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Concrete Abstraction. Photographs by Toshio Shibata.
Akio Nagasawa, 2015.
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Humans
like
to
clear
a
path
even
when
there
isn’t
one
to
begin
with.
We
re-direct
the
water;
tell
it
where
it
ought
to
go.
Cut
down
the
trees
and
put
something
else
in
their
place.
We
take
the
organic
and
make
it
alien.
Somewhere,
Toshio
Shibata
sits
with
his
large-format
camera
and
waits
to
make
a
photograph.
Perhaps
the
augmented
nature
tells
him
something,
when
to
use
his
intuition,
where
to
wait
for
an
image
to
reveal
itself.
Folklore always describes the master in the woods with their ancient teachings, one who meditates or knows something we don’t know. Ready to show us the way of the world that we have long forgotten. This is the way the water flows, this is why the birds sing, and this is where the cedar grows.
When I see Shibata’s images I hear the sounds of nature and the man-made elements that obscure them. The hum of water spilling over a large concrete wall, the footsteps of a single man atop decaying leaves, the whisper of the wind through dried grass. It’s easy to assume that Shibata is looking, using his vision to decipher something new and strange. However, I feel like in the photographs contained within Concrete Abstraction he listens. It almost feels as though he does very little looking. I imagine him composing his photograph, and waiting for his moment with eyes closed. Feeling the air, the sunlight, hearing a leaf fall from a high treetop.
I wouldn’t call myself a fan of landscape photography. In fact in general I would say I don’t care for it. However, Shibata’s images show me something that I have never experienced before. A different kind of silence, they make me aware of my humanity, they make me feel small, but empowered. As though I’m finally listening to nature and hearing it for the first time.
Folklore always describes the master in the woods with their ancient teachings, one who meditates or knows something we don’t know. Ready to show us the way of the world that we have long forgotten. This is the way the water flows, this is why the birds sing, and this is where the cedar grows.
When I see Shibata’s images I hear the sounds of nature and the man-made elements that obscure them. The hum of water spilling over a large concrete wall, the footsteps of a single man atop decaying leaves, the whisper of the wind through dried grass. It’s easy to assume that Shibata is looking, using his vision to decipher something new and strange. However, I feel like in the photographs contained within Concrete Abstraction he listens. It almost feels as though he does very little looking. I imagine him composing his photograph, and waiting for his moment with eyes closed. Feeling the air, the sunlight, hearing a leaf fall from a high treetop.
I wouldn’t call myself a fan of landscape photography. In fact in general I would say I don’t care for it. However, Shibata’s images show me something that I have never experienced before. A different kind of silence, they make me aware of my humanity, they make me feel small, but empowered. As though I’m finally listening to nature and hearing it for the first time.
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PURCHASE BOOK
Christian Michael Filardo is a Filipino-American composer and photographer living and working in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He recently had a solo exhibition called Tumbleweed Replica at Current Space in Baltimore, MD and is the current shipping manager at photo-eye Bookstore.
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