Photographing the sky bluer

In conversation with Japanese artist Emi Anrakuji

‘The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter,’ Charlotte Brontë once wrote, ‘—often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter—in the eye.’ With Brontë, I tend to agree, but not all the interpreters of souls sieve our surroundings in similar ways. Some focus on the mechanics of life, perceived by sight, others the metaphors that saturate the world via a slow seeping of the subconscious, felt first and foremost by the heart.  

Emi Anrakuji is a Japanese artist whose soul’s faithful interpreter is a mechanical eye. Early in her soul’s journey, while studying oil painting at Musashino Art University, Anrakuji was diagnosed with a cerebral tumor that caused severe degradation of her eyesight. Despite the illness forcing her to abandon painting, her decade-long recovery led her to the revelation that she could replace her eyes with the lens of a camera. 

Since teaching herself the art of photography from her hospital bed, Anrakuji has developed a body of work that reflects her obsession with the human body—a fascination that, in part, stems from the long periods of time her soul’s vessel spent confined to the limited parameters of her sheets. 

Having come to her own as an artist in the space between life and death, Anrakuji continues to create works that remind her, in her own words, ​​‘that insufficiency is enough.’ The soul always finds its interpreter in the eye—human, mechanical, or other. 

KATHRYN CARTER: You've been described as one of the most distinctive photographers to have emerged since 2000. What do you think it is about your style that makes your work so memorable?

EMI ANRAKUJI: I don't appreciate other people's work, so I don't know if my work is unique or not. I rarely go to photography exhibitions, and I have no interest in them. In fact, I often have dreams. I have had the same dream for decades, and sometimes it is revelatory and vivid. I simply recreate the dreams and project my own life into my work, as if I were writing a diary. 

Early in your journey, while studying oil painting at university, you were diagnosed with a cerebral tumor that eventually led to the severe degradation of your eyesight. It was during your decade-long recovery that you began to teach yourself photography from your hospital bed. What first inspired you to use the lens of the camera as your own pair of eyes?

Ever since I was a child, I have loved to look through the lens of a camera. I think I liked it because the act of "looking" was so mysterious. During my long illness, there were many things that I was forbidden to do, and from within the limited space I had, the blue sky that I could see through the window frame seemed even bluer, and when I looked through the lens of the camera, it seemed even bluer still. It was, in a sense, a different world.

Beautiful, I find that often when we’re confined within certain spaces our senses sharpen. American novelist Siri Hustvedt once wrote that every sickness has an alien quality, a feeling of invasion and loss of control that is associated with it. Does the act of taking photographs allow you to feel more in control of your body? 

I have suffered from depersonalisation my whole life. Often, I lose my sense of reality and feel like I am floating in space. This feeling is very unpleasant. However, when I am taking pictures, I have an overflowing sense of reality, but also a sense of being possessed by something. I think I'm in between the subconscious and the manifest when I'm shooting. Or, perhaps, I am in my subconscious and only my body is moving. This state may be the reality for me.

I know the feeling. Much of your self portraiture reflects your obsession with the human body, a fascination that is in part due to the hospital experiences of your past. How have your periods of confinement influenced your evolution as an artist?

The art of the future will be 4, 5, or 6-dimensional. However, I think that artwork such as mine of constrained dimensions, such as framed two-dimensional works, are beautiful. How do you make a flat work of art in a framed, non-free world look beautiful? For me, this question has become a metaphorical expression of physical restraint.

Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama once said: ‘I fight pain, anxiety, and fear every day, and the only method I have found that relieves my illness is to keep creating art.’ Your journey as a photographer started at a time of great physical and emotional suffering; do you feel your artistic practice is one that has also allowed you to pave a path to healing? 

She is a great artist, I’m a fan of her work. For me, art is my entire way of life. I am a clumsy person. I have no choice because I can't do anything else.

Do you only take photographs of yourself, or do you sometimes work with models?

There is no particular need to use a model. Because, in my mind, we all have the same shape. The differences in faces are meaningless to me.

Your photography appears to be characterised by moments of innocent, albeit intimate, self-exploration, however the New Yorker once described some of your photographs as being punctuated by erotic intimations. Would you yourself describe your images as suggestive or sexual?

I don't consider my work to be erotic at all. My work expresses fear, pain, sorrow, and humor, and is my life itself.

It has been said that you are an alchemist of images and a catalyst for daydreams and desires. What is it about photography that feels like alchemy, to you?

For me, photography is both terrifying and fascinating. I believe that photography is a magic that can instantly contain any emotion or event.

What do you hope observers will feel in the presence of your work?

I want you, the viewer, to feel "yourself" through my work. We are at a turning point in our world where we are undergoing a major shift from a material to a more spiritual civilisation. Start your own internal exploration.

I couldn’t agree more. In an interview with Pen Magazine, you once said: ‘I continue to create works while remembering that insufficiency is enough. That is my way of life.' Do you feel that your artistic practice, somehow, helps you to realise and remember your worthiness?

I believe that art is necessary for almost everyone, in every civilisation, in every age. Moreover, I believe that there is art within everyone, in each and every one of us.

In the past, photography allowed you to reconstruct the shattered self that was suspended between internal and external chaos. Within the tumultuousness of the present world, do you still use photography as a tool to continually reestablish your sense of self? Or have the reasons you pick up your camera changed?

This is a very perceptive question. Just as Bach and Mozart are still passed down and loved today, the concept of photography will remain and continue to be loved in the future. I think that photography is the easiest, and at the same time the most difficult, of the various forms of artistic expression.

What do you hope to explore with your photography in the near and distant future?

In the near future, the nature of photography will change drastically. The concept of the frame will evolve, and the form of the work itself will change. However, I will continue to focus on how to show my work within a limited space. And I will continue to make private, one-of-a-kind photo books as I always have. I love the feel of the paper, whether it is stiff or soft, and the sound of the pages being rolled up.

Why do you think you continue to take photographs?

Just as the records of the world are recorded one after another in the Akashic records, I will leave a record of my life in the medium of photography.

fin.

You can explore Emi Anrakuji’s art here.

You can read more of Kathryn’s writing here.