As a video cameraman (my day job), I am often called into dramatic situations, or the aftermath thereof, but few equaled those trips I have taken (and still take) into northern Japan since the triple disaster (quake, tsunami, nuclear catastrophe) that struck Tohoku on 11 March 2011. I first set foot in the town of Minamisanriku on 22 March, and in between my responsibilities as a TV cameraman/technician, I stole what moments I could to take still photos of the unbelievable scenes that met my eyes.
The pictures in this gallery were shot using a technique called HDR (high dynamic range imaging). I have had a number of exhibitions of the images, in Japan and Germany, and they have caused some stir. Many have asked me why I chose to present such destruction in an aesthetic way. In answer to this I wrote a preface to my exhibitions, which I reproduce here:
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Arriving in Minamisanriku less than two weeks after the devastating earthquake and tsunami was like entering a cruel dream world. The immensity of the loss was staggering, impossible to comprehend. In my few spare moments between live TV transmissions, I wandered through the ruined landscape, trying to make emotional sense of what I was seeing. The elements of normality were all there, but bent, broken, strewn and twisted into a terrible caricature of what had existed before. Some parts of this phantasmagoria were unrecognizable, others–a stuffed toy, a shoe, a handbag–were all too familiar and shocking in juxtaposition.
As a photographer, it has always been my aim to try to communicate in ways that words cannot, on feeling levels that exist within us deep below speech and reason. And though I also love to write, no words came to me, standing there, that could adequately describe what lay before my eyes. I knew then that I had to try to use my images to convey what could not be said, to describe not only the pain and sorrow, but also the wonder and the awe that flowed through me observing the aftermath of this singular event. Such acts of nature are extreme, but they bring us to a fuller comprehension of the depth and breadth of the world through which our lives flow.
Please take your time and allow yourself to enter this world in which I stood. If these photographs arouse within you even the smallest measure of the cacophony of feelings that I experienced there, I will consider my job well done.
When we first arrived on 2011.03.22, just a week and a half after the tsunami, this is what greeted our eyes.
The scenes were heartwrenching, awful, and at the same time eerily fascinating.
Only a few buildings were left standing, and those barely.
Netting on which oysters were grown draped the buildings like a cloak.
Several months later, nothing had changed. This huge concrete block of a building had been transported from god-knows-where to rest here all akimbo.
The landscape remained desolate and mostly untouched. The only thing growing was rust. In the distance fires burn the debris.
One year after the tsunami, we visited Minamisanriku again filming a documentary. This port building was hard hit by the tsunami, which crushed the front but left the building standing.
The front of the port building in Minamisanriku.
The top of the port building in the previous images.
Another view of the mangled machinery atop the roof.
The second level of the port building in Minamisanriku.
The inside of the lower level of the same structure.
At the side, a tree washed down from the mountain pins a child’s car beneath it.
In front of the building I came across this guitar, one full year after the tsunami struck.
Minamisanriku. The incredible power of the wave tore up roads as well as tearing down buildings.
Several hundred meters inland, only one building is left standing, with a car deposited on the third story roof by the wave.
We could not believe our eyes when we found this old steam locomotive in Minamisanriku. Perhaps it had been displayed in a park there, as many are across Japan.
One year after, cars had been brought to a makeshift junkyard.
At first I thought this artificial flower had been placed on the ruin of this building in Minamisanriku as an offering to the dead, but looking more closely I realized that it was simply washed here and entangled by the wave, and remained, one year later, a single bit of color among the grey ruins.
In this area of Minamisoma, almost 10,000 people are said to have died.
Even months later, personal effects were strewn on a plain that was once full of houses.
This fishing boat was washed more than two kilometers inland from Minamisoma, ending up on the shoulder of a highway abutting a field.
A truck sits in a field still covered with seawater, months after the tsunami struck.
This small hill, called Hiyoriyama, is covered with offerings in May 2011, overlooking the ruins of the town of Natori.
We went to Natori in May 2011 to do a story on a victim whose house was lifted by the wave and completely crushed into his family fishcake factory next door.
Not much remains in recognizable form.
A telephone pole rests amid the other debris in the factory.
A short distance away, near Hiyoriyama, this sight greeted our eyes: a full sized bus, crushed and wrapped around the top of this building. If you look closely you can see the wheels.
Dolls and deities were carefully salvaged, perhaps as a reminer of the lives that were not recoverable.
A fishing boat sits next to ruined apartment blocks.
Near Kesennuma, parts of houses lie on a railroad trestle.
Another of this section of track was destroyed by the water.
In the town of Ishinomaki, a tourist bus sits atop the tourist center, where it was washed by the wave.
Found along the coast.
The calm sea belies what happened not long before
Near sunset, we found this scene
Not far north of Tokyo, the head of a statue toppled by the wave rests amid debris in a small shop.
Driving along the coast, we came upon this small structure populated with stuffed animals. It was a plea from the owners of the house here that had been destroyed. They were looking for their two persian cats, not seen since the tsunami. The owners had to leave and still had hope that their pets were alive and might return. They left this shrine, along with food and water and a request that anyone seeing their cats call them. While we were filming, this poor stray came an looked at us patiently with sad eyes. I fed him before we left.
Nothing will ever be the same here.
The port of Minamisanriku
In Natori, the auditorium of the primary school became a hall of memories: personal articles and especially photographs are carefully washed, dried, and laid out for people to look through, in hopes that they can recover some memories of a life changed forever by the wave.
2 Comments
Victor
2014/06/04 @
14:36
Truly haunting, the artistic spin given to the images with HDR is disturbing and beautiful all at once. I remember that day. I sat in comfort and watched as the waters that gave life to those towns turned on the land and took back everything it had given.
2014/06/04 @ 14:36
Truly haunting, the artistic spin given to the images with HDR is disturbing and beautiful all at once. I remember that day. I sat in comfort and watched as the waters that gave life to those towns turned on the land and took back everything it had given.
2016/04/20 @ 20:14
I am interested in that photo of the overturned steam locomotive. Is it possible to me to enlarge that particular image?