Takashi Arai & Daguerreotypes

Meet Takashi Arai, a Japanese daguerreotypist living between Kawasaki and Tōno. “I’ve always been curious about the origins of technology because humans radically change their perceptions of reality when introduced to new tools,” explains Takashi. Which, as it turns out, is why he thought it might be a good idea to learn photography by starting with the oldest techniques and eventually work his way up to the most modern technologies. But 16 years later, you can still find him perfecting step one, fuming silver-plated copper with mercury vapor. Takashi insists, “You might be surprised at the sophistication of 19th-century technology!” And of course, we were enchanted by his work and had to know more. Thankfully, he was excited to talk about his work with us. Here’s what we learned…

Why do you do it? What inspires you?

I expect that most viewers do not see my daguerreotype as the oldest photographic technique if they see images out of context. Because of the exceptional details and reflection on a silver plate, I thought I was looking at a holographic image when I saw a 19th century daguerreotype for the first time. If you have a progressive view of history, you may question why I choose daguerreotype over a digital camera. However, for me, daguerreotype was not one of the technical options; it was the only medium that could deliver a brand-new experience of visual images to the viewers.

My main focus is not on the daguerreotype process itself. Instead of telling stories, or leading spectators to particular understandings and actions, I instead want them to reflect themselves using my daguerreotypes as an interface to access the memory of others.

The sun at the apparent altitude of 570m in WNW. Photographed by Takashi Arai. Hijiyama Park, Hiroshima, 2014.

Since the East Japan Great Earthquake in 2011, I have started to think critically about making conventional documentary-style photographs. The first time I visited devastated areas, I couldn’t take more than three or four out-of-focused digital photos because I felt useless. My digital camera cannot capture anything from such gigantic and traumatic sights. A few weeks later, I started using daguerreotype to portray people and landscapes, and gradually, I became convinced that this particular process has the potential to connect people with far different experiences.

There is something private about one of my daguerreotype installations. You need to move around a silver plate to see the image because of its mirror-like reflection. The somatic experience of observing these images emotionally connects you with subjects. That is why daguerreotype is one of the most useful tools for working with particular topics like Fukushima.

What was your first time doing it like?

My first Becquerel daguerreotype turned out well by luck. It took a whole year for me to make another successful plate. I feel that I am still not proficient in the process.

What is your process like?

There are six steps: (1) polishing a silver-plated copper sheet with chamois skin, (2) sensitizing the plate over iodine and bromine vapor, (3) exposure, (4) development in mercury gas (5) and fixation with normal hypo, and (6) gilding in gold chloride solution. Each process is simple but requires precise handling.

Madoka at the age of 14. Photographed by Takashi Arai. Hiroshima, 2016.

Where do you source your materials?

I made almost all the tools I use myself, except for the camera and lenses. Sometimes I’ll use a gilding stand and recently, I used Alan Beckhuis’ mercury pot. I custom-order silver plates from a plating factory in Tokyo.

Is collaboration part of your process? And if so, how?

You always need to communicate and collaborate well with models, if that’s what you mean. I sometimes spend several hours explaining the daguerreotype process to models, making sure they stand still during an exposure. I also listen to their stories, which I believe are somehow captured in the final image.

What kind of mistakes did you make at first and how did you learn from them?

There are too many possible failures in the daguerreotype process to count. When you notice something wrong with your plate, it can be very difficult to figure out the source of the problem.

You always must keep examining all of the procedures, even if you think you already mastered a particular part of the process. Once or twice a year, I hit slumps and won’t get successful plates for weeks in a row. It is a devastating passion, but after hundreds of trials and errors you usually find the problem is created from an oversight in an elementary level of the process.

Radioactive Lilies. Photographed by Takashi Arai. Iitate Village, Fukushima, 2011.

What tricks have you learned to make the process more efficient?

Last year I bought a bus and remodeled it as a mobile studio. It allows me to work more safely while traveling. However, daguerreotype is a kind of complete process, and there is almost no room for one to make it more efficient. I tried using synthetic materials to polish a plate for example, but it didn’t work.