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Wispy, filamentous-tufted cirrus clouds streaked in a westerly direction high above my head in the clear blue of morning. It was a bit chillier that I had reckoned from my window, so as I exited the hotel, my goosebumps alerted me that it might be a good idea to go back inside and get a jacket.
I was going to spend the morning doing one of my favorite things while traveling in a strange city — wandering the streets in an aimless, serpentine pattern, trying to absorb as much of the local color as possible, photographing anything that might be of the slightest pictorial, informational or compositional interest.
In my research for this trip, I had seen a snapshot of a small Buddhist shrine that was protected by a large yellow curtain emblazoned with double Manji (the Japanese name for the swastika). From what I had gathered from my searches on the internet, it was located in the northeast corner of Shinjuku, and that was the area I would explore this morning.
I walked east across the footbridge past Takashimaya Times Square and into a collection of streets that divided medium-sized apartment buildings and small business establishments.
The area was alive visually with subtle accents and dramatic statements. With a bow to the past and an acceptance of the realities of modern life, the area was as accommodating as possible without capitulating to the western predilection for overlooking the importance of detail in one's everyday life.
I spent a couple of hours walking up and down, stopping here and there to admire and stare in wonder or disbelief. I'm sure the residents of the area were wondering what I was up to, and why I needed to photograph this and that.
I located several Buddhist temples and cemeteries but had no luck locating the small devotional I was looking for.
I still had plenty of time before I had to meet Tatsumi, so I stopped at the Gyoen National Gardens at the southern boundary of this section of the city. The garden was lovely, but the clear morning skies had given way to a midday haze. I wasn't sure if it was due to inversion or pollution, but it hampered my visual appreciation of the area.
A little after 1 p.m. I stopped at the Family Mart across from my hotel and rounded up some snacks that would suffice for lunch. I was going to rest for a few hours before taking the JR train south.
Feeling a little more rested, I got to Shibuya just after 3:30 p.m. I walked out to the front courtyard and found a seat (more like a place to lean on) near the statue of the faithful dog.
Tatsumi showed up around 4:20. He'd just come from a museum conference about an exhibition of his work in the upcoming year.
Tatsumi, like me, is visually unusual, especially in Japan. I photographed him in the waiting area, then we headed into the depths of Shibuya Station. At the entrance, we encountered a vision-impaired gentleman in need of assistance. He and Tatsumi spoke for a while, then Tatsumi extended his arm. The man grabbed on and we were off to help him catch his train.
After our good deed, we took the JR line south to Shinagawa, then changed to the Tokaido Line heading to Yokohama. Twenty minutes later, we exited the train in Kawasaki City, and Tatsumi led me to another platform to catch the local train to where he lives.
When we finally arrived at his stop, I was totally lost, so we agreed that he would get me back to Kawasaki City, and then I would be on my own to get back to Shinjuku.
At the station, we bought a couple of Diet Cokes so I would have something to drink during dinner, and then we walked through the dusky lanes to his house.
While I was unlacing my Timberlands, he went ahead to warn his mother and her caregiver that the terrible "gaijin" (outsider) was coming.
I'd met his mother ("Mama") back in the late 1970s during her visit to Los Angeles. She has a group photograph of her husband, herself and me in front of the place that they were staying at. But I've changed so much there's no way she would recognize me, even if she hadn't been afflicted with Alzheimer's disease.
Mama needs total care 24/7. From feeding her to helping her with bodily functions, Tatsumi has served as her primary caregiver for the past 10 years or so. It's back-breaking work, but he has a very generous soul brimming over with loyalty.
Twice a week, the Japanese health service provides an in-home caregiver so that Tatsumi can have a break and deal with outside matters. The caregiver was just leaving as we arrived.
Tatsumi made a simple dinner because he's aware of my limited palate. Afterward, we spent an hour remembering the good old days. I had spent a week at his place on Canal Street in NYC the summer after I'd graduated from Cal Arts; it had been impossible to sleep because of the early-morning trucks headed to the Holland Tunnel.
His house was overflowing with artwork and printed material about his performances. I took a few shots of the part of the house I had access to, as well as a few shots of Mama wearing my hat. (Go into google.com and type in "Tatsumi Orimoto" to get an idea of the scope of Tatsumi's work.)
A little before 7 p.m., I packed up my camera and said my goodbyes to Mama, then Tatsumi and I headed to the train station. We were right on time for the local express, and we got to Kawasaki City in less than 15 minutes. We exchanged farewells, and I headed over to the platform that would get me back to Shinagawa, and then from Shinagawa back to Shinjuku.
I was back at the hotel by nine, ready to lay my head down.
