Without large and sturdy trees, the canoes that transported people across oceans could never have been made. Such trees were the products of dynamic and healthy forest systems, fed by rainwater that was absorbed in the Earth and flowed back to the sea in rivers. The sea, in turn, served as a bridge to other lands, and the canoes carried their navigators to new forests, from which new vessels were made.

The innumerable islands of the South Pacific were once heavily forested, and there was no shortage of giant trees for sea-fearing canoes. Sadly, reckless and short-sighted logging practices have led to the devastation of woodland areas, and as a result islanders are only making traditional canoes when large pieces of driftwood happen to wash ashore. As is evidenced by the dying art of canoe-making, the loss of the South Pacific’s island forests threatens an exceptional cultural inheritance.

The desire to see with my own eyes what remains of the region’s forests only grew stronger as I continued to research ancient marine navigation. Giant canoes large enough to transport several families were first built in the 10th century in the Polynesia Triangle, an area that includes Hawaii, New Zealand, and Easter Island. Today, however, most of the islands are heavily trafficked by tourists, and in terms of natural resources they have become mere shadows of what they once were.

On my search throughout the islands of the Polynesia Triangle I came at last to the virgin forests of New Zealand’s North Island, located at the region’s southernmost point. In all of Polynesia, it is only within the patchwork of these remaining forests that trees are still found in great enough quantity for islanders to continue building traditional canoes. The forests of North Island are inextricably entwined with the history and culture of the Maori, New Zealand’s indigenous sea-faring people, who consider them sacred places.

When you enter the forests of North Island, you are assaulted by the sense that you have no idea which direction you are facing. The word “void” takes on its true meaning, and one realizes that the spirit of the vast sea, the past and future of the islands, and the canoes that bind one to the other will survive as long as these ageless forests continue to exist.

This article originally appeared in Paper Sky Issue 12 (Texas, Mexico: Diaries of the Tex Mex Borderland. Winter, 2005) and was made possible with New Zealand Tourism and Air New Zealand, located at 16F, The Imperial Hotel Tower
1-1-1 Uchisaiwaicho, Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo 100-0011.

About the author:
Naoki Ishikawa was born in Tokyo in 1977. He began his wanderings in India as a high school student. In 2000, he traveled from the North Pole to the South Pole while participating in the Pole to Pole project. In 2001, he climbed the highest mountains on all seven continents. Currently, he is studying traditional navigation techniques of Micronesia. Ishikawa tried to cross the Pacific Ocean in a hot air balloon in 2004, but abandoned the attempt 1,600 kilometers from Japan. His published works included the book, “To Those Who Will Inherit the Earth” and a photography collection, “The Wind that Connects the Polar Regions.” His first book of photography, “The Void” was published by Knee High Media. For Papersky Issue 28 (New Zealand, 2009) Naoki Ishikawa was our guest navigator.

After the Rotterdam residency, how did Montreal fit in as a site-specific territory?

“The project in Montreal was shaped differently because I was offered a huge space to create an installation based on a similar concept. Deciding how to use the given space also gave this project a framework and helped me develop ideas and productions, resulting in a multi-media installation which consisted of photos, videos, sculptures and a workshop area; a bit more than just a record of a personal cross-cultural cooking log. I mean, I like eating and cooking but I don’t consider myself an artist specialized in food art however using food as materials was one convenient choice, especially nowadays, having a studio could cost you a fortune.”

How did you go about getting started?

“To proceed with the project, first I had to define some ideas about Canadian and more specifically, Montreal food. I decided to have a survey in the hope of knowing everybody’s eating habits so that I could incorporate that into my cooking. The whole production is based on the survey results collected from 154 Montrealers, the results of which are attached into the resulting cookbook.

So what about your relationship with Japanese food, did you grow up learning to cook at home or after moving away?

I don’t remember when I cooked for the first time nor a special day when my mother taught me how to cook, I have no eventful memory of it but I helped around the kitchen from a young age. Simple things like serving or peeling apples for example, like everybody did I suppose. I remember having to prepare rice when coming home from school everyday. We didn’t have a rice cooker then so I had to do it with a gas stove; I think I was in the third grade. But I was quite proud of myself for experimenting with rice washing techniques and, to think of it now I don’t understand why I had to do that. She cooks well though. She is from Kyoto and is living in Sapporo since she got married so perhaps I grew up with Kyoto style cooking. My father was a bit lazy and didn’t like eating fish with bones, so my mom says. He’s from Nagano and they eat more meat (and bugs), I think. When I was in the fifth and sixth grade we had home-economics class and I remember making egg omelette, hamburger steak, curry and maybe miso soup. It’s funny that they don’t teach you how to cook traditional Japanese food. When I was a teenager, I baked almost every other day as I drooled looking at cakes and dessert recipe books. 

The first year I moved to Montreal, I went to a Japanese restaurant, a reputable one in downtown. I didn’t order sushi but I saw the plate served to the next table. What caught my eyes was the crab, you know the fake red-painted one made of fish called Kanikama, the whole stick, like 3 inches long, was served as nigiri. The chefs were supposed to be Japanese there but I thought it wasn’t so Japanese. Since then, I hardly went out to eat Japanese as the experiences often ended somewhat disappointing. At home I don’t necessarily cook Japanese food but cooking Japanese cuisine outside of Japan is not very convenient, and I’m a lazy person to begin with so I don’t like going far to get my groceries, and even if I do go it doesn’t mean that I get to find all the ingredients I need. Besides, Japanese cooking tends to require several steps of preparation, uses a lot of water, many pots and serving plates. I cook Japanese rice only occasionally because it requires too much washing and soaking time. The everyday rice for me is Jasmin, and it’s probably very un-Japanese but this “Survival Japanese Cooking” project was sort of an effort for me to force myself to cook “Japanese” more often than usual. 

So what elements of Japanese food, culture, cuisine helped or limited you in this project?

Well, it would be a spirit of eating locally and things that are in season. Another thing would be the preparation of ingredients and even the presentation. For example, cutting vegetables in certain ways to suit different methods of cooking. I think that often in Japanese cooking, the shape of each food is well kept to be distinguished. If you follow any Japanese cook book for example, cutting vegetables is written in precise detail and seems an important element. Maybe this is one of reasons we never invented mashed potatoes? 

Through Survival Cooking, did you find Japanese ingredients to be versatile? The Natto Spaghetti comes to mind…

The Natto Spaghetti is an old recipe, not sure how old but it’s been around for a while, probably from late 80’s or early 90’s. As Pasta became popular there appeared more specialty restaurants with creative menus other than just meat sauce. Prior to that, what I remember of Spaghetti was that it was always served with canned meat sauce for Sunday lunch, or leftover noodles fried with some ketchup, which you probably still see in cheap bento boxes at convenience stores. The rice bun burger from Mos burger for an example is another example of the Japanese being infamous for transforming foreign/imported food to suit to our taste. I guess when we are in Japan, we don’t see the reverse cases that often? When I was still in Sapporo, I was once invited to a home dinner party hosted by a Canadian couple. This was about fifteen years ago. There was a dish, sort of a macaroni and cheese, but the macaroni was replaced with Udon noodles, the ones which are sold pre-cooked. For a noodle nerd like me it was a shock. It seemed disgustingly overcooked and soggy and I couldn’t eat it. I just wonder why she used Udon instead of Macaroni? I doubt that she couldn’t find Macaroni. It could’ve been sort of her way of doing Survival Canadian Cooking?

Interesting, what are some other examples?

I have this vegetarian, vegan cookbook written by an American chef and got it because I just wanted to learn about vegetarian cooking but found out that some Japanese-specific ingredients, like Hijiki and Umeboshi, were used for the more health-conscious recipes. It’s nice to learn how these ingredients are prepared in contrast to Japanese cuisine. At a market here in Montreal, you can find Shiso and Mizuna these days. My friend made me a dinner the other day, a grilled salmon on a bed of rice topped with green vegetable salad including Shiso leaves in large chunks. On the other hand, at most Sushi restaurants here (and they are run by non-Japanese) they have miso soup on their menu, there is even a “spicy” miso soup, and people order them with sushi. (Well, precisely, they have the soup first then sushi) And I have to ask myself, why? For me, I never have miso soup with sushi because that’s how I grew up. Speaking of sushi, they are not bad here in general, except some occasional surprises, like a pineapple maki I got the other day. But because of that, I won’t be shocked if I get a banana maki someday I got used to these creative North American rich maki rolls that when I last went back to Japan in 2004 I was somewhat unsatisfied by the real thing. They seemed too plain!  When I went to Sao Paulo and visited Liberdade, I was excited to see some Dango (sweet rice cake with red bean paste) but the color was far from being subtle, they were bright, pink and green. I couldn’t eat them, but I’m pretty sure I’d be eating them if I stayed there long enough. It’s just a matter of time but overall it’s interesting to see the transformation of a Japanese food when brought into and adapted to another culture.

Thanks Shie.

Shie Kasai is originally from Sapporo, Hokkaido.

Along the Fujiwara Shopping Street, we found this beautiful woman [1], Fujiwara Katsumi, who is seventy-seven years old in this picture. The picture she is holding is from when she was eighteen. You can likely find her selling sansai, or Japanese mountain herbs, and mushrooms, along the Fujiwara street in the city market. Subterranean water streams down from this thirty meter-wide cliff at Mototaki no Fukuryusui [2] in Kisakatamachi, almost as if it is being forced out by the sheer weight of Mt. Chokai. In Kosaka, the Korakukan [3] was established in 1910 as a public welfare facility for miners. It’s a small theatre in which Meiji-era traditions are preserved, and it has become a symbol of culture and the arts. It was designated a Nationally Important Culture Asset in May, 2002.

A view from the bridge over Shibukurogawa River [4], which leads to Tamagawa Onsen in Tazawakomachi. Route 341, which follows the course of the river, is popular with motorists for its stunning scenery. One of Japan’s finest hot springs, Tamagawa Onsen [5] in Tazawakomachi, can be found at the base of Hachimantai’s Yakeyama. Many people visit the onsen hoping to receive the health benefits which the strongly acidic water is famous for. The temperature of the source water is a searing 98 degrees Celsius. The Odate Jukai Dome [6] in Odate, constructed from cedars native to Akita Prefecture, ranks the structure among the world’s largest wooden domes.

In Kakunodatecho, a town known as the little Kyoto of Michinoku and famed for its cherry blossoms and beautifully preserved samurai mansions, the over 400-year old festival, Hifuri Kamakura, is held to celebrate the lunar new year. On February 13th and 14th, participants attach a charcoal sack to a rope roughly one meter in length and light it on fire. The participant then takes hold of the end of the rope and swings the flaming bundle around in circles. Evil is chased away by the fire, and prayers for good health and strong crops are offered. On the 13th anyone can give it a try and complimentary guide maps are available at Kakunodate station and local tourist bureaus.

The Hifuri Kamakura Festival is held twenty minutes from Kakunodate station and JR Akita Shinkansen station (Tazawako Line) stations.

This story originally appeared in Paper Sky No. 12 (Texas & Mexico: Diaries of the Tex Mex Borderland, 2005).

A Journey to India: Hosono and Yokoo, “Cochin Moon.”

1978 was an important year for Haruomi Hosono. The evolution of his exotic sound, already evident on the 1975 release “Tropical Dandy” and “Bon Voyage Co.” of the following year, reached its peak with the release of Harry Hosono and Yellow Magic Band’s hit album “Paraiso” in April, 1978. In February of that year, the idea of Yellow Magic Orchestra was conceived by Hosono and fellow musicians Yukihiro Takahashi and Ryuichi Sakamoto, and the group’s debut album came out in November. The catalyst for the metamorphosis from “band” to “orchestra” was an almost accidental trip to India with writer Tadanori Yokoo.

“It must have been sometime after “Paraiso” was recorded,” says Hosono. “I stopped by Yokoo’s studio in Seijo. One month later, there we were in India.” Hosono was not without reservations about the trip. “Actually, I didn’t want to go. I felt that if I went to the real place, it would lose some of its exoticism. At the same time, though, it sparked my sense of creativity. Exoticism is fine for a while, but you can’t really hang on to it forever.”

“We arrived in Delhi, that was our first big shock. It was so crowded. There were peopld squatting on the ground where we were walking, and we kept stumbling over them. We were still really exhausted the next day when we went to a place called Agula, about three hours inland, in a car without air conditioning.”

Thanks to the efforts made by the Indian Tourist Bureau the group got royal treatment. “The one problem was that it was so hot. We put ice in our juice, and everything else we drank. That night I think we al ordered whiskey on the rocks. Maybe Yokoo and I weren’t really strong drinkers, but after we parted in the lobby and went back to our rooms, I got hit with the worst diarrhea and vomiting. I was sick every few minutes. I spend the night alone in agony, and in the morning I had to take an 8:00 AM flight to Bombay. I was in the toilet the whole three hours of the flight, and the one-hour taxi ride to the hotel was terrible. In the nearly sixty years that I’ve been alive, that was probably the worst thing I’ve endured.”

“In Bombay, we met a famous Indian movie actress and went to see the Taj Mahal. At night, however, Yokoo and I both felt bad and couldn’t sleep, so we stayed up talking about a lot of things.” It was a dinner in Madras that brought Hosono back from the brink of death. “The Consulate General of Madras invited us to his house for dinner. He said, ‘My wife made Japanese food, so come eat and cheer up!’ We sat at his wife’s table, and they served us grilled salmon and okayu (rice porridge). She talked about psychic phenomena, like the fact that she could cure illnesses herself, and that when she wore a watch, it would go out of order, and that she often saw red balls about 40 or 50 centimeters in diameter flying around her garden. She said, ‘You’ll be cured after you eat.’ We both noticed that we really did feel better!”

After returning home Hosono was asked by Yokoo to create an album with India as its theme. “I had to think of everything from scratch by myself, and at first I didn’t know what to do at all. Then suddenly I started hearing about computer music, and I was able to go see a demonstration by Hideki Matsutake. As I listened, I thought, ‘Here’s something interesting that I can do and ‘Cochin Moon’ was the result.” Incidentally, Hideki Matsutake himself became the honorary fourth member of Yellow Magic Orchestra as a computer programmer, one of the first of his kind. “If I had never experience India with Yokoo, YMO would never have been born!”

This article originally appeared in Paper Sky Number 9 (Naples Family: Italy’s Living Room City).

Originally, Hosono is from Minato, Tokyo.

In 1979, Dr. John told Haruomi Hosono, “Watch out for the music business!”

Still excited about first hearing Van Dyke Parks’ “Discover America” (1972), a few months later Haruomi Hosono listened to Dr. John’s “Gumbo” (1972) for the first time. “Eiichi Otaki told me that a great record had been released and that it was all I needed to hear in order to understand what the New Orleans sound was all about. Well, he was right! (laughs)” Not only Ohtaki and Hosono, members of the the 70’s Japanese rock band Happy End, but for music fans worldwide, “Gumbo” became a showcase album of the New Orleans sound- a sound not easily heard by non-locals at the time. Hosono’s connection to New Orleans goes way back.

“Most of the stuff that I liked on the hit charts during school was music produced in New Orleans. Lloyd Price’s Personality (‘59), Ernie K-Doe’s Mother-in-Law (‘61), Lee Dorsey’s Working in a Coalmine (‘66). Of course Allen Toussaint (producer, singer and keyboardist) was involved with the recording of Dr. John’s hit tunes that he made as a young guitarist. New Orleans was a dazzling cache of treasures.

Did you ever think of going to New Orleans? “No, the records gave me the entire picture. Blending something with something always produces interesting music, but it’s not about being in the specific place. The work is done in the composer’s head, which needs to be a real hodgepodge of things, so I’ve never thought of going to any special place to create music.”

A famous New Orleans dish, “Gumbo,” is also a thick soup that contains okra, and is pretty much a hodgepodge. Five years later, Hosono met Ronnie Barron, the keyboardist in Dr. John’s band, by coincidence when he was working as co-producer on the Makoto Kubota and The Sunset Gang’s “Dixie Fever” album, which was recorded in Hawaii. “I went out to the Honolulu airport to meet him and his face and black clothes, a color not really suited for Hawaii, made him look like a pirate. With no preparation we went straight to the studio and as soon as he started playing, a New Orleans atmosphere filled the room.”

Following on from that, Hosono produced Ronnie’s solo album “The Smile of My Life” (‘78). It was recorded planned and produced in Tokyo. “I think it turned out really well. H was happy with it as well.” In February of 1978, Hosono formed the Yellow Magic Orchestra and in May of 1979, the first YMO album was released in the US on Tommy LiPuma’s label Horizon. “After YMO performed at LA’s Greek Theatre, we went to a party at LiPuma’s house that was attended by people from the music industry. Dr. John was there.” This was the period that Dr. John released two LiPuma-produced albums rich in AOR flavor, “City Lights” (‘78) and “Tango Palace” (‘79). “He had also started on a new musical life. While gently rubbing my shoulder as we were going he said, “Watch out for the music business!”

In 1999 Hosono teamed up with good friend Makoto Kubota and formed the duo “Harry and Mac,” recording the album “Road to Lousiana” in New Orleans.
“Ronnie Barton had already passed away by then. There’s no gravesite so we went to his house and paid our respects at his urn. When his relatives told me that he had never forgotten the solo album that he made in Tokyo. I felt happy that we were able to have done that.”

This article originally appeared in Paper Sky Number 7 (Paris Books: Read the City).

Originally, Hosono is from Minato, Tokyo.

“Since I was a kid, I had been painting with my mother, who had done a lot of ceramic painting and my dad actually worked for a paint company so I had endless supplies. I actually wanted to be a comic artist but I ended up getting so involved in skateboarding that I somehow forgot about that dream.  I guess you could say my older brother inspired me to to start skating, although I think I started a bit late actually, when I was seventeen, but I’d been surfing since I was thirteen. I was a student then and just going to the beach on Sundays and in the downtime, I just started having fun with slaloms and turns. One day on my way home I saw some kids doing tricks, which was like my first exposure to street style skating. When I got home I tried a boneless and ended up with a few bumps and bruises which made me stop for a couple weeks but since I started up again, I haven’t stopped. I’d say the other half of my inspiration comes from the Venice skate scene in California. You know, Dogtown and Z Boys. I had been out there a few times and even though they looked a bit tough and gangster, they were all really nice and friendly. The new (school) wave of skateboarding the 1990s brought inwas almost like a fork in the road. Style-wise, things were changing and I remember kicker-ramps and pool skating were fading but I still see the Z Boys as a base of my style, namely guys like Jay Adams, so today, I’m proud to be on the Japan Dogtown and Z Boys Team. I still think about making it back to California to skate some more pools.”

When DEE was in his late twenties, he shared a house with a few artist friends which became an informal unit for painting and skating. “I lived with six friends, one of them was Kami actually and Kami was the one who always said, ‘let’s go out and paint’ so I would go along with markers and cans and started throwing up what I had previously been painting on my own.” The mixed group of artist and skaters eventually formed into a loose crew though made their presence known with exhibitions in Paris, then under the group name M.U.R.,  as well as in Japan as part of a group exhibition at the Art Tower in Mito. “When we had an exhibition at the Art Tower in Mito, which was basically because the curator really liked graffiti, we were all kind of excited about the group show but actually, we thought it was a trap [laughs]!”

Even though groups comprised a large part of DEE’s artistic activity, he affirms he’s a loner at heart. “Even though we were living and practicing together, it was never about being a gang of any kind for me. People talk too much behind each other’s backs in gangs and even though I love getting out to paint and skate, most of the time, I just like going out alone. Especially now that I have my six month old daughter. Not only does she keep me busy but everyday brings something new- it’s actually really inspiring.”  Such a self-affirmed soliloquist, Tanaka even named his own label, simply, Own. “It started in 1994, when a creative unit was starting to form, we called ourselves the ‘Original World Network’ and were practitioners of a blend of art and street culture, making everything from clothes to street graphics.” Every summer, Dee and his team did their own, ‘OwnTour’ and went all over the country doing demos at parks and events with live MCs and DJs. “One of our friends had a camera and came along to document the whole adventure. Whenever we had some downtime, I’d take his camera and photograph people skating, or take a few portraits of the people around us or even just some landscape shots.”

Tanaka’s reportage style of photography has stayed with him ever since. The adventures haven’t solidified into the stuff of legend just yet around these parts, however some of the photos have been published in a previous issues of Sb. “I ended up forming a photography duo with PAI, aka Miyuki Hirai and we based our style on the natural, candid moments we experienced. Since 2003, we have been active as a photo duo and setting up our own group exhibitions, where we show photos of the community- the graffiti, the hardcore bands and well, just skate life. It’s always fun because the younger kids come to check it out as well as the people we took photos of, it’s always a nice gathering. Actually, this summer, is the third one so I’m really looking forward to it.”

Daisuke Tanaka can be found skating at his favorite spot, and upcoming Skateboard File Feature, Felem.

Van Dyke Parks: “Don’t give the steel pan to Hosono.”

On October 4, 1972, Haruomi Hosono flew to Los Angeles to record overseas for the first time with his popular 70’s Japanese rock group, Happy End. Back then, it was rare for Japanese musicians to go to LA for recording. The Sunset Studio was the gathering place for the ‘hip’ guys, so after hearing about me Van Dyke Parks came along. He ended up producing “Sayonara America, Sayonara Nippon” for me. He guided us with great wisdom, it was great.

After returning to Japan, Hosono listened to “Discover America,” “I was totally taken in. It was fantastic, especially the Calypso. “Jack Plance,” sung by Mighty Sparrow. You know, the song ends halfway through. It is such a bummer. In those days I was attracted by the music for the soap opera Hollywood films of the 1930’s and 1940’s. When I noticed Van Dyke was already creating such wonderful nuance I realized that we shared the same feeling.”

Hosono was born in 1947, and Van Dyke in 1943, and because Hosono was the first musician to sing rock music in Japanese and Van Dyke collaborated in recording “Good Vibration” by the Beach Boys they were both recognized as members of similar musical circles. Later on, Hosono went back to LA with the Japanese folk singer Wataru Takada.

“We worked very closely with Robert Greenridge, who was a steel pan player, and I sweet talked him into making me a steel pan for $300.” Steel pans are native to Trinidad and Tobago. Hosono purchased a paint pan, which is basically a painted cut-out drum. As soon as he came back to Japan Hosono released his third album “Taian-yoko” and in its title song he is playing the steel pan. “I was really happy, but I understand that Van Dyke didn’t like what he heard. I was told that he got angry and said something like, ‘don’t take American ethnic music instruments out of the United States.’ Nonetheless, I heard that he hung my ‘Tropical Dandy’ album on the wall of his house. I just think we were both curious about each other.”

How could someone think that Caribbean steel pans are a American instrument? “In Japan we had been ‘fantasizing’ about the pans from records for a long time. But in the case of Van Dyke, he had been ‘living’ the pans since his childhood, in the midst of a very international music scene in Hollywood. He was in the show ‘The Swan’ as a child actor, and ‘Calypso’ was a popular show at the time too, so he considered all that as American music.”

In July 1988, Van Dyke Parks came to Japan. Hosono was on stage with him as a bassist for the ‘Discover America Orchestra.’ “He called me to his room. He let me listen to a piece of music on a walkman. It was the music source for his 5th solo album ‘Tokyo Rose,’ which he was still working on. I thought to myself, ‘This lacks craziness’ but told him it was good. He seemed happy and embrassed. He was blushing. I realized at that point for the first time how good a guy he truly was!”

This article originally appeared in Paper Sky Number 6 (New York Urban Green: The City is a Jungle).

Originally, Hosono is from Minato, Tokyo.

If I were to express in a few words what adventure has given me, it would be the simple realization of how wonderful it is just to be alive. I have learned how precious life is, and how fleeting. On my treks I felt like I was living in the ice age, having arrived from the present. If I had to decide which time is better I would choose this one. There are hot springs, all sorts of delicious foods, my girlfriend, friends, and a warm house. Living with others in harmony and friendship, and at the end, during at home surrounded by the ones you love- I think that’s a good way to live.

From now on I want to live within the reality of the present, and make that my adventure. I feel like I’ve spent the last twenty years in the ice age, completely absorbed with trying to cross the North and South Poles, and now I have returned to the real worl. I want to get married and have children like everyone else. I just want to enjoy life, teaching others about my adventures at the school that I have built in Yamagata. That’s my dream. And I’d also like to travel around the world. As always my desires run pretty deep.

Mitsuro Ohba started the Global Edventure school in Yamagata Prefecture located at Mogami-gun, Mogami-cho, Oaza Mukaimachi, Yamagata-ken, 999-6101

Senn Ozawa, co-founder and editor of Sb for nine years now, runs the magazine almost entirely by himself, flanked by photo editor Taro Hirano and their designer who takes care of layouts. Previously, Ozawa and Hirano cut their teeth with an earlier skateboard magazine called Wheel. “Back when we were doing Wheel, which only existed through the boom years of the late 90s, it got to be too much, too hectic and just had to fold with the boom, and when we decided to keep going and started up Sb, we knew that taking things a bit slower, two times a year, would be the perfect balance.” With all original content, that means no client tie-ups, Sb exudes an independent feel with a decidedly minimal layout and even though its only released twice a year, the publication maintains enough of a static presence on Tokyo’s streets, skate shops and newsstands that it stays in the minds of skaters across town.

While Sb shows content from all over the globe, and a careful balance of about sixty percent of Japanese skaters, the publications words nor perspective are completely Japanese. Foreign correspondents, or pros with computers, report from their cities and scenes about the goings-on to make sure that Tokyo, Sb and its readers are plugged in. However, with the editor-in-chief in Tokyo, Ozawa chooses to portray his local city through a variety of photographs which for the editor means plenty of nocturnal shooting and rather rarely, “do we show skate park photos, it’s mostly, if not all, street style. Sure we can all enjoy skateparks but when you go out there, it’s just the feeling. Street skating is more challenging and not everyone can skate everything; people realize they have limits and strengths on the streets.”

With the year’s best in photos from their list of select photographers, including a few by our beloved Yuri Shibuya, the current issue is more of an artistic exposé on the life of skateboarding and what skaters actually do when they are not skating. The documentary-style reportage shows everything from abandoned, hard to reach spots to skaters pushing for the distance, traveling, in contemplation, recovering from injury or exploring in search of the elusive Shangri-la. The spread continues to show composites of what touring vans really look like as well as spreads of kids enjoying skateboarding with a kind of pure fun and innocence which not only remind of skateboarding’s next crop but as well as the sheer joy of skateboarding. With enough room to fit in art works related and influenced by skateboarding, the photo annual sums up the year in a deep breathe of one hundred and sixteen pages and it’s available for just 476 Yen. “When I would go skating, I wouldn’t usually bring my wallet because it would get in the way. I always just had coins in my pocket. Making Sb available for the cost of one 500 Yen coin was important so every skater could get it wherever.”

“I think one thing that people can sense from of the photos in our pages, in particular in Tokyo, is a sense of crowdedness. Readers can see that most things in Tokyo, such as in the background of photos, are cramped or small. There just aren’t so many big and wide skate spots in Tokyo, the city is just that dense.” Rather than see that as something negative, Sb and Ozawa are energized by a self-declared ethos of firstly going spot seeking, then doing a trick and then showing it in a clear and visual way. “As far as how the photo spreads work, we either call up a skater directly and tell them we’d like to show them skating at a particular spot. We ask them if they have a particular trick in mind for this particular spot and let it simmer. If there’s a particular trick we’d like to show at a spot, then we run down a list of skaters and call one up. Word on the street can play a role too. When we hear someone is up and coming or getting hot right now, we want to know. For the Monochrome spread with Deshi, one of our photographers, Iseki, showed me a black and white photo he liked and thought we should do a monochrome feature. When we called Deshi, he was excited to do it so we the spread of black and white photos came together nicely, which made us happy since it is seldom that we run black and white photographs.”

When pressed for where he wants to take Sb next, Ozawa answered with yet another pensive editorial goal, “well we’ve never done a tour-style issue. We’re always doing a lot of Tokyo-based content, which is great and all, but I think we’d really like to hit the road with four different teams, each made up of a photographer, editor and skaters, even a mix of some Japanese and foreign skaters and then map out different tour routes and all converge again in Tokyo. It’d be great, pretty epic for us and even better if it came out like a kind of guidebook too.”

Sb is available at skateboard shops and most major book stores throughout Japan.

In Ozawa’s twelve years of publishing, the Nihon Kogakuin building in Shinjuku, has been the most-photographed location.

Fishing can sometimes take on mystical dimensions. In Yaizu, superstition is rife among sailors and their captains, affecting everything from the choice of bait (goldfish or plastic ocotpus?) to carrying a ‘fundama’ when you sail; a tiny box containing a lock of a woman’s hair, some dice, money and Sake- symbolic links to the fishermen’s ‘other’ lives on land.

However the most flamboyant example of a fishing superstition is the Tairyo-ki, or the fishing flag. Traditionally, whenever someone buys a new boat, their friends would have Tairyo-ki made up for the boat. The flags serve no other purpose than turning the vessel into a floating peacock to invoke as much good fortune as possible. Things used to be much more utilitarian. “Originally flags were used by fishermen in the same way CB radio is used today,” says Hiroyuki Takahashi, owner of the one hundred twenty year-old Takahashi Somemono-ten dying shop, “one flag would let other ships know where the fish were, or if there were no fish that day another flag would be used.” In those days the shop was used for Kimono dying and it would be another ten years once the high-quality German dye’s made their way to Yaizu and his grandfather had begun to experiment with fishing flag designs.

“I even remember my father constantly making Tairyo-ki when I was young,” he says as he continues to work on a flag. A white canvas is stretched tight with hooks and he is painting on the first round of glues, which the dyes will work around. Paint tins, stencils, brushes and dying detritus clutter the space. “Yaizu culture has changed though,” as he begins washing one of the flags, “I don’t get the chance to make many Tairyo-ki anymore.” The flags he makes now are for “sports teams, companies, farmers and even newborn babies.” The city has transformed, and it is to stay looking over your shoulder at times gone by in Yaizu. But the town is more than the sum of its pasts; by some mystical process Yaizu’s residents have managed to live fully in the present without letting go of their traditions.

Takahashi Somemono-ten is located at 1-12-10 Kogawashinmachi, Yaizu City, Shizuoka.