渡部さとる

Satoru Watanabe

During an artist residency on Yakushima Island, I set out to observe the fleeting moment that exists between night and day—a moment so subtle it often goes unnoticed.

In ancient Japan, it was believed that ominous spirits roamed the night and vanished with the break of dawn. In modern urban life, however, the boundary between night and morning has become blurred, almost imperceptible. On Yakushima, I entered the forest before sunrise, hoping to encounter that ambiguous threshold.

In the deep darkness of a new moon, I walked into the woods with only a small light to guide me. The moment the insects fell silent and the birds began to sing, the outline of the forest gradually emerged from the shadows. A world without color revealed itself. I named this fleeting monochromatic time “Noctchrome.”

This series captures the ephemeral landscapes that exist only between night and morning. In the forest devoid of color, I pressed the shutter in those moments when light, sound, and scent intersected. Rendered in monochrome, the photographs attempt to trace not only visible forms but also the layered presence of time and atmosphere.