Changing Impressions

In one of the first posts I made in this blog, I talked about my "neighborhood" in Japan, my early impressions of Japan in general. When I look back at the photographs I took at that time, they're filled with scenery and relatively mundane vistas: my room, my street, my route to the station, muddy puddles outside pachinko parlors, shopping streets, train tracks, bicycles that don't belong to me, the unexpected lovely view from the bathroom window of a campus building's upper floor. And of course, the exciting new world of a Starbucks in Japan:

There's an excitement visible in the rampant photo-taking. And why? Somehow I felt these things needed to be documented. It's not so much that there's anyone in particular to show the images to, and perhaps some of the quantity can be chalked up to the photo-taking fervor that tends to overtake most people, I would imagine, should they spend any amount of time around groups of Japanese teenagers spending time with one another. Though many of the places and things I photographed were those to which I would often return, and many on a daily basis, there is something to be said for capturing them as they were in that particular moment in time, and being able to go home and look at the image and remember.

T-shirt in a store in Shinsaibashi, Osaka

It has been approximately three months now since I arrived in Japan, and as I have looked over my photos and considered what to write here, I've noticed a dramatic increase in the number of "mundane" photos. Most of them have been replaced by pictures of people: mostly endless shots of friends in increasingly ridiculous poses. It's not difficult to imagine why this might have happened: the novelty--perhaps one might even go so far as to say "otherness"--of the tiny things like bicycle racks and train stations has worn off (when one no longer registers shirts like the one to the left as "off" is an indication that this condition has likely gone on to the advanced stage). That they no longer seemed quite as impulsively fascinating and "documentable" struck me as awfully sad. There's a slight embarrassment in encouraging a photo-taking temptation and suddenly, awkwardly stopping in the road to bend down and photograph a stand selling fried potatoes, then straightening back up and walking away as if no one is staring after the peculiar foreigner with apprehension and perplexity. Despite that, however, I decided to endeavor to take such pictures again. To take more pictures. To be sure, not all of them have been especially good photographs, but it is better, I feel, to have taken them at all, than to only bring out the camera for a perfect shot of a temple view which all day echoes the sound of snapping shutters.
Quite by accident, some pictures framed the same scene that had apparently caught my attention in earlier months.

September,  2011

December, 2011

This is a scene to which I've grown accustomed, but as the images show, it certainly hasn't stayed the same. The riverbed has fallen, and with the onset of winter the clouds have set in, the greenery has faded, and blossoms spread on the branches of one tree. For the cat, I cannot account. It leaped across the stream and fled from my paparazzi approach.
Similarly: outside of Korien Station:

September, 2011

December 2011

Naturally, the December photo is a night-shot, and therefore difficult to make out, and furthermore contains very little plant life to signify seasonal change, though the puddles on the street were not an installation in the warmer month of September. Nor were the winter jackets and seasonal drinks sold along this street. The people, too, have changed, ever so slightly, and maybe become just a bit more familiar.

Getting used to a slightly different way of life and becoming comfortable with things that may have struck one as peculiar or different is a good thing, I think it is safe to say. But even--especially--in one's home, or a place to which one has acclimatized, whether simply artistically or otherwise, I feel it's important not to stop documenting whatever small thing may catch one's interest. When you look back on that picture later, it may carry more weight, and say more about that place, and that time that you imagined when the shutter clicked.

Tell Your Neighbors, Tell Your Friends

In Japan, as in my native America, warning signs are everywhere. "Video Cameras in Operation," "Neighborhood Watch,""Caution: Children at Play," and the like. The major difference is that warning signs of this nature in the United States are typically text-only, or feature some very simple silhouette-style image to clarify the point, as in this sign from Daly City, California:

(From Daly City's website)

In Japan, the signs are a bit different. Rather than a majority of standard block-letter text and a clipart-style icon, they tend to feature a greater amount of color, wider variety of fonts and text sizes, and much more dynamic images, often cartoonized in a manga style that would perhaps not be taken as seriously in the US. In short, warning signs in Japan tend to be much more graphic. Take, for example, these posters from the city of Neyagawa, Osaka:

The poster in this first image is an anti-littering plea. "Stop!" it reads, "[Don't] throw things away." The greater part of the poster is taken up with cartoon images of tossed and broken bottles, cans, and cigarettes, anthropomorphized and all apparently in a state of distress. The sign does not simply command the cessation of littering, or threaten litterers in large text with a fine, as does one roadside message in my California hometown. It goes further, and invokes an emotional command: the very PET bottles you toss aside will be hurt by your doing so; think twice. Whether or not this is an effective method remains to be seen...

This picture contains three examples (as well as the motorcyclist who appeared from nowhere just as the shutter closed) in a series that repeats itself all along this particular street. From top to bottom, "Pick up after your dog," "Do not litter," and, "Do not smoke while walking" (having thus far encountered no dog poop, I can attest to the community's respect of poster 1, but for the latter I unfortunately cannot). All three images feature bright colors and detailed cartoon drawings. The text is highlighted with red circles to pinpoint the most important parts of the message. The people in the drawings are detailed enough that they are no longer simply depictions of "a person," but have expressions and a definite character. It is possible that this kind of "characterized" specifity can have a distancing effect, and cause the viewer to think, "I don't look like that. That isn't me. Therefore, this doesn't apply to me/doesn't have to do with me." It is the same problem faced by anyone who wishes to create any kind of PSA to deliver a message to a wide audience. If one wants to create a 15 second PSA against teen drug use, for example, what kind of teenager should one feature? A boy, a girl? Someone living in the city? Someone scruffy-looking? Someone with blue nail polish? The problem with trying to deliver a visual message of example to "everyone" is that "everyone" is not one image, and in the above example, the viewer of such a PSA can very easily feel that to he or she it is irrelevant, even on so small a basis as, "That kid's wearing a red sweatshirt, and I don't wear red sweatshirts. This doesn't have to do with me."Still, if one remembers that  "kid in the red sweatshirt," and thereby the message conveyed, perhaps the disassociation factor is not, after all, so very important.

The above two signs warn against purse snatchers and bicycle thieves, respectively. Both are also very much in a manga style, what with the speech bubbles and sense of action created by lines--suggesting movement. The blazing headline on the purse-snatching poster is so large and animated that if one did not bother to inspect the image with more than a very cursory glance, one might assume the poster was, in fact, some sort of manga cover.
In a similarly dramatized vein are the anti-chikan (groper/molester) posters one often finds around stations in Japan.

Courtesy of "Nopy's Blog: Japan Trip - Week 4"

While I did not take the image above, I came across the same sign a year ago in Saitama prefecture, and must admit that it rung rather disturbing. It depicts an anime-style schoolgirl--often the victims of molestation on trains because their daily commute to school requires many schoolchildren to ride trains at rush hour, when they are packed full like sardine cans--brandishing a sign with a "X" at a large, disembodied hand in the foreground. "Chikan! I won't forgive you!" it reads, and asks for the cooperation of everyone riding on the train.

Also from "Nopy's Blog"

But there is something about this particular image that made me feel frightened, rather than on guard. The way in which the girl is framed, cornered on the seat by the giant, approaching hand, and something about her expression, when examined closely, that reads less as determination or fortitude so much as vulnerability and fear. As a woman boarding the train, these are probably the last things one wants in mind. The graphicality of the poster certainly catches one's attention, and makes a strong impression.
Other, similar examples feature images of women or schoolchildren under the nearly Hitchcockian threat of monster-like hands in the foreground. Above all, the image of the threat, the chikan, is always anonymous, as the attacker often remains during and after the attacks. Similar to the PSA conundrum mentioned earlier, images of chikan, if their bodies are shown, are usually attired in suits, as many offenders have been shown to be salarymen on their own daily commutes. Still, even when faces are in the picture, they are left in silhouette (see this example). In the very colorful and character-filled world of Japan's warning signs, this kind of graphical omission is very striking. It clearly sends the message to the reader: it could be anyone.

From "Mechakucha"

Whether they inspire fear or sympathy, Japan's unique, often bright and stylized warning signs certainly inspire a response, and one that is usually emotional.