On the exhibition
Underwater photographer  Ikuo Nakamura

If you’re an underwater photographer, your photography studio is naturally below the water’s surface. Sometimes you take photographs using rivers and lakes as a setting, and at other times you travel to oceans around the world. For an ocean setting, naturally you want the water to be crystal clear. When you’re in a beautiful ocean where you can see for a great distance, your motivation goes way up the second you enter the water. And the clearer the water is, the greater the likelihood that you’ll encounter the creatures who live there, so your expectations increase accordingly.
The title of this exhibition is “The Ocean of Tokyo” but the title covers a much wider scope than may be apparent at first. The Ocean of Tokyo includes the Izu Shichito, the seven Izu islands located far to the south from Tokyo Bay. It also includes the Ogasawara Shoto (Islands) located 1,000 kilometers south-southeast of Tokyo, a site that has been declared a World Natural Heritage site. When you pass through these islands, you realize that Tokyo Bay was once as clear as the open sea. But what about now? The coastal zones have been reclaimed one after another, and the precious tidal flats now cover only a tiny area. Domestic wastewater flows day and night through the rivers and is dumped into Tokyo Bay. This has caused the water in the bay to suffer eutrophication, and the many organisms that propagate as a result settle on the floor of the bay, eventually becoming thick sludge.
Tokyo Bay suffered its worst pollution throughout the 1970s. During this period, I went diving alone in the sea off Odaiba. Even then, when the bay was in such a terrible state, I was moved by the tremendous life force of the creatures that managed to survive. It was then that I decided to use Tokyo Bay as a theme for the time being. I will never forget the shock I felt the first time I put my face underwater in the ocean off Odaiba. I tied a rope around a Japanese pine tree and climbed down a steep embankment. The water on the shore came up to my knees. With quite a bit of trepidation, I put my face underwater, and I felt a shock run through my lips and cheek. This can’t possibly be safe, I thought, and lifted my face up out of the water. I had realized that the water contained hazardous chemical runoff from factories. Obviously it was not an environment that was healthy for the human body. But when, having given up the idea of taking photographs, I was on the point of leaving that place, I saw something wriggling. Looking more closely, I saw that it was an Asian shore crab. Even in this environment, it was alive! That single crab gave me courage. I pointed my lens at the crab and submerged myself in the water.
Once I had entered the bay, one unbelievable thing happened after another. The crab, which measured only three to four centimeters in length, suddenly jumped out of the sludge and moved to face me with its pincers raised. And I realized it was not just one crab but several. At the time, I didn’t really understand what had just happened. But the next day, when I looked at the film that had been developed, I gasped in surprise. Each of the crabs had a stomach full of eggs, eggs that were covered with sludge. The drooping egg masses looked like they were about to spill out at any minute.
Tokyo Bay is being turned into a dead sea of sludge. Human beings have turned their back on Tokyo Bay, even though it should be their home territory. But there are creatures that courageously continue the unbroken cycle of life. My encounter with the Asian shore crabs was an event that changed my life. 36 years have passed since that experience, but I have not used it as the theme for a book of photographs. The reason is that, each time I go diving in Tokyo Bay, I have a new encounter with living things, one that moves me deeply. That being the case, I decided that I should stop leaving things half done and should give Tokyo Bay my full attention. I hope to do that through this exhibition.