I will be lying if I said I bought this book because I totally got it when I was browsing it at Daikanyama T-site.
I didn’t and probably still don’t.
But I liked it the first time enough to obsess about it, and to be upset that I did not buy it there and then.
So I returned a few days later to put my curiosity out of misery.
There is something very film noir about the images and at this moment of my life, everything dark, filmic and devoid of real meanings appeal to me.
In many ways, I just want to steal some of them for my own book project that has become harder and harder to edit.
The one page poem/haiku text at the front of the book isn’t so helpful in helping me understand.
What I have found, reading several reviews is that Anderson cannot be bothered about the settings of where the photos were made, and therefore also don’t want you to be bothered.
Because it isn’t important and because this can happen anywhere.
Neither can he be bothered about what each of the person he shot was thinking.
Perhaps he is just extending an open invitation to make up your own narratives.
Or, he is just pointing out something quite simple about what it means to be a city dweller in the 21st century.
Ya, cold, alone, disconnected, aloof and rarely understood.
