose the continued experiences and exposure to aspects of Japanese art, culture, philsophies and religions could not fail to powerfully influence my vision. I am absolutely sure they have.
Evolution of Style: Your exhibition and book span your photographic journey in Japan from 1987 to the present. How has your understanding and depiction of Japan’s landscapes changed over the years, and what are some key moments or experiences that have significantly influenced your artistic evolution?
Between the years of 1987-2000, my exposure to Japan was primarily urban as I visited various cities for exhibition openings and book signings. The more serious photographic travels around the Japanese landscape happened in 2001 and later as I began to explore the surroundings of Mt. Fuji, Biwa Lake and along the Japan Sea coast in Honshu, before venturing to Shikoku, Kyushu and Hokkaido.
Very fortunately, I have dear friends and associates in Japan, and usually I travel with a friend or guide, for a week or two at a time. Having somebody who speaks Japanese greatly helps with the logistics of finding locations, accommodation, food, and, very importantly, asking for and receiving permission to photograph. In 2001 and later, I visited Kyushu, Okinawa and other locations in the South. For my 50th birthday in 2003, I spent a month following the eighty-eight Kobo Daishi Buddhist temple pilgrimage on the island of Shikoku. For well over twenty years, I have tried to return to Hokkaido every winter. Japan was the last country I visited before the Covid pandemic began, and it was the first after. These trips, according to the writings of the art critic Kotaro Iizawa, planted seeds which eventually blossomed into a full-grown love affair with this magical land. I continue to visit and photograph in Japan whenever I can.
Favorite Locations: The Japanese landscape, especially regions like Hokkaido, features prominently in your work. What is it about these particular landscapes that resonates with you on a deeper level, and how do they compare to other environments you have photographed in terms of emotional and aesthetic impact?
I’ve never been keen on labeling anything as my favorite, and I do not like to make comparisons, but, if one could formulate a “favorite” place measurement scale by directly correlating it to the quantity of time spent in a location, I suspect Hokkaido would come out on top. I return there year after year to find new material and inspiration. I should add that hot onsens and inviting karaoke bars are added attractions! I have also already mentioned my affinity with Kyoto, which continues to grow. Then there is Shikoku, home to the eighty-eight Shingon Buddhist temple pilgrimage, and Mt. Koya, Honshu, also known as Koya San, where the mountaintop headquarters of Shingon Buddhism is based. It is claimed the founder, Kobo Daishi (aka Kukai), resides there in eternal meditation. In 2006, I stayed there in a different residential temple every night, sleeping on tatami floors and dining on vegetables, roots and nuts. I attended exquisite rituals and services, photographed monks and pilgrims, the inside and outside of temples, sand gardens, stone lanterns, tombstones, and the truly spectacular Okunoin cemetery which contains 200,000 graves and monuments. The whole experience was thrilling and life changing. I could go on and on as I view all of Japan as a never ending visual treat with limitless possibilities. I could describe many other wonderful places, but perhaps I would start to sound too much like a travel agent...
Spiritual Connection: You’ve often spoken about the spiritual and religious aspects of Japan that have deeply moved you. How do these elements manifest in your work, and how do you convey this spiritual connection through your photographs?
The wonderful writer Pico Iyer has described photographs as being prayers to the universe. When I photograph the landscape, urban environments and industry, or visit in temples, shrines, churches, synagogues, mosques and monasteries, or any place of worship, my prayers (and photographs) are always basically the same, distilled into a simple “thank you” – to the deities, to the universe, to my family and friends, to whatever is out there beyond my understanding or belief structure. There is so much we can complain about in life, (getting older for one thing!), and yet, fundamentally our existence is miraculous. As time has passed and years have gone on, I have found that I no longer regard myself as belonging to any one culture, country, philosophy or religion. The more questions I ask, the less I seem to understand, and it has become clear to me that I cannot and should not follow any one dogmatic path. I suppose that I fall into an agnostic category. I am neither a true believer, nor am I a true disbeliever. Prayer, for me, is an important and fundamental way to reach out and attempt to communicate with that which is not visible or known.
Photography is generally considered to be a process of recording the visual, but I, perhaps vainly, attempt to record the invisible, which may seem like a paradox. I have been heartened and influenced by Werner Heisenberg’s law of indeterminacy, which I came across in my early studies at The London College of Printing, years ago. It states that an observer and what is being observed, affect and change each other. Photography, I believe, works in the same way – it is why I always ask permission of the landscape and/or whatever it is I am photographing. I attempt a conversation or collaboration, in full consciousness that what I photograph is being affected by the very act of me photographing. I previously mentioned that my friend Pico Lyer insightfully writes that photographs can be visual prayers, and I, of course heartily agree with him. I even think that photographs can be love poems to the universe.
As to how all of the above connects into my time and experiences in Asia, I cannot clearly say, but I do believe that all experiences become part of us in some karmic sense. It is logical to therefore conclude that an exchange of energy takes place in every conversation, whether vocal or silent, conscious or unconscious. There are always consequences to our actions. I rather like the quote attributed to the Buddha: "What we think, we become".
Technological change: With the rise of digital photography, many artists have shifted away from analog methods. How do you perceive the role of technology in photography today, and what do you believe is the future of analog photography in an increasingly digital world?
Such an appropriate question in these times! Alas, I haven’t much of an idea how to answer. I have always wondered how photography would survive once there was a separation between fact and fiction. The power of photography, in my mind, was its connection to reality. Then the digital revolution came around and photography could literally move elements around, add and subtract. Somehow photography survived. Now we are in an age of AI, a whole other step where nothing can be believed. What we see is not necessarily there. Analogue photography seems somewhat anachronistic, archaic, and quaint, yet still inviting, almost seductive in its alchemical charms. I like to think that in a journey from A to B we have choices. We can choose to get there fast, as in a Formula 1 racing car. We might not see much en route but the experience might be filled with adrenaline, exciting and probably over quite quickly. We could also take our time, sniff the roses along the way, enjoy the quirks and curiosities of what we meet and/or notice. Both experiences are valid. Neither is better or worse. We just need to make our own choices, and hope that choices will continue to be available.
The show is currently on view in Hong Kong and is scheduled to travel to New York in September.
To discover more about this intriguing body of work and how you can acquire your own copy, you can find and purchase the book here. (Nazraeli Press, Amazon)
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