Book Report

I’ve always had a hard time categorizing photography. Is it art? Is it language? Or is it something else entirely?

Personally, I’ve never really considered photography to be “art.” I have some narrow-minded view that, because I push a button on a machine, photography is disqualified from such classification. My own photography is more about curation than creation — I’m simply sharing something that already exists, rather than creating it from scratch.

So maybe that’s why I reject the “art” label. Or maybe it’s simply because I’ve always retched at the term “artist” when applied to myself. I had similar issues with my music. “Recording artist” sounds so pretentious. I’m a composer. I’m a sound designer. I’m a musician. But a recording artist? Pish.

Contributing further to my ‘artist’ aversion is the path I took — the vast wellspring of my photographic vocabulary sprang not from the rarified air of the art gallery, but from mountainous tomes of photographic monographs. I fell in love with photography by looking at photo books. From these, I learned what made a good photo and what didn’t; what affected me, and why; how to select and present them; and how to create entire narratives through their sequencing and placement. For me, photography has always been about books — with a photograph’s ultimate destination being a printed page in a volume full of tactile images that work in harmony to create a mood.

This belief was the primary impetus for my decision to print ULTRAsomething magazine, and each exorcism supports my notion that photography is more akin to language — poetry specifically — with every image a suggestion; an evocation of a thought best completed by the person experiencing it.

Frugal as I am, there are a few things I don’t mind spending money on. Camera gear is one. Photography is one of a precious few things that fuels my hunger for living and gets me out of bed and out of the apartment. Same goes for synthesizers, which offer an indoor creative endeavour for those times when the interminable dregs of Vancouver’s rainy season limit one’s photographic galavanting. So if my soul hungers for it, I’ll spend money on it. If my soul doesn’t, I won’t…

… which brings me to the curious case of photo books. Technically, I don’t require them. Architecturally, I have no space to properly house them. Financially, they make no sense, even if they do always go out of print and command outrageous prices on ebay. I simply love looking at them; running my hands across the paper; experiencing the texture; breathing the ink. Many years ago, I decided it was OK to purchase a select few every year (in spite of wishing I could purchase hundreds). So each book that I do purchase tends to be something ‘special.’ Curiously, for a site that’s supposedly about photography, I’ve dedicated very few words to my love of photo books.

So I thought I’d toss a few more words at the topic, and single out five photo books I’ve purchased in the past 18 months that have brought me joy.

Chizu – Maquette Edition (Kikuji Kawada)

For decades, Chizu was one of those unattainable classics of Japanese photography — at least until it was reprinted several years ago in an attempt to improve access. However, its $500 Canadian price tag guaranteed it would remain on my personal “unattainable” list for quite some time. While I would dearly love to own the final version of this masterfully designed book, the maquette edition (itself a rather substantial powerhouse of book design) comes in at half the price — still too rich for my blood, but at least within fantasy range. Fortunately, on last year’s trip to Tokyo, I found a second-hand copy of the maquette in So Books, which is a wonderful little used art/photo book store that I frequent every trip to Tokyo. Kikuji Kawada’s 1965 Chizu is an abstract record of the blemishes burned into the walls at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. It is neither as depressing nor as pedantic as it sounds. Rather, it’s an absolute masterpiece of photography and book design.

Mayfly (Daido Moriyama)

Mayfly, with its gloriously unfurling gatefold boxed cover, is certainly a jewel upon my shelf. It features a brown-toned series of Kinabaku photos, shot by Daido Moriyama and originally published in 1972. Everything about this publication screams “art” — so much so, that it has me rethinking my own personal aversion of the “art” label. It may not be my favourite Moriyama book (that would be Farewell Photography), but it’s definitely the most beautifully designed.

Monument (Trent Park)

Easily my favourite contemporary photographer not hailing from the land of the rising son, Trent Parke’s Monument is a collision of exquisite photography and scrumptious, leather-bound book design. Sadly, its price seems to have recently skyrocketed into the “unattainable” stratum that often befalls other rare, beautiful, and highly desirable photography art books. Fortunately, I snagged my copy early on, and for a mere fraction of the currently advertised price. If only I could pick my stock portfolio this well.

Homo Ludens (Masahisa Fukase)

Fukase seems to be experiencing a bit of a rediscovery lately, which makes me very happy, since he’s long been near the top of my ‘all time’ favourites list. His book Ravens has been duking it out with Moriyama’s Farewell Photography and Nakahira’s For a Language to Come in the battle for “Egor’s all time favourite photo book” for decades. So when his 1971 debut photo book, Homo Ludens was finally reprinted earlier this year, I smashed the BUY button with utmost immediacy. While the book design itself is less “artistic” than the three mentioned above, the photos have no problem carrying the extra weight of expectation. That said, there’s still a nice artistic element with silver backgrounds surrounding many of the photos, rather than the bog-standard white pages of most photo books.

Where Time Has Stopped (Ikko Narahara)

Completing this list’s theme of “out of print” classics is Ikko Narahara’s Where Time Has Stopped, which remained out of print (and unaffordable) for 55 years until reprint publisher Fukkan reissued a version in 2022. Many of the photos contained within this book have long been classics of Japanese photography, and are among some of my personal favourites as well. The book is a bit like a quintessential 1960’s experimental psychedelic rock album — some of the entries feel a bit dated, but the ones that endure? Man, do they endure!

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©2025 grEGORy simpson

ABOUT THE PHOTOS : Illustrating this article with photographs of the photo books discussed within it seemed like a frivolous use of internet bandwidth — particularly since I could just link to other sites. So I opted to illustrate it with a bunch of selfies instead. Which, come to think of it, may be even more of a frivolous use of satellites than my original plan.

Self Portrait : Triptych : Shot on a Rollei 35T using HP5+ at ISO 400, and developed in Rodinal 1:50

Self Portrait : Shuttered : Shot on a Minolta TC-1 using Rollei Superpan 200, and developed in Rodinal 1:50

Self Portrait : Reproduction : Shot on a Contax G1 fronted with a Contax Zeiss Biogon 28mm f/2.8, using HP5+ pushed to ISO 1600, and developed in Rodinal 1:50

Self Portrait : Surveiled : Shot on a Canon Powershot V1

Self Portrait : Widelux : The caption has likely given away the fact this was shot on a Widelux F7. What the caption didn’t give away is that I used FP4+, which I pushed to ISO 400 and developed in Rodinal 1:25.

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