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I chose this sinking movie studio, a site just hanging by a thread, almost a myth in today’s culture and I am trying to seize in these uncertain moments of gravity. I feel as if I’m making these photographs on behalf of our sacred land. I have been taking these photographs in the movie studio at Uzumasa Kyoto, Japan for many years. In this work I have been searching for the seismic zones where today’s myths are fashioned through the handy work and breathe of professionals. I wanted to turn away from the banks or the companies with computers, and toward some place with the sense of sacredness, where craftsmanship still guides the imagination. I found this place. This is not any more the center of a vital industry; it is the last place where the practice of traditional Japanese movie craftsmen remains. This last citadel is now sinking. Last year, three studios disappeared, and the longest running traditional Samurai drama with 43 years of history was closed. But still in this place, I sense a gravity rising from huge stacks of used sets and their atmosphere.
All of this has become a kind of simulacrum, accumulating during the 60 years of recurrent construction and destruction that has played in the service of imaginal screens. What remains of the screenings, of the respiration of others is this simulacrum, this heap; this pile of the past that is at once empty and thick. What rests here, is more than the dust of storytellers, more than craftsmanship; what rests here is our ancient past, our gods and our future.