Hiroshi Watanabe Photography-The Diva and Midnightx by William Ewing

The Diva and Midnight by William Ewing

Hiroshi Watanabe felt keenly the uneasy relationship the Venetians have with their foreign guests -resentful but wholly dependent- and he wondered if he could inflect his pictures with this discomfort. He had been working on various series of portraits for some years, including Japanese themes such as Kabuki actors, Bunraku dolls, Noh masks, and most recently, love dolls. As masks are meant both to reveal (deeper truths and emotions) and disguise (identity) Watanabe decided they would serve his intention to depict Venetian unease. He would focus on the rich tradition of masks and costumes in Venice (both Harlequin and Pantaloon were invented here). He approached the Italian Commedia dell'Arte, which ultimately led him to the Pantakin Company, and a fruitful collaboration ensued. Watanabe's actors portrayed Pulcinella, Innamorata, etc. and donned other masks as well: Strega (denoting a witch), Morte, and Bauta (a carnival mask also required at certain political decision-making events to guarantee anonymity).

In the photographer's eyes, the sea was the bond between East and West - it had brought Venice into contact with the Orient, serving as the conduit for goods and ideas. A boat on the water was therefore the ideal stage for his characters: he had no need of other props, and for a background curtain Watanabe used the imposing fagades of the palazzi on either side of the Grand Canal, though he took pains to keep them at a distance so that they would not steal the actors' thunder.　(The boat served practical purposes as well: on land, he had discovered, his actors would immediately attract hordes of tourists, making it impossible to work).

Let us leave the last word to a tourist who looked carefully at what he saw, and thought carefully about the connection between his far away country and the enchanted isle in which he found himself, a Marco Polo in reverse – the Japanese photographer, Hiroshi Watanabe, who sensed the unease between the tourist and the native inhabitant, and like other of his colleagues, simply worked around it. ‘I felt friction, and tried to bring its tension into my photographs’, he explains, not really sure he has succeeded, but nevertheless consoling himself with a simple, immutable truth: ‘Nonetheless, Venice is beautiful as always’.


	The Diva and Midnight by William Ewing Hiroshi Watanabe felt keenly the uneasy relationship the Venetians have with their foreign guests -resentful but wholly dependent- and he wondered if he could inflect his pictures with this discomfort. He had been working on various series of portraits for some years, including Japanese themes such as Kabuki actors, Bunraku dolls, Noh masks, and most recently, love dolls. As masks are meant both to reveal (deeper truths and emotions) and disguise (identity) Watanabe decided they would serve his intention to depict Venetian unease. He would focus on the rich tradition of masks and costumes in Venice (both Harlequin and Pantaloon were invented here). He approached the Italian Commedia dell'Arte, which ultimately led him to the Pantakin Company, and a fruitful collaboration ensued. Watanabe's actors portrayed Pulcinella, Innamorata, etc. and donned other masks as well: Strega (denoting a witch), Morte, and Bauta (a carnival mask also required at certain political decision-making events to guarantee anonymity). In the photographer's eyes, the sea was the bond between East and West - it had brought Venice into contact with the Orient, serving as the conduit for goods and ideas. A boat on the water was therefore the ideal stage for his characters: he had no need of other props, and for a background curtain Watanabe used the imposing fagades of the palazzi on either side of the Grand Canal, though he took pains to keep them at a distance so that they would not steal the actors' thunder.　(The boat served practical purposes as well: on land, he had discovered, his actors would immediately attract hordes of tourists, making it impossible to work). Let us leave the last word to a tourist who looked carefully at what he saw, and thought carefully about the connection between his far away country and the enchanted isle in which he found himself, a Marco Polo in reverse – the Japanese photographer, Hiroshi Watanabe, who sensed the unease between the tourist and the native inhabitant, and like other of his colleagues, simply worked around it. ‘I felt friction, and tried to bring its tension into my photographs’, he explains, not really sure he has succeeded, but nevertheless consoling himself with a simple, immutable truth: ‘Nonetheless, Venice is beautiful as always’.
					(c) William Ewing