In 2003, I have met an old couple at the ‘Sanja Festival’ in Asakusa. For six years, I have visited their row house and took photos of their ordinary life. Every time I faced the space, I felt the existence of something important which I couldn’t explain in words. There, it was as if the time had separated itself from the present. I felt that I must somehow give it a concrete image which if not, will be lost and forgotten forever. Thereafter, I devoted myself to take photographs of them.
Buoyed by that cheap ‘one-cup’ rice wine, I immersed myself deeper and deeper into their lives, and the surface layer that was Asakusa, with all its ancient nuance and connotation, was peeled flaking away. I came to feel it could have been anywhere for all I cared. Zen san’s jocular, rakugo-like prose and expressions, Hana san’s easygoing ambience. The unique presence of these situations provided me a form of fear-tinged joy, a form of rescue.

I thank Hana and Zen for accepting me and spending the irreplaceable time together. I have no other words than the language of the photograph. I would be happy if people would feel something important which is invisible by these photographs.

Eriko Koga　December 2011