A Pocketful of Suns

Known for his exceptional work in both commercial advertising and fine art photography, Suzuki Shin’s images are rich with humanistic and philosophical insights, often exploring the subtleties of the human experience. He has honed his craft under the guidance of contemporary master Hiroshi Sugimoto, one of Japan’s most respected photographers. Hear directly from the artist himself below, as Suzuki Shin shares his creative vision and personal insights behind A Pocketful of Suns, offering you a deeper connection to his evocative works.

 Hometown Landscape, archival print on aluminium di-bond, 137.3 cm x 103 cm, 2014

Our Original Landscape

While I was working on a monotonous photoshoot of a male idol at the Tokyo National Museum, deep down I found myself wishing for the job to be canceled. During a break, I went to a restroom in another building, and on my way back, I noticed the trees in the garden swaying wildly, as if a storm had hit. Although there was no wind, the ground beneath me was shaking, and it took a moment for me to realize that the tremors were coming from deep underground.

A large crack had formed in the traditional Japanese house where we were shooting, and people who had taken refuge inside were fixated on a large television screen. It was showing aerial footage from a helicopter of coastal towns devastated and flooded by the tsunami.

Two days later, I headed to my hometown in Fukushima. The damaged roads were packed with traffic, and I remember it taking several times longer than usual. Along the way, a friend from the newspaper warned me to be careful, as they were preparing an article about the nuclear plant explosion. When I arrived at the local supermarket, I found that the damaged store had been cleared out by panic buying, with almost nothing left on the shelves except for non-essential items.

What would happen if the nuclear plant really exploded? How many people could have even imagined such a scenario in detail? People were consumed by fear of the unknown and the invisible. Radiation meters were installed throughout the town, and in the dark of night, red LEDs still display radiation levels. Ten years have passed, and then came COVID-19. This time, the fear spread worldwide. “Stay away, leave,” people said, like those who feared witches.

Radiation is invisible. What color is it? How bright is it? If we could make it visible, how would we feel about it? Whether we travel to other planets aboard spaceships or take X-rays to examine our own bodies, we are constantly exposed to radiation. Because we believe too much in what we can see, we tend to forget that most of the world is invisible. If that’s the case, then perhaps both the ground beneath our feet and the sky beyond are no different from radiation.

In Japanese, the word for “adventure” (冒険) literally means “to risk danger.” True to that meaning, we understand that discovery lies beyond fear. That is why, no matter what happens, pursuing what lies beyond what we can see—whether for better or worse—is the essence of human imagination and creation.

In this boundless expanse of the universe, the only certainty we have is uncertainty itself. Even our consciousness, our very perception, exists within this realm of doubt, forever elusive, forever shifting. Who we are, and what we perceive, is a delicate dance of uncertainty.

Among all living beings, what tool made us human? Was it the freedom of our hands, unlocked by bipedal movement? Or did we evolve to walk upright in order to use our hands? Perhaps it is in this very ambiguity that we find our answer.

In every myth across the world—Kagutsuchi, Prometheus, Mokoheyanowa, Loki—the gods who wielded fire and gifted it to humanity were met with the greatest punishment. It has been said that 700,000 years or even 1.5 million years have passed since we, as humans, first took fire into our hands.

Why do we find peace when we stare into the flames? Why are we compelled to feed the fire, almost unconsciously? Perhaps it is because in that unconscious act lies the truest evidence of our awareness.

No two flames are ever the same. If we understand that this transience, this ever-changing nature, is the essence of fire, we may also come to realize that the same uncertainty exists in our consciousness and in the universe itself. Just as our ancestors once did, we too can embrace the truth that it is in uncertainty where our most natural state lies.

A Pocketful of Suns, archival print on aluminium di-bond, 66.6 cm x 200 cm, 2012

A Pocketful of Suns

Before we eat, we say “Itadakimasu.” When living abroad, I’m often surprised by how much time it takes to explain this word we use so casually in our daily lives.

“Itadakimasu” literally means “to receive,” so when we say it before a meal, it could be understood as an expression of gratitude to the person who prepared the food. However, in reality, it conveys much more. It’s an expression of thanks to the plants and animals that became our food, to the nature that nurtured them, and even to the entire universe. (No joke!)

When we look at photographs, we often say things like “natural expression” or “natural pose.” But what exactly is “natural”? The nature that nurtures our food—this “nature” is not just the mountains, forests, sky, or rain that surround us. It’s a word that conveys something with an inherent consciousness, something that we believe is connected to us on a deeper level. This is why, when a natural disaster occurs, the idea that it’s “nature punishing humanity” inevitably arises.

This idea stems from ancient religions that viewed humans as just one part of the natural world. Because of this, it’s easy to believe that everything in that system has its own consciousness. This is where the concept of “Yaoyorozu no Kami” (the Eight Million Gods) comes from. If you translate it literally, it seems like there are an absurd number of gods, but the “Kami” here isn’t like the absolute gods of English; it’s closer to “spirit” or “heart,” which aligns more with “nature.”

Japanese people often consider themselves non-religious. However, in reality, it could be said that we still maintain an ancient, pre-institutional Shinto worldview. In this context, we say “Itadakimasu” before every meal. This doesn’t mean we are non-religious, but rather that the concept of faith has dissolved into something “natural,” a habit that simply exists.

 Untitled, archival print on aluminium di-bond, 145.3 cm x 103.0 cm, 2023

SOU-ZOU | Imagination, Creation

Where are you right now? A room? A building? A city? A country? Or maybe the universe? Any perspective you choose is correct. In the unseen world, consciousness can freely shift its viewpoint.

The world isn’t something outside of us, but rather a projection of our own values. For example, just as some people might find spicy food sweet, each of us has different values. Therefore, the number of worlds can be as numerous as the number of people.

So, what was the beginning of this world like? Just as we imagine what dinosaurs looked like, let’s imagine the beginning of the world. Perhaps it wasn’t just imagination, but “creation.”

“Buzz? Crackle? Sparkle?”—the moment an idea is born, we call it a “flash of inspiration.” In that instant, like a burst of light in our minds, we begin to see the world through new values. Creation and imagination are moments when new perspectives on the world emerge. In other words, the beginning of the world occurs only when we become aware of it.

No matter how much data we gather, it’s still just speculation. If the only certainty in the universe is uncertainty, then even the computers processing this data are part of that uncertainty. But there is one certainty: the act of creating and imagining is the essence of what it means to be human.

 Untitled (Seescape), archival print on aluminium di-bond, 29.7 cm x 39.6 cm, 2023

Why Crabs Are Delicious

When you place a mirror in the forest, most animals cannot recognize themselves. However, we humans can identify the reflection as ourselves. The same goes for photographs—what is captured in a photo is understood to be a fragment of reality. The ability to recognize oneself as “me.” Since I became aware of the world, I have always thought of myself as “I.” But the question of when and where this consciousness emerged remains a mystery, and the very existence of that awareness is ambiguous. How certain can we be of the world we see in front of us?

“I think, therefore I am.”This famous maxim by philosopher René Descartes asserts the proof of one’s own existence. However, to think about oneself, one must first have consciousness.

Therefore, to be precise, we need to add one more thought: “But before thinking, I must exist.”

There is a theory that Homo sapiens thrived because of their ability to imagine things beyond what was directly in front of them. Who would ever think to eat the insides of a crab or a sea urchin just by looking at their exteriors? Yet, someone once dared to try, driven by curiosity. Perhaps it was a heart filled with affection for others, wishing to share such a discovery with loved ones.

What is the role of art? It might be something like the insides of a crab. Maybe someone will empathize with this far-fetched reasoning. Art’s true role might be to serve as a kind of imaginative catch-ball. Despite the hassle of cracking the hard shell, we still long to eat crab.ist.”