古川拓

Taku Furukawa

Taking photographs. Capturing momentary events unfolding before my eyes. With each shutter click, there is a fear that the affinity between myself and the world becomes thin, stretching into a flatness. The boundary that should have existed between myself and the machine called the camera has now become faint. It's as if I am like the camera, and the camera is like me. I am capturing a world where only I am absent. It feels as if I have become the soil of an elementary school playground, quietly recording only footprints, unobtrusively and flatly. Here, each photograph is counted as a single word. In this plane of arranged photographs, there is no clear temporality, and there are no overtly connected or defined locations. Each photo is independent, assigned a role as a symbolic sign in a certain sense. There are no predetermined ways to read them, and there are no rules like grammar. Therefore, this plane is free. It is both vertical and horizontal at the same time. The artist hopes that this plane, with its width of just under 10 meters, will return to a literary style based on objectivity, and within that objectivity, he wants to discover depth. Reading photographs.