Hmm, yes, when I come back to Japan... Well the good thing is being able to see everyone. Meaning, I was born and raised in Tokyo, so although I like Africa, I also like the city of Tokyo. Even if the air does start to irritate my throat after a week, I love to see all the brightly lit neon signs. It's a bit odd, really.
In the course of traveling overseas and returning to Japan, I take photos, and people look at them. I guess it is mainly city folks who see my photos. The photos can bring joy to people in Africa too, needless to say, but the critical thing is to find ways for urban-dwellers to see and appreciate nature; because to my mind, if we can give people a feel for how beautiful the natural world really is, this will help when it comes to saving the future of our planet.
Returning to the city, I can stage photo exhibitions, and get involved in producing books. This means meeting with the likes of editors and designers, part of the job I very much look forward to. As discussed earlier, I think it's true that we no longer see those big, spectacular rainbows in Tokyo. The skyline, the horizon in Tokyo changes year by year. I was also born and raised in artificial surroundings myself, but occasionally it strikes me that if we are exposed only to manmade things, it will take a long time to regain that sense of how marvelous nature can be.
There is one thing, however, that I'm not very keen on here which I spoke of in a recent newspaper interview. Every year without fail, photos appear in the mass media that have been taken as if they were natural, even when they're not. For example in summer, fields where there are thousands of sunflowers growing, or shots with the text "just look at this lovely display of pink blossoms." That sort of thing can be annoying. "What's so natural about that?" I want to ask. This difference in perception is becoming more and more pronounced. I'm on the judging panel for the "Japanese Outdoor" photo contest, and now and then we get photos of manmade things. While they may be fun to look at, I don't think we can really call it nature photography.
Photos are taken with a camera -- a machine of sorts -- but it's a human hand that presses the button. Often when I'm photographing I'm just taking the picture, without feeling anything. For example there might be a huge herd of gnus or flock of flamingos, so I immediately think wow, and quickly reel off a few shots. When photographed in that way, the sheer force of gnus on the move, or the quivering of flamingos in the light will not be captured in the photo. It's the same with a field of flowers: it may be lovely, but unless the photographer's line of sight is defined, the core of that beauty will not be captured in the photo. In other words, it will be different to a photo taken when the photographer looks at where and what is beautiful, and feels the emotions thus aroused in himself or herself when clicking the shutter.
In the case of cats, the difference between whether one hears or does not hear the voice of the animal emanating from a photo comes down to whether one is conscious of that voice when snapping the shot. I suspect it's a two-way thing. The question is whether we are ready for that single instant exhibited by the subject. Whether we were ready or not will inevitably be manifested in the resulting photo.
Photography is my job, and I take hundreds of shots. I think now with digital cameras, I take more photos than I did using film. When I was shooting with a film camera, at night I would just leave the film and go to bed, but now with a digital, I check through all the photos taken that day. I'm probably sleeping two or three hours less each night, but I always view the day's pictures. Sometimes I can take hundreds of photos and not like any of them. Which is embarrassing for a professional, I admit. If I were to exaggerate I'd say that in some cases, I can take over a thousand photos and possibly be happy with one. You know a good photo the instant you click the shutter.
Recently I had three days to go on a shoot and was taking pictures of proboscis monkeys, and still hadn't managed to get a decent photo. I felt like I couldn't leave until I'd succeeded. The following day, that is just two days before winding up, I snapped a photo I was happy with and thought; now I can go home. This is how it happened: I had the zoom focused on a female and her baby on a tree branch, when the mother's gaze shifted, and a male jumped down from above, shaking the branches, and plonked himself down beside her. Just at that moment he held his mate's hand and looked at the camera. I know it sounds really strange, but I'm not sure whether it was the monkey that did that? It felt more like I, taking photos, clicked the shutter knowing it was going to happen that way.
I'd had a similar experience before, while shooting a cheetah on a rock under a blue sky; clicking away all the while thinking that it was all a little boring. Just as I was musing, wouldn't it be good to have some clouds, white, fluffy clouds, a minute or two later, a cloud suddenly appeared right on cue. It felt as though the cloud had materialized just where I had imagined it. I think it may have been that because as well as hoping for clouds, my body could sense moisture in the air and had thus divined that a cloud was likely to appear.
In the case of cats and dogs too, there are times when while you're taking a photo, you can envisage the scene that immediately follows. Obviously, because it is the natural world we're talking about, things change from day to day. You wait, or rather summon that moment. Or maybe, the photographer is the one that's summoned. When it comes to things like timing, when to click the shutter, it's best not to resist the workings of nature, but just go along for the ride.
Hmm, you're asking me to reveal my trade secrets! I suspect there is something about you that puts the cat on its guard. I do apologize; I know that's a strange thing to say. You must never go into it thinking right, I'm going to get a photo of this cat, come hell or high water. Cats hate that more than anything. What I mean is, when you approach a cat, don't consciously prepare yourself to photograph it. If you pass by and then come back, a cat will tend to go on the defensive, so you need to observe the animal and come up with your own tricks, such as timing the shot for when it turns toward you but is not yet too much on guard, and working out how to close the distance between you. Personally, I tend to speak to the cat, calling out a "yah" ("Hi there") or suchlike. Speaking of which, I was invited to a girls' high school about a year ago, and when I bowled in and greeted them with a friendly "yah" ("Hi there"), one girl wrote in her blog the next day that Mr. Iwago had greeted them in cat language. Even though I said "yah" not "myah" (meow) like a cat (laughs)!
