Watching the river
The distance between people and rivers, seen through four photo books
When I travel, I find myself looking at the local rivers.
I gaze at them from bridges, walk along their embankments, and descend to their riverbeds.
Looking at a river, I feel like I can glimpse what kind of place that town is, and how people have interacted with the river.
The four books I'm introducing today are photo collections that encourage us to consider this "distance between rivers and people."
They are from different eras and countries, but each one shows a completely different aspect of rivers.
"Kitakami River" by Shoko Hashimoto
This is a photo collection by Shoko Hashimoto, documenting the Kitakami River in the 1970s.
I don't know that era. And of course, I've never seen the Kitakami River from that time.
So, I can't directly compare then and now.
Yet, looking at the photos, it still conveys that something is different from the river today.
There are people, and there is life.
The river is right beside their daily lives.
Looking at it now, it might feel like another world, but there's a certain nostalgia in the atmosphere.
Surely, there must have been shopping streets nearby, where people gathered, and bicycles, and sometimes even horses, came and went.
It tells us that even quiet towns today were once bustling with activity.
"River World" by Atsushi Yoshie
Atsushi Yoshie photographed the middle reaches of the Tone River and the area around the Watarase Retarding Basin.
In contrast to Hashimoto's "Kitakami River," this isn't a place where people's lives are right next to the river.
While flood control measures are in place, it's not a residential area.
It's a place where nature remains, despite being surrounded by artificial structures.
Such scenery is not unique to the Tone River.
Similar places, slightly altered in form, exist along large rivers in rural areas.
There are people fishing, people walking their dogs, and occasionally off-road bikes passing by.
Some days, construction dump trucks drive through, while other areas become parks, baseball fields, tennis courts, or glider runways.
Half managed, half natural.
As a child, I often played in such riverbeds.
Fishing, encountering pheasants, driving on unpaved roads.
Looking at the photos, I even remember the brown of the withered grass.
"The River Knows Everything — Arakawa" by Chao Fan Wan
I actually assisted with some of the photography for this project.
I once climbed to the source of the Arakawa River with him.
What I saw there was a place where the water used in Tokyo quietly springs from underground.
The thin, fragile stream flows for hundreds of kilometers, emptying into Tokyo Bay, supporting the lives of many people.
Standing before its source, the beginning of water felt incredibly precious.
This book continues to photograph the river as if descending it, from its source to its mouth.
The landscapes captured with a 6x17 panoramic camera include even unintended elements.
That's why it feels like the very atmosphere of the place is captured.
During the shoot, something Mr. Wan said left a strong impression on me.
"Japanese rivers are dead."
Of course, he didn't mean the water was polluted.
He meant that people and rivers don't interact.
In Japan, rivers are rarely central to logistics, and due to geographical reasons, people's lives are somewhat distant from them.
Instead, riverbeds are home to baseball fields, golf courses, tennis courts, heliports, and material storage sites, and as one approaches the city, people living in blue-tarp shelters appear.
The distance between rivers and people feels close, yet somehow far.
It's a photo book that makes you ponder such things.
"The River Knows Everything — Huangpu River" by Chao Fan Wan
On the other hand, this is the Huangpu River flowing through Shanghai.
Although photographed by the same photographer, it gives a completely different impression than the Arakawa River.
Mr. Wan said, "Chinese rivers are alive."
Boats come and go, carrying cargo, people work, and life is strongly connected to the river.
There are military facilities, fishing boats, and wharves.
The photographs convey that the river supports the city, and people live by using the river.
By viewing it alongside "Arakawa," the differences in how Japan and China interact with their respective rivers become clearer.
All four are photo books that depict rivers.
But what they capture is not just water.
It's the people who live there, the era, the country, and the distance from the river.
When I was a child, the river was a place to play.
Fishing for fish, spotting pheasants, wandering the riverbed.
Even now, when I travel, I can't help but look at the local rivers.
Because when I look at a river, I feel like I can get a glimpse of how that town has lived its life.
These four books are photo collections that subtly change that "perspective of looking at rivers."