Photographer Kan Azuma makes Canada look unfamiliar to the local eye

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When artist Kan Azuma’s mother passed away in 1995, he went on a pilgrimage to the Japanese island of Shikoku. The local folklore says that if you visit all 88 temples on the pilgrimage route, your deceased family members may come to see you.

On his way, Azuma photographed people – and one goat – and asked all of them whether they were his reincarnated mother.

Photos from this pilgrimage are now one of the first things you see when entering an exhibition of Azuma’s photography at the National Gallery in Ottawa.

A Matter of Place, which runs until June 16, consists of 160 photographs, most of which – unlike the Shikoku images – Azuma took during the 10 years that he lived in Canada.

“There was something that he carried with him from Japan to Canada and then applied to the Canadian landscape,” says Andrea Kunard, the co-curator of the exhibition. Because of that, the photographs can make Canada look foreign to the Canadian eye, says Kunard.

Most of Azuma’s photos are done in a style that, in the late sixties, became very common among Japanese photographers – “are-bure-boke.” The Japanese term can be translated as grainy, blurry and out-of-focus. In Azuma’s black-and-white photographs, people and objects become silhouettes, with parts of the photo dipping into black, nearly invisible, looking almost like a technical glitch.

Kunard says that instead of seeking technical perfection, Azuma’s photos provide an “immediate response to an event in the world.”

Azuma’s photo of Peggy’s Cove, a town of 30 permanent residents in Nova Scotia, is a great example of his approach to photography.

“Somebody said to him, ‘Oh, you know, there is this really cool stuff at Peggy’s Cove. You should go check out those rocks,’” says Kunard.

The sharp rocks of Peggy’s Cove photographed from below look very dark and almost extraterrestrial. “I mean, you wouldn’t recognize it, right? It could be Mars, for that matter,” says Kunard.

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Everyone who moves to a new place is influenced by memories of their home, says Euijung McGillis, the co-curator of the exhibition. “We didn’t want to emphasize his nationality or ethnic origin,” says McGillis. “It could have been a Hungarian photographer or a Korean photographer. It happened to be Kan.”

Azuma’s introduction to Canada wasn’t entirely his own choice. Initially, he wanted to move to California in 1970, but in Japan he had participated in anti-Vietnam War protests, for which he was denied entry into the U.S. Since he had already bought a ticket to North America, the travel agency just changed the destination from California to Vancouver.

With his tourist visa, Azuma could only stay in Canada for three months. In an e-mail exchange with McGillis, which is reproduced in the exhibition’s accompanying materials, Azuma recalled being given a one-on-one interview with an immigration officer for a longer stay. Since he could barely speak English, he wrote down and memorized everything he wanted to say to the officer. Azuma concluded his plea by saying that a young, hard-working and motivated 24-year-old would be nothing but a benefit for Canada and, if he were turned down, the officer would regret it for the rest of his life.

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The officer froze. Then he burst into laughter. Azuma passed the interview.

In Vancouver, Azuma did odd jobs, including, among other things, working in a darkroom at Abbott & Tincombe Photographic Services. He bought an old Leica IIIb camera for $25 at a pawn shop and started taking photos on the side. Many of those photos are now exhibited at the NGC.

Azuma says Canada influenced him. He told McGillis that a few years after he arrived, he could tell that his “gloomy Japanese character had changed.” Ten years later, when he returned to Japan to care for his ailing mother, he struggled to become reaccustomed to Japanese life.

“Kan is a very good example of that kind of twist that happens when people are moving around the world and they’re bringing so many different memories to another place,” Kunard says.

That twist isn’t unique to Azuma: As part of the exhibition, there are notebooks that prompt the guests to “share a story about a place that has shaped their journey.” Many did: A visitor named Anna-Mari, for instance, wrote about Finland, her home country. “I am proud of our history,” she wrote. Another, named Sase, mentioned Paris as the place where they first tried mussels. A third, McKayla, wrote a note about her grandmother’s house that “showed her what a loving home is.”

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McGillis says the notebooks are there for people to “draw their own connections” and think about the significance of place in their own lives.

“When you move, you come with your history, your memory, and also your food and your language,” says McGillis. “You bring everything with you, whether you realize it or not.”