Mikkiko Hara
by José Bértolo
There is no doubt that Japanese photography is fashionable right now. But what
do we mean when we say, “Japanese photography is fashionable right now”?
Which Japanese photography are we referring to? What vision of Japanese photography
do we have?
For a long time in the West, Japanese photography was synonymous with
Moriyama Daido, Araki Nobuyoshi, Hosoe Eikoh, and few others. In recent years, the
range of references has been expanding, both with names that are classics of Japanese
photography (Masahisa Fukase, Kikuji Kawada, Takuma Nakahira, Issei Suda, Shomei Tomatsu…) and with names of contemporary authors, such as Sugimoto Hiroshi, Kawauchi Rinko, and Shiga Lieko.
These examples show that this shift from ‘classics’ to ‘contemporaries’ reflects
a vital transformation: today, we can’t discuss Japanese photography without
recognizing women photographers. But when it comes to the historical canon, their
presence fades. Does this mean that Japanese women only entered photography in the
21st century?
Ishiuchi Miyaki
I’m So Happy You Are Here: Japanese Women Photographers from the 1950s to
Now, edited by Pauline Vermare and Lesley A. Martin with Takeuchi Mariko, Carrie
Cushman and Kelly Midori McCormick, and published by Aperture in 2024, seeks to
answer this central question: what is the place of women in the history of Japanese
photography over the last 75 years? Thus, while the book benefits from the
community’s growing interest in Japanese photography (the same community that has
gravitated—whether consciously or not—toward male photographers almost
exclusively), it aims to contribute to renewing this same community’s knowledge.
Importantly, this book does not try to rewrite history by imagining an alternative past
where women played a central role. Instead, it seeks to tell a fuller, more truthful story.
It is about trying to critically restore the truth of Japanese photography history: a history
in which women could not play the prominent role they should have been allowed to,
but who, nonetheless, due to the unmistakable quality of the work they developed,
deserve to figure in this same history with a place of prominence.
Kawauchi Rinko
This is the first positive aspect I would like to highlight in this book: the vision
proposed here is honest and faithful to the truth of history, never gets lost in rhetorical
arguments of a more political than aesthetic nature, and continually seeks to rehabilitate artists not only based on their gender identity but primarily based on the quality of their work. Still, it is evident that the political dimension of this work exists and cannot/should not be disregarded. The silencing of women artists in art history demands our attention. I think that understanding this past is crucial. Even more important is how this
understanding can help create a more equitable future. But if this should happen
globally, there are specific places where the asymmetry between men and women was
(and unfortunately still is) felt more than in others, making raising the
issue particularly urgent in these areas. Japan is one of these places since, as Takeuchi
Mariko reminds us in her text on the book, “Japan rank[ed] 125th out of 146 countries
in the Global Gender Gap Index as of 2023” (55).
Therefore, this book’s existence is justified from the start by its intended
objective. But this alone does not make a good book. So, the pivotal question should be:
Is this a good book? The short answer is absolutely. As often happens in edited volumes, this book is a patchwork. It consists of markedly distinct sections that map out the central problem: a general introduction, essays, artist portfolios, an illustrated bibliography, and selected readings.
Kon Michiko
Pauline Vermare’s opening essay provides a practical overview, setting the book’s theoretical framework and tracing the history of Japanese photography from a female perspective through brief profiles of key women photographers. The text is very well documented, and there is no doubt that it will become a reference in photography studies. However, in the context of this book, the fact that the text is so encompassing in
its reflection means that several of the ideas developed here resurface later in other
sections (namely in the texts accompanying the portfolios), generating an effect of
repetition and déjà vu that doesn’t favor the book as an organic entity. I
should emphasize, however, that this is only a problem for readers who, like me, started
on the first page and ended on the last — which, I presume, won’t be the dominant
the reading experience, given that the book lends itself, through its heterogeneous form, to
being casually read, more than read from start to finish.
The following essay, by Carrie Cushman and Kelly Midori McCormick, is
equally rich in information and an instant essential reading. Starting from the
groundbreaking research project “Behind the Camera: Gender, Power, and Politics in the History of Japanese Photography” (https://behindthecamerajapan.arts.ubc.ca),hosted by the University of British Columbia and led by Cushman and McCormick, the authors reinforce the panorama previously traced by Vermare, summoning especially some photographers from more distant decades, such as the practically unknown (in theWest, at least) Shima Ryū, Yamazawa Eiko and Sasamoto Tsuneko.
Okabe Momo
In her essay, Takeuchi Mariko (whose poignant book of essays, Silence and
Image, published by Akaaka in 2018, I recommend) offers a perspective shaped by her
experiences as a woman in Japan’s photography world. She opens with a personal
anecdote that poignantly illustrates the latent misogyny in Japanese society—a story
that captures the challenges women face in this field. Takeuchi’s argument centers on
how social marginalization has sometimes allowed women to embrace more
experimental approaches, breaking away from the formal conventions of traditional
photography. Her essay reveals how, for many Japanese women photographers, being
outside the mainstream granted them the freedom to innovate in distinct and impactful ways.
Moving from contextual approaches to specific artists, the portfolio section
offers a valuable showcase of 25 women photographers whose contributions have been
central to shaping Japanese photography. The regrettably unattributed accompanying
texts are brief but quite effective, and the photographs themselves profit from the outstanding quality of the printing.
While debating selection choices can often be unproductive, Hiromix’s absence
from the portfolios demands attention. Though she is discussed in the book’s texts and
her work is included in the final illustrated bibliography, her exclusion from
the portfolios section perpetuates a troubling pattern. Of the triad that won the Ihei
Kimura Award in 2000—Hiromix, Ninagawa Mika, and Nagashima Yurie—Hiromix
has been repeatedly set aside precisely because she never claimed the critical
distance of the other two. In an era where artistic value increasingly depends on self-
Reflective commentary: Hiromix’s direct approach to photography deserves recognition,
not dismissal. By excluding her from the portfolios, I believe that the book inadvertently
reinforces the ‘Girly Photo’ critics’ mischaracterization of her as merely a ‘naive girl
who took good photographs,’ missing an opportunity to affirm her legitimate place in
the canon of serious artists.
Narahashi Asako
Photobooks remain one of the most valued ways of showing and seeing photographs today, which makes the “Illustrated Bibliography” by Marc Feustel and Russet Lederman a particular highlight of this volume. Their selection showcases some of the finest photobooks produced by women photographers, with each entry thoughtfully pairing reproduced spreads and insightful commentary that examines the books’ materiality and their broader historical significance. While the selection is impressive, featuring fascinating publications by photographers like Ume Kayo, Nomura Keiko, Okabe Momo, Hosokura Mayumi, Tokyo Rumando, and Suzuki Moe, alongside prominent figures such as Kon Michiko, Ishikawa Mao, Nomura Sakiko, Kawauchi Rinko, and Narahashi Asako, there is room to enrich this valuable compilation further. The inclusion of lesser-known but significant works by photographers such as Tonomura Hideka (Mama Love), Hanayo (Keep an Eye Shut), Iwane Ai (Kipuka), and Shiraishi Chieko (Shikamage or Shikawatari) would have added another valuable dimension to this already substantial bibliography.
Finally, the “selected readings” present themselves as perhaps the great treasure
of this book. Building on Ivan Vartanian’s (with the help of others, namely the late
Kaneko Ryūichi) work to make Japanese photography accessible in
English—particularly Setting Sun: Writings by Japanese Photographers and Japanese
Photography Magazines, 1880s to 1980s—the editors here compile a variety of texts
that amplify the voices of Japanese photographers, critics, historians, and curators.…
All contributions in this section are precious and required reading. Still, I highlight (by
elective affinity, since all of them must be read) a conversation with Watanabe Hitomi,
two essays by Ishiuchi Miyako, a conversation with Ushioda Tokuko (whose My
Husband I find to be one of the most beautiful books of recent years), a fundamental
text by Nagashima Yurie, and a conversation with Okabe Momo, one of the most
stimulating photographers in the Japanese panorama, but unfortunately very little
known both outside Japan and within the country itself, where she voluntarily occupies
a marginal position. From a scholarly perspective, one editorial choice merits attention: though the
introductions note that the texts were “edited and condensed for length,” the nature of
these modifications is not indicated within the texts themselves. Given the book's
valuable contribution to Japanese photography scholarship, a more transparent
documentation of these editorial decisions would have further strengthened its academic
utility. This book transforms our perception of Japanese photography’s history by
making visible what was always there but seldom acknowledged. It serves scholars in
photography, Japanese studies, and women’s studies and casual readers interested
in these topics. Beyond illuminating the work and the contributions of Japanese women
photographers, it reveals the influence of women across Japan’s photography landscape.
For instance, we learn that Nishimura Tamiko collaborated with Provoke, Sawada Yoko
founded Osiris, Himeno Kimi established Akaaka, Kasahara Michiko served as chief
curator of the Tokyo Photographic Art Museum, and Goto Yumi cofounded the
renowned Reminders Photography Stronghold in Tokyo. The amount of knowledge
gained from reading this book is invaluable. Through its focus on women photographers
who are equally accomplished as their male counterparts, I’m So Happy You Are
Here broadens the canon and enriches our view of Japanese photography. And that is
the best that it could do for us.
I’m So Happy You Are Here: Japanese Women Photographers from the 1950s to Now is
published by Aperture and is available at aperture.org/books.