Naohiro Harada on improvised sculptures and Tokyo Fishgraphs (2020)

Interview Jeanne-Salomé Rochat

Edit Nele Jackson

Naohiro Harada is a photographer based in Tokyo whose work blends conceptual street photography and Japanese art history. For his series ‘Tokyo Fishgraphs (2020)', Harada created a series of temporary sculptures made from fish, vases, and other objects, which he photographed in the empty streets of Tokyo during the canceled 2020 Summer Olympics. The eponymous photo book of the series juxtaposes the artist’s creations with the historic woodcuts of One Hundred Famous Views of Edo (1856–59) by Japanese artist Hiroshige. We spoke to him about Japanese history, deep creative flow and buying a ton of fish.

Naohiro Harada is the recipient of the 2022 Libraryman Award. Purchase the book and editions here!

Is photography something that comes naturally to you?

It depends. Generally speaking, there are two things I find difficult. One is to get back to the roots. While I shoot a lot professionally, I think it’s essential to take a step back and reconnect with a more amateur approach.

The other difficult thing is to find new perspectives. When the work becomes more accomplished, how do you create something fresh?

How did the medium of photography enter your life?

When I was backpacking in my student days, I used to draw. But I was also taking pictures to record my travels. I realized that photography and drawing are actually similar. So I decided to use photography as a serious means of expression.
Mentally, I may still be backpacking and taking photographs.

Did you learn photography on your own, or did you have mentors to guide you?

I’ve been making artworks from a young age.

In my late twenties, I went to art school for two years and studied art and photography. While the lessons I learned there have been very useful, I consider myself self-taught. I believe that it’s difficult to teach people the essential aspects of making art. At the same time, meeting people and learning from them is important.

It’s when you can no longer stretch yourself, that you need to learn from others.

For the Tokyo Fishgraphs series, you built and recorded small “monuments” created from various objects, mostly vases and pieces of fish. Would you also consider yourself a sculptor?

That’s an excellent question regarding this work. One of the challenges at the core of it is the shift from street photography to street art.

I think there’s a certain elegance in the forms that emerge from the speed required in street art creation. One artist I used as a reference for my production style for this project was Enku, a Japanese sculptor of Buddhist statues from the Edo period. Enku is said to have made more than 120,000 Buddhist statues in his lifetime. He traveled all over Japan, finding trees close by and creating rough Buddhist statues on the spot, at very fast speed.

I could say that for the Tokyo Fishgraphs 2020 series, I made improvised sculptures like Enku's with raw fish and various objects. As fish is perishable, unlike wood or stone, the medium of photography comes into play, stopping time. The result may indeed be a fish sculpture, developed in a street art manner.

You produced the Tokyo Fishgraphs at the height of the pandemic. What was Tokyo like during that time? And how did you cope with it?

In Japan, the initial number of people infected in the pandemic was lower than in other countries. So rather than very strict restrictions, we had slightly looser measures of self-restraint. Many shops and offices were closed. Only shops selling daily necessities were given permission to open, and fishmongers fall into this category, so I was able to secure fish for my artwork.

In the first months of the self-restraint, people were not really out and about in the city center. A lot of the social discourse still focused on how to organize the Olympics, but everyone was at home, so I had the impression that words and reality were far apart. The everyday landscape seemed to have been inverted, and there was a kind of surrealism to that.

In this context, the placement of fish in urban spaces was a very impressive and unforgettable activity for me.

I wanted to find the courage to continue creating my work even in the absence of people.

In the book for the series, you juxtapose your photographs with black-and-white duplications of the historic woodcuts from One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. What do you hope to achieve with this contextualization, and what’s your relationship with Japanese history?

To Japanese people, the Japan of the past is already a distant and foreign country.
But traditional Japanese culture is a subject of active study in the country.

Personally, I’m interested in the legacies we inherit, consciously and unconsciously.

I was also surprised to find that fish has always been a very important theme in Japanese culture!

Could you speak a little more on the significance of fish in Japanese culture, art and cuisine?

Japan had a long period of time when people did not eat meat, such as cattle and pigs, due to the influence of Buddhist beliefs. As a result, many traditional Japanese dishes consisted of vegetables and seafood, with fish being a special treat for people. So people spent a lot of time finding different ways to prepare almost every part of the fish, and much of the gaze and thought in Japanese daily life has been focused on fish.

Fish was used in various rituals outside of the meal, for example as an offering to the gods, to ward off evil spirits and, in dried form, even as a children's toy.

Fish was a very classic motif for Japanese painters until the import of Western oil paintings. They were influenced by the goldfish that were imported from China, earlier Chinese paintings and Japan’s own close relationship with the sea. Characteristically, they would depict the fish not as still life but more fantastical or anthropomorphic, like in cartoons and animated films.

They painted fish with a soul.

One of the early modern Japanese artists, Takahashi Yuichi, combined the traditionally Japanese motif of fish with a more Western painting style, challenging himself to depict its texture. He’s still considered one of the most important early modern painters in Japan.

In terms of aesthetics, there’s still today a very artistic aspect to the presentation of raw fish by modern Japanese food artisans. The food is not just for eating, but becomes a very artistic expression of the life of the fish.

The structure of the book is really intriguing – the scenes repeat themselves, but always in a slightly different way. How do you know when your work is done?

Pulling back the curtain on the production of a work is difficult.

Basically, my work is done when my mind and body both feel that there’s nothing left to do, and I want to move on to the next piece. If I feel that I still have unfinished business, then I have no problem going back.

For this particular series, my concept was to have 100 different kinds of fish to match Hiroshige’s 100 landscapes. But my collection of fish eventually stopped at around 80 pieces, which was the amount I was able to get from the Tokyo fish market. While there are probably more than 100 different types of fish available, some of them are quite rare, and waiting for the remaining 20 types could have taken up to three years. I wanted to move on, so I finished the production.

You seem to be a kind of nomad. What’s your ideal creative environment?

I originally started out as a street photographer, so all my work is done on the street. None of my work to date has been shot in a studio, and that may not change in the future.

Being in touch with the atmosphere and the vibes of the outside and immersing myself in the currents of the times is what I really enjoy about being a photographer.

What do you feel like when you’re deep in your work?

Once the concept of the work is clearly defined, the artist is a simple laborer dedicated to their artwork.

Shooting is simply done without thinking, and involves mainly discovery and fun.

How do you nourish yourself creatively when you’re not working?

I like to read thematic books and I like to cook. I also increase the amount of exercise I do each year. I think exercise is particularly important. I think it’s important to both fill myself up and empty myself out.

Do you have to set boundaries as to how you engage with digital media?

I’m also involved in IT work, so I have a lot of exposure to digital technology. But in the production of my own work, I still use film and the darkroom. I think it’s very important as an artist to be interested in the impact of the digital space.

In terms of boundaries, as photography has become more and more accessible, I find it important to maintain a sense of distance. I don't post photos of my new work on social media until the production is complete. I need a long time to think them over in my mind.

What are you working on at the moment?

I am working on a new piece of work that will perhaps be a twin of the current work, or maybe something completely different. I'd like to venture a little more into classical Japanese and East Asian culture, but I'm also starting to feel like I want to learn more about Western art.

Will you continue to explore sculpture in your photography?

I’m not sure if I will explore sculpture in the same way as the fish photographs again, but I’m intrigued by the tools and materials the field of sculpture has to offer. I would like to successfully mix the distinctive features of photography and sculpture, and bring a three-dimensional aspect to the photographic process that’s not just about shooting film.

Do you feel that your different projects ever speak to each other?

My only recurrent theme is making work that’s a bit strange.

That's because there’s so much mystery in being alive. But whenever I make a new piece of work, the previous work is always the starting point, so there is a form of relevance.

It's often said that if you only look at the visual part of the work, you see it as fractured. For me personally, it’s possible to talk about the connections of it all.
I’m not afraid to change, and I want to continue to explore new styles.