The other morning I noticed something that stood out in my photographs. It struck me so clearly, and I wondered whether it had been too obvious to notice before.

All my photographs lack human interaction. They represent a world without human inhabitants. Perhaps there is one lingering in the background, and there will be a rare one of a group of people in the distance chatting around a table. Then, of course, there are the wedding pictures I have taken, but even of the groups in those pictures you can say there is a lack of interaction with the photographer. It is just his observation.

As a photographer, I am an observer. I have mentioned that before, but that morning I was surprised to find how much the solitary photographs, of just a landscape, a cityscape, or a view or observation of some corner, tree, or situation reflected my own self. I am a solitary person.

I prefer to go through this world and life not disturbed by anyone. The world I see and photograph is a world from which any noise and action has been removed. Looking back at the photographs, I remember that even in the busiest places, whether New York, Beijing, or Tokyo, I tried to exclude myself from the hustle and movement that make a city. As if I want to retreat to a quiet corner that doesn’t really exist, but I try to make anyway.

What does the observation of my photography and the relation to my self tell about me and my life?