2026/06/23 11:35
Gallery MIN – Himonya, Meguro, Tokyo
There is a gallery that plays a crucial role when reflecting on the trends surrounding photography in 1980s Tokyo. It was a privately run gallery dedicated to photography, located in Meguro—a quiet residential area just west of the city center. Although its lifespan was brief, I am now firmly convinced that it was a precious gallery—a vital "space"—that elevated the significance of "photography as art" in Tokyo and, indeed, in Japan.
The photographers showcased and featured there—such as Richard Misrach, Robert Flick, Linda Connor, and Graham Howe—were primarily artists from the U.S. West Coast who exuded the vibe of up-and-coming, cutting-edge fine art photography. The gallery was located in a residential area—reached by taking the subway from the Nakano neighborhood where I lived at the time, transferring to the loop line at Shinjuku, and then riding a private railway bound for Yokohama from Shibuya for a few stops. It was a modern concrete building with a distinctive, charming style reminiscent of a church. Breathtaking, ultra-modern photographic works were on display in such a space. Whenever a new exhibition was held, a lavish reception would take place in the underground space. I recall that a casual party-like gathering would follow. At the time, attending these events felt to me less like a gallery event in Japan and more like one held overseas. The lectures given by the artists—particularly those held in the underground space—were especially fascinating. Through the photographers' explanations, I felt as though I were being guided through the trends of art-photography from that era. I was also consistently impressed by the sincere and thoughtful way they addressed every question during the Q&A sessions.
At the reception and the subsequent party, one could spot not only Japanese photographers of the era but also prominent figures from the worlds of art, media, and other sectors based in Tokyo. At the same time, however, I found myself questioning—with every visit—whether this business model was actually generating a profit; ultimately, was it a lucrative venture? There was the magnificent contemporary art, the dazzling exhibits, and the listed prices. The 1980s marked the final era of phenomenal growth for the Japanese economy. As someone who lived through that time, I honestly don't recall personally reaping significant benefits from it; however, it was an era of constant change, with new buildings springing up all over Tokyo and the old city being demolished. Then, in the late 1980s, Japan’s bubble economy came to an end. In the early 1990s, unaware of this, I visited the site where the gallery had once stood, only to find a different building constructed there. In other words, it might well have been the so-called "Pumpkin Carriage."
Now, nearly forty years later, what stands out most in my mind is the sense of connection I felt when viewing the work in person back then. There is a unique joy in viewing artworks that evoke the spirit of a particular era—not in museums run by cities, towns, or major corporations, but in more intimate, accessible spaces. The artists spoke sincerely about their thoughts and feelings, even in response to my halting English; I am deeply grateful for that experience, as their words resonated profoundly with me. Photography and art are not merely things to be hung on a wall and looked at; they are meant to elevate our daily lives and prompt us to question ourselves. Furthermore, I was taught that converting art itself into cash is an incredibly difficult undertaking. I feel that this is something I must never forget as an artist. That gallery may have been fleeting, but looking back now, it taught me about extraordinary experiences, possibilities, and reality.
