Yusuke Tsutsumi: Memory, landscapes, and the quiet ache of in-between light.

Yusuke Tsutsumi’s photographs feel like proof that a moment once existed, like a quiet evidence pulled from the edge of memory. Human figures drift through vast landscapes, held inside early-morning air, fog, and the last light before night falls. For Tsutsumi, photography and film are inseparable, shaped by a lifelong relationship with cinema and a desire for simple, unpretentious images. We spoke with him about memory as something that beautifies and hurts, why he photographs to avoid forgetting, and the one place he returns to again and again.

Your images feel like memories someone forgot they had. What emotion are you chasing when you shoot?

Perhaps I take photos so that I don’t forget. My memories are basically idealized—probably. At the time, there were surely unpleasant moments, and there are many people I’m no longer involved with. But memories tend to become beautified, so I end up thinking, “Those were good times.” Looking back now, I sometimes feel a strong urge to apologize for the things I did, or the choices I made. That’s why, when I look at the photos I took in the past, they give me a deep sense of melancholy. They make me want to hold on to those memories and never forget them.

There’s often a single figure standing against a huge landscape. What draws you to photographing people as small, fragile silhouettes?

I tend to feel awe, or even fear, when faced with something overwhelming. The vast ocean, mountains—things beyond human control—inspire a kind of fearful affection in me. Maybe that’s why I photograph people as small, fragile figures within those landscapes.

Your light is always on the edge of something — sunrise, sunset, fog. What does “in-between time” mean to you?

I’m not entirely sure myself. But everyone knows that the air in the early morning or late afternoon feels different from the rest of the day, right? Of course, it’s beautiful from a lighting perspective, but I feel something beyond that.

Your photos have a cinematic stillness. Are you inspired more by films, memories, or dreams?

I’ve loved films since I was very young. As a teenager, I used to watch hundreds of movies a year. By the way, I also make videos. So for me, photography and film are inseparable. In my early twenties, I admired filmmakers like Tarkovsky and Malick. Today, my goal is probably to create simple, unpretentious images like those of Kelly Reichardt or Semih Kaplanoglu. In that sense, my photos feel like fragments of my longing for cinema.

Do you think your photos reveal more about the subject or about you as the person behind the camera?

I feel a little guilty saying this to my subjects, but I think my photos reveal more about me.

If you could photograph one place again and again for the rest of your life, which place would it be — and why does it hold you?

I don’t want to name it specifically, but I’ve already been photographing the same place for years. It’s a meadow deep in the mountains in northern Japan. I want to keep visiting and photographing it for the rest of my life. Being there feels cleansing for my mind.

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