the tattoo
on her back says
にょむげんほうよう
如夢幻泡影

2015, the year Nansensu began.

​

A local TV celebrity came across my early work. She said she wanted something 'darker than boudoir', something to hold as a memory of her youth. I later realized it was merely an excuse.

​

She entered the washitsu with her Chanel perfume lingering in the air. In one motion, her Valentino heels abandoned, Burberry trench and pantyhose surrendered, jewelry stripped to a single ring. She slid into a yukata, tightened the obi, and knelt before me. Her warmth spilled into the unheated room. Her movements so fluid it felt like ritual.

​

In public she was polished, worshiped by men, envied by women, living on money and applause. But here, tattoos rose across her back, lovely toes curled under her like an offering. Her face gave nothing away, at once inviting and withholding.

​

In front of my lens she was a pretend yūjo. By pretending she exposed another self, hidden behind all those masks, where desire, submission, and defiance tore against each other.

​​

​That is where photography stopped being memory. It became a mirror. A mirror that reflects the self we dare not reveal.