Sayuri Ichida's exhibition, 'Playing the Piano Upstairs', is a captivating exploration of grief, sisterhood, and the power of memory. What makes this show truly remarkable is Ichida's decision to eschew modern technology and instead embrace a 19th-century printmaking technique: photogravure. In an era where instant smartphone photography and AI-generated images are the norm, Ichida's choice to hand-print her photographs using this antiquated process is both intriguing and profound.
Ichida's photographs, taken in the snow-laden landscapes of her hometown, are quiet and reflective, capturing the essence of memory and the passage of time. Her compositions, characterized by negative space and the use of reflections, evoke a sense of nostalgia and emotional depth. But it is her decision to employ photogravure that truly sets these images apart.
Photogravure, a technique dating back to the 1870s, is a slow and laborious process that involves exposing a photosensitive gelatin plate, etching it by hand, and inking it to create prints. Ichida's commitment to this method is a testament to her dedication to her craft and a rejection of the fast-paced, technology-driven world of contemporary photography. In my opinion, this choice is not merely a stylistic preference but a deliberate statement about the nature of memory and the process of creation.
The beauty of photogravure lies in its impermanence and the unique variations it introduces to each print. Unlike digital photography, where images are rendered at full resolution, photogravure prints are marked by the hand of the artist. This process, with its tiny variations and imperfections, serves as a visual metaphor for memory itself, which is mutable, obscured, and softly glowing just below the surface. It is a reminder that memory, like a hand-inked plate, is not rendered at full resolution, but rather, it is a gradual, evolving process.
Ichida's choice to use photogravure is a powerful statement about the value of patience and the importance of the process in artistic creation. In a world where photographers are often chasing the fastest possible workflow, Ichida's work encourages us to reconsider the role of process in our practice. It prompts us to ask whether a slower method might be feasible and whether it could ultimately result in more satisfying outcomes for both the artist and the viewer.
The exhibition, 'Playing the Piano Upstairs', is a testament to the enduring power of photography as a medium for exploring the human condition. Ichida's use of photogravure is a reminder that the process of creation is just as important as the final image. It is a call to embrace the slow, the laborious, and the imperfect, and to recognize the value of these elements in the artistic process. In my opinion, this exhibition is a must-see for anyone interested in the intersection of photography, memory, and the human experience.
