I’ve thought about this quote a number of times in the last few days, mostly because a pal dropped Stanley’s name in one of my recent social media posts. I wasn’t actually thinking about 2001: A Space Odyssey, I was just cruising around my ‘hood and saw a building which piqued my interest.

I guess the outcome is brought upon by my imagination. Sure, I could have photographed it exactly as it was with “proper” exposure and without the wild tint and grain, etc., but I wanted it to look way more interesting. To me, this photography style is a very important part of my visual lexicon.

I believe many of my readers will be viewing most Substack articles and notes on their phones. That’s cool, but I hope you can take the time to revisit on a larger device, even an iPad or similar.

I often look up, not at the building as a whole, but how I might see through it or from inside it. A year or so ago, I shot some images in Shinjuku of a scene that I see every single day on the good ol’ socials, but I wanted to see it differently.

Here are a few shots from a stroll I had in Meguro not long ago. How would my images look if I went inside and up the stairs? They’d look pretty interesting!

The encounter is happenstance. The images are not. I know what I want.

I also think about mundane images. Boring. Nothing going on. But what I want you to see or think about is what could be happening before, during, or after the shot. Tokyo is filled with images beyond the POV of a go-kart in Shibuya.

I have a lot more to share, but I’ll leave you with these images. The theater in my head is constantly showing me movies, and every once in a while, those movies play out with my camera and then to you. I hope you enjoyed these frames.

Shall we go to the movies?

This type of location is what I live for as a photographer. Stories abound in an area with this much history, and I only wish I knew more of them. But, as you may know, I like to create my own stories from behind the lens. Let’s dive in.

Those black and white images were shot with a 40mm lens, my go-to focal length. But after that initial visit to Sanno (山王) Izakaya Street, I knew 28mm was the way to go for my return. As you can see, I’m standing in the same general area for these two shots and I had no idea I’d find myself back in this exact spot five months later.

The night shots really hit the mark for me; I captured exactly what I set out to create. In my work, composition is king. I’ve always maintained that it’s the most vital element of a photograph. I can work around horrible lighting, but as long as the composition is there, I’m golden.

As I strolled, it was apparent that most of these joints had people singing in them. Karaoke definitely lights up the area.

I decided to stroll down a different street toward another part of the neighborhood. Honestly, I had no idea what I was in store for; I was expecting more old buildings with a dusting of lackluster new towers. Oh, was I wrong.

And there it was, a long two-story building with at least forty joints where the patrons were singing their lungs out and downing cheap booze to lift their spirits even more.

The hallways were empty, but nobody was hanging outside the establishments. They knew where the action was: inside.

Here’s my latest video on the area. It shows this building in more detail. Such a cool spot.

It was time venture around the neighborhood. Not seeing anyone like me (foreigner not from Asia) is always a good indicator if I’m in an area that’s ripe for the photography pickin’.

Let’s walk.

As I cruised around, I found hallways, stairs, and interesting lighting. The mood was on point.

As you can tell, I like these hallway scenes.

I’m going to leave you with the image below. I found this spot truly incredible. It’s just so Tokyo. You have kids’ bikes, cardboard boxes, and a storage locker tucked into a side alley between buildings, all leading to a brilliantly lit bar entrance featuring some 'booty' on the door. Was the red light a signal? I’ll never know. It is, however, the end.

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I shouldn’t say “overtime”, because in actuality I just gravitate shooting in landscape format. There’s nothing about comfort while shooting horizontally, it’s just a reflex.

I remember when I was about 14, my mom (quite an epic photographer, IMO) showed me how she, and many of her photographer peers, handled the camera while shooting in portrait mode. It’s basically like this.

Something about being able to stabilize the camera on your leg, table, or one’s tub of a tummy, was her advice to me. Ever since then, I never shoot with my hand on top of my camera. I’ve even seen social posts and articles about how '“real photographers” handle the camera (like the right-hand-side image). Whatever. This is just a fun bit of history.

So, I recently decided to find scenes that made me think about shooting vertically. Enjoy!

Bust on over to the Substack app or website to see more. Email might not be allowing you to see all these beautiful images. 🤓

And there you have it. Thanks for scrolling through this partial roll of Kentmere Pan 200 pushed one stop. This film has become my go-to stock for most scenes. I like how it handles the midtones and shadows, which are the most important to me in a film stock; I prefer shooting on overcast days.

See you on the Tokyo streets! —JG

I have a lens that was made about 70 years ago, a Canon 50mm f1.8, which is magical in the right scenes. Swirly bokeh and barrel effect makes it quite artistic. Portraits, flowers, and shallow depth of field is where this lens shines.

I shot JPG and RAW files, but the JPGs are sort of meh, so I tossed ‘em. The RAW files, converted to monochrome look epic.

There’s a saying that I hear quite often from my pals, “I’m chasing the light!”. I rarely use this, but today I was weaving all over the place trying to find the right scenes. I was, indeed, chasing the light for a great shot.

And there it is. This is what the last hour looked like for me. Tokyo is really cool in color, but sometimes monochrome shines.

A must-see architectural landmark in West Shinjuku, the Mode Gakuen Cocoon Tower is known for its curved shape and crisscrossed white mesh that resembles a massive, you guessed it, cocoon. It is a “vertical campus” for fashion and design students, standing fifty stories tall. It’s definitely a great scene for photography, especially when contrasted with the nearby boxy office buildings. I’ve heard there’s an underground walkway from Shinjuku Station that leads to the high rise. However, I’ve never found it and I suppose that’s a whole other mission.

There are a few interesting spots to take a quick break inside the base of the tower. On the B1 level, there is a big Book 1st bookstore and a NewDays convenience store, which are open during school hours, so no ducking in for a sando in the evening or on Sundays.

And my favorite image from the session is the one below. I like how this film has given me some deep blacks and kept the midtones solidly in place.

I challenge you to photograph this building a bit differently than every other image of it you might see. Sure, there are those snaps that you need for posterity, but look deeper and find the curves and angles that someone else might not see.

Cocoon Tower, Shinjuku - Google Map

These images are shot on Kentmere Pan 200 ,pushed one stop, and developed at home with Kodak D-76.

At that time, I was deep into photographing live music, my friends, scenes and situations. All I had to do was compose and push the shutter button to document what was going on in my world at the moment. I knew what I was doing (four years of photo courses did that to me) but there wasn’t much creativity involved. Most of the time I shot how I was taught.

As you can see, the growth was there, but in actuality, my creativity was limited for many years.

As I grew up, the photos I crafted landed in shoe boxes and binders. There were a few moments in time where I shot live music with slow-sync, did event photography, took a ton of product photography, and dabbled with vintage-looking TLR images that I captured digitally (more on that in another article one day). And after moving from the western United States, I moved to NYC and that’s when I began to hit the streets with a different mindset. Even though I was keen to shoot in Brooklyn, where my wife and I lived, I really enjoyed what I came across during my commutes into Manhattan. There was a shift in the way I shot, but nothing to really to take note of. I shot more digital square black & white imagery (and really dug it), and I still enjoy the images I made at that time.

Then we moved to Japan in 2017.

I was thrust into a place that was pretty overwhelming for me. Imagine going from a super cool city to one that was absolutely superinsanelyblowyourmind cool. Well, that was Tokyo for me. What did I do? I promptly started shooting all the things and all the places; Oh, the cliché shots of everything that we see on social media these days — those things, plus all the other stuff.

Again, I loved what I saw and knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted a true-to-life type of image to show the world. No heavy edits, just beautiful well-rounded photographs.

I moved on to night scenes because I found Tokyo to be incredibly vibrant (still do). My style of composition remained (still does) and I enjoyed finding scenes that were new to me and making images that were compelling and interesting. And then, COVID hit. We were sort of stuck inside, but it was nice knowing we could go out to do certain things. Tokyo didn’t have a lockdown, but we all did our part to stick close to home, if not stay indoors for days.

It was at this time that I rediscovered film photography. I was bored, so I thought taking on that old medium I knew from decades ago would be life changing. Well, it was. My photo world changed immensely and I began developing and scanning my film at home. Shooting with film has been a game changer and I had a really good time finding cameras and certain film stocks that fulfilled my need for crafting what I wanted.

I never gave up shooting digital imagery, but it took a back seat to film sometimes. My color digital images weaved their way in and around my socials, gallery shows, self-published books, and popups. But something was happening. I started diving deep into photography from the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s. I dug the vibrance, the flatness or depth, the grain (some stocks with a ton of it and some with barely any of it). I was in a trance. And as you may have figured out, those film stocks aren’t made anymore. So frustrating. I wanted to create similar work and styles!

Then I went to Taipei.

I brought one camera, the Leica Q. That rig had a 28mm lens and its glass is practically unbeatable, in my opinion. I placed a black diffusion filter on the lens and set out with determination. Off to create cool work! I was in another wonderland, but one with more intense grit and grime. It was grime time. I explored the back streets with an intense need for discovery, not just what was literally around the corner, but metaphorically.

I usually edit all my images on my computer, but I didn’t bring it to Taiwan, so I transferred images from the camera to my phone and edited from that device. It was at this point, I basically said “Fuggit. I’m going to go off on all these edits!”, and so I did. I brought a bit of that ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s film vibe to the world via my digital camera, my vision, and my I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-people-think-about-all-this mentality.

The following images were NOT edited on my phone, but they are some selects that I truly love.

At this point, I recognize that Taiwan changed me. It shifted how I find images and how I craft them for the world. Now I have a new-to-me style. I’ve found a style that motivates me, too. I look forward to finding scenes that might be spooky, dreamy, or mysterious. And maybe even fun. Heaven forbid.

So when you see images that I’ve made in the last day, week, month or year, you can thank Taipei and a vision from the pre-2000s film era. (the 1900s as the kids say these days.)

I’ll leave you with an image that I’ve done the usual work to, but note that one is edited and one is not. The unedited version is the style I may have shot and edited for the last 35 years and the second is me now. And you know what? I like me now.

The main streets of the area are filled with camera candy, but I like setting out to the alleys and side lanes to find colors that are just as vibrant but are tucked away.

Ebisu makes me feel uneasy in a comforting way. It’s hard to describe, but maybe it creates a sense of needed (?) loneliness which hits differently than when I’m in Shinjuku or Shibuya (which I visit often because there’s SO much to photograph). I don’t feel lonely when I’m in bigger neighborhoods, but Ebisu feels transient in ways that touristy areas don’t. I feel it’s a place to go where weary workers unleash their need for booze and food then head home. Sure, tens of thousands of people live in the area, but it always feels like it’s all for show. Hence all the G-Wagons.

I feel that parts of Ebisu look like it’s trying to be something else — buildings that appear to belong in another country, or scenes that remind visitors about international exchange. I want a different kind of authentic, and thankfully, Ebisu brings diverse scenes for my cameras and lenses.

It’s all there — the traditional tea garden in front of a special restaurants, mirrored retail buildings, wooded buildings with lanterns which have been hanging for a generation or two, or the concrete walkways with lighting that makes for ease of travel.

So when you’re in Tokyo and looking for an area that feels like a big local city, Ebisu hits the mark, every single time.

Thanks for visiting. If you’re interested in the vibe I’m creating here, check out my presets located HERE. I like creating images that might evoke a vintage feeling, and if you do too, these are a great avenue for creation. They’re also a great starting point if you want to build upon them. Thank you for your support!

I’ve heard, “Well, you aren’t using current film stocks to make something similar”. I wholeheartedly disagree and I just can’t stand it when the argument arises. And with that, I pretty much stopped shooting color film (sort of). I have about ten rolls waiting to be developed from last year sitting on the shelf, collecting dust, and hoping to deliver some aesthetic joy in a pixellated world.

Enter, my digital images and film-inspired edits.

After a ton of research into film stocks that are impressionable to me, such as AGFA Ultra 100, Eastman Color Negative 5254 (100T), Kodachrome-X ISO 64, just to name a few, I decided to replicate them in some way. It boils down to is this: what do I think is compelling for the scene? This also depends on what time of day I’m editing, how much booze/coffee has been consumed, etc.

I want grain, contrast, color, vibrancy, that “vintage glow from the whites”, and whatnot. Is there a stock that I want to produce exactly? Not really, but I have crafted a few in a way that might resemble them.

Here’s the other side of the coin: monochrome film — I love shooting film, and b&w is my choice. For years, I dabbled in stocks fit my style the most. I tried to get on the HP5+ train, but I didn’t like the outcome. Same goes with a few eastern European films and a couple Kodak stocks. I found that Ilford film delivered what I was looking for — FP4 Plus (ISO 125), XP2 Super (ISO 400), and now Kentmere Pan 200 (ISO 200). FYI, Kentmere films are manufactured and distributed by HARMAN technology Ltd, the same company that produces ILFORD Photo products. Now, more often than not, I reach for Kentmere Pan 200.

Now back to this whole filmish thing. 🫩 I wanted to create a certain look and feel, one that took me back to a time that just isn’t around anymore. I found it after looking through too many photo books and then spending an absurd amount of time trying to craft what I was missing. I finally created it.

Am I trying to achieve what Saul created? I’m not, but I love the mood. I need that mood. I crafted my own style based on what I was feeling at that particular time. Oh, and I added a ton of grain and that “glowy white” and I’m happy with what I’ve done. This, to me, is my creative outlet. I’ve been shooting for over 35 years, and only until a few years ago, have I truly been stoked on what I’m creating. My filmish images are feeding my hunger for those vintage vibes.

And even though, I’m one to shoot a ton of b&w film, it couldn’t deliver the mood I wanted in this same scene. Sure, it looks nice in monochrome, but it’s not enough.

So this is where I’m at. I’m sticking to b&w film images when I feel it’s contextually right, say for architecture. Same goes with digital color imagery. The scene has to hit me a certain way and provide me creepy, moody, silent, dark, and sometime sinister-looking scenes.

If you’d like to try your hand at this filmish look, I have a preset pack available for download. These are excellent “as-is” and you can also build upon them; a great foundation. This also means you’re supporting my creativity and helping pay for my equipment and tools I use to craft my work.

If you have any questions about the presets, feel free to drop me a line. I’m happy to help. Also, if you’re coming to Tokyo and need an insider’s take on where to go, I’m definitely not going to gatekeep anything. The world’s big enough for us all. また後で！

This particular space I shot used to be a shop that work on Vespas and other motor scooters. I like to think they exclusively wrenched up vintage Italian bikes, but I think I spied some newish vehicles there. Regardless, that business is long gone. In its place is a vintage furniture shop and the location is perfect— Just outside the high-rent bubble. However, I didn’t check the prices of the furniture.

More, after the cut for paid subscribers.

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I have the journey from my apartment down pat, so when I make my exit from the subway station, I’m dumped right out into the area I want to be in. Part of what goes on inside my head is whether or not it’s cold, hot, or busy when I get above ground. Shinjuku on a Friday? I don’t want to be amidst the post-work-hour craze that’s on the east side of that ’hood. Regardless, I knew the bar I was headed to was going to be full. Full of what? Creative people that I like being surrounded by. The conversations always flow in directions that are entertaining—mostly lifestyle stuff with a few sprinkles of photography gear in there (which I’m all for).

I used to smoke fifteen years ago, and now it’s tough to be around the cancerous exhaust that so many people create and put out. Nevertheless, I drink my beer and know that when I get home, a shower is going to rinse all that stench off of me. My clothes? Sometimes washed. Sometimes hung.

The bar was packed! Yusuke has some amazing work. He documents life in Kabukicho, mostly, and he uses his camera to capture many things the ordinary tourist, let alone resident, really doesn’t see.

I was able to check out a few photobooks that some friends were looking through and that were on the bar, and the images inside really evoked a sense of sadness, disillusioned cheer, recklessness, and hope that’s probably long forgotten. In other words, brilliant scenes photographed on black & white film.

As I stood at the window, looking down from Bar Shikatanai ne onto Shinjuku san-chome, I didn’t think about the Toyoko Kids, drunk salarymen on the street below, the smoke in the air, or the commute home alongside tens of thousands of folks who had similar outings as me. I just thought about how my photos were going to look groovy.

Shinjuku is a beast. It’s a monster that I can call my friend, mostly because it’s always filled with scenes that make me want to photograph it without regret. The colors are vibrant, the smells deliver a multitude of eyebrow-raising moments, the diversity of people makes it a great place to encounter friends old and new, and to possibly make something interesting, like a photo or four.

Also discussed was what I find WAY more interesting_, the elements and locations in and around Tokyo that won’t be around for much longer. I think about the crumbling paper lanterns, rickety old signs, doorways that can barely stay open or closed, and whole businesses that look like they’re hanging on by a thread. All that brings me to this: A cool mural in Dogenzaka, Shibuya, and little did I know this mural’s days were coming to an end. Now it has been covered by paint that’s a shade of baby-shit brown. This epic piece of art is all but history. How long was it here? I think it was up for a number of years. I’ll have to go back and scan through all my images of the area. Now, this cool piece of art is all just a part of the #historicalbanger catalog. It’s not that old broken down signage on grandpa’s shop, but it’s still history.

And there it is. • #HistoricalBangers • Use this hashtag wisely. Use it for something that you feel might not be around for much longer. It doesn’t have to be an award-winning photo. Just craft an image that tell the story, like “Here today. Gone tomorrow” kind of vibe. In this case, I’m using it after the scene is gone. Sad.

I’ll continue photographing sites in and around my Tokyo home that are often overlooked. Join me in doing so.

The wide-angle image is in my forthcoming book, 𝑻𝒐𝒌𝒚𝒐 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚. Pick up a copy at the next Tokyo Streets exhibition later this month at Hibiya Okuroji.

I’m captivated by the grime, textures, and every-day scenes that Tokyo offers up, and a favorite pastime is just wandering the streets shooting those things. Often, B&W film is what’s in my camera, and knowing that I can go home and develop the film myself, makes the adventure even more fun. There’s always a bit of anticipation, and I sometimes wonder how frames are going to turn out.

I don’t normally shoot nature scenes, but I was captivated by these majestic beings because they actually stopped me in my tracks. I was standing in a metropolis that is populated by 35M people and I couldn’t care about street photography.

It was a delight knowing that I don’t fit into any one photographic silo. I’ve shot live music, portraits, events, products, street scenes, decaying buildings, you name it, and what was delightful this day, was just remembering that I have a camera and I can photograph whatever I want.

One day, the trees will die or be cut down, but what I like to think about, is that no matter what’s going on in my life, I can create and photograph something that will live forever.

This neighborhood was voted one of the “World’s Coolest Neighbourhoods” in September of 2024. This is interesting and I wonder what makes it so cool? Is it the people, restaurants, boutiques, indy grocery spots? Yes! It doesn’t have the grit and grime that some ‘hoods do, but I’m just fine with that. The charm is not just what has happened in the past, but what is on the horizon. Gakudai has a beautiful future ahead.

I shot these on Kentmere Pan 200 film and developed it at home.

In our hyper-digital world of snaps and scrolls, we need the pause and physical connection that film photography gives us. It can be a craft that slows you down, making you truly see the light, the texture, and the moment, giving a final depth and soul (hopefully hahaha). Holding a negative up to the light after I develop it in the bathroom or seeing a print emerge in the darkroom (which I need to do. Been a few decades) are profound acts and a reminder that some things are just better when they are patiently and physically preserved (or shot).

Shoot film.

Vintage vibes from Sangenjaya, Tokyo. If you’re looking to craft a similar style, I ask for your support, here: Tokyo Grit and Grain PRESETS

Thank you so much! I’ll see you on the streets.
JG

I walk the streets of Tokyo, camera in hand, multiple times a week. I photograph people, places, and things without tunnel vision, and if there’s something shiny, I look at what causes it, not the glimmer itself. This is my craft, and it has led me down a path of discovery beyond Shibuya Scramble Square or Shinjuku’s tourist-laden yokochos.

I had a WTF moment about a year ago when I was in what I call Deep Tokyo. I noticed several things covered in tape. Why was this? I gathered it was because the tape was binding things like a broken lid on a container that still needed to be used, rope holding a sign together, or a board held by wire for longer-lasting power. Discoveries like this appeared in a number of neighborhoods around Tokyo. All this made me wonder, why? Why would someone hold on to something that was so incredibly trashed or seemingly ready for the bin? I still don’t know.

The upcoming Tokyo Streets photography exhibition in the first week of September made me think about what I wanted to show the world. Would it be bright, shiny color images of the last bits of neon clinging to Tokyo’s skyline? Would it be salarymen slurping ramen in a dimly lit izakaya after a hard day’s work? Would it be night shots of puddles reflecting red lanterns on a building’s exterior? No.

I showed twelve black-and-white film images of my discoveries. This was a huge undertaking, mostly because I knew they would be scrutinized. I was right. Who pondered my work the most? The Japanese viewers. As I stood near my displayed pieces, I tried to read the room and decide whether or not to approach people. When I saw a group of older Japanese men look at my work, glance at each other, shake their heads, and move on, I stayed silent. Similar moments happened for six days. Yes, there were plenty of people who wanted to know more and asked earnest questions and we had good conversations describing and learning together. But I can safely say that nobody gave me answers that spoke for a nation’s cultural identity.

One of the highlights was meeting Herbie Yamaguchi, the Japanese photographer, essayist, and radio personality best known for his gentle and humane monochrome portraits of London’s 1970s punk scene (including figures like Joe Strummer and Boy George) and his ongoing work capturing the “hope of life” in everyday people. We spoke at length about my images as art, which made me realize how deeply he dove into my work, trying to make sense of it. He even wrote “Tape, Rope, and Hope” (the title of my exhibition) into his journal as we spoke.

After the show concluded, a Japanese viewer wrote to me saying that most Japanese people would not understand my photography because “they have to use their brain” to make sense of it. What I believe he meant was that Japanese people may need to dive deeper within themselves to really grasp the meaning of what I was exhibiting (as anyone would, really). There’s a nuance sometimes lost in translation, and I understood perfectly what he was trying to tell me. I respect him for going out of his way to share this and I’m grateful he did.

A week or so ago, I had a conversation with an artist I respect most. He told me this body of work isn’t the kind people hang in their homes or frame neatly, it’s work meant to be in a museum. It’s there to make people ponder the scenes. Do folks tape things up because they can’t afford something new? Is it resourcefulness? Is it resilience? Is it laziness? Is it a cultural gesture akin to kintsugi?

These are real questions and they are questions that I was asked at the exhibition. Nobody knows the answer except for those who use the tape and rope and hold on to a bit of hope.

If you’re interested in seeing where I shot some of these scenes, take a look at this video I created while strolling in Sangenjaya, Tokyo. This area is ground zero for taped and roped up items.

I’ll see you on the streets.

I have a few images of the Shin-Yurakucho Building in all it’s green-tiled glory, but I decided to capture it on b&w film.

Many people who live here in Tokyo understand that many buildings here have a shelf life. Building earthquake codes, the desire to create “new”, and abandonment are a few factors in this destructo ethos.

But there’s also an element of rebirth. What will stand in its place? Will it also have interesting windows and tiles? Probably not, but I will definitely be modern with contemporary lines and curves. Guaranteed, I won’t like it as much as the original Shin-Yurakucho Building.

The Shin-Yurakucho Building was completed in September 1965 and an extension was added in March 1967. The late-’60s and early ‘70s were part of a important redevelopment effort in the Marunouchi-Yurakucho area during a time of insanely-rapid economic growth. Old buildings were demolished to make way for large, modern office buildings, and the area was reborn as a leading business center.

The building's construction was part of a larger plan to transform the area, which had a history dating back to the Edo period when it was a residential area for feudal lords.

Following the Meiji Restoration, the land was used by the military before being sold to Mitsubishi, which began developing it into a business district. The Shin-Yurakucho Building, along with others constructed around the same time, contributed to the area's modern appearance. I mean, it looks pretty mod.

The Shin-Yurakucho Building is currently undergoing demolition as part of a new urban development project in the Yurakucho area. Apparently, the goal is to create a new area with diverse attractions, separate from the office-heavy Marunouchi district, which is next door to commercial areas like Ginza and Hibiya. Personally, I think the area is already filled with diverse attractions. Maybe we need more? Yes. We need more. Please consume.

As of August, 2025, the building is encapsulated in demolition safety covers, but if you’d like to see what it currently looks like, head on over.

Google Map ← Have a visit.

So there we have it, the Shin-Yurakucho Building in all its glory, but in black & white film.

I’ll see you on the streets.
—JG

Side note: for all those intereseted, I shot this on my Leica M6 with Lomography Earl Grey 100, a re-branded Fomapan film.

www.tokyogritandgrain.com

www.instagram.com/jgarcia.tokyo

I’ve always had an obsession with finding the finer bits of a scene, and in Tokyo there’s a ton of those bits. It started out as finding and shooting general decay, but then I noticed how many bars, restaurants, and retailers have whole heartedly tried to keep their signs and things held together with rope or tape. And let me tell ya, after a while, it looks like shit. Beautiful shit.

“The Monolith”, as I call it, is the epitome of all this tape stuff. At a point, it really serves very little purpose, IMO.

Feast on some color images.

Bear in mind, I know many signs are expensive to replace. There’s a hardship that comes with having to cough up tens of thousands of Yen to get replacements in front of the shops & such.

Growing up, I always heard the term, “curb appeal”. It basically means that a home or place looks good from the street or from afar. I only hope that more shops in Japan can have just a bit more of that appeal. Wait. Maybe this IS the appeal. IDK.

Now, I’m basically obsessed with finding these tapey textures. There’s an artistic element in them, or so I tell myself, which can tell different Tokyo stories. No neon. No Blade Runner. No cliché images or people in the intersection making weird faces as they walk by, just tape, rope, and hope.

— Jason Garcia