Yet despite their cultural significance, the heyday of these once futuristic living spaces is now long gone, as population decline, the age of the structures, and a general predominance of elderly occupants means it’s not unusual to see such apartment buildings slowly emptying. A process of gradual decay and abandonment that eventually leads to demolition. All of which is a far cry from the modern, almost utopian beginnings of danchi, and a fate that will also befall the former homes in this series.

Built between 1970 and 1975, the complex totals 73 buildings, which amounted to 300 individual units and a peak population of 1,000 people. A number that fell to zero only in March this year, which considering the overgrown state of the location, is a lot more recent than one would imagine — especially as the calendar in the last photo dates back to 2001.

Aimed primarily at newlyweds of the second postwar baby boom, the apartments had extra appeal as the area was flourishing with a plentiful supply of nearby factory work. However, from the turn of the century onwards, employment options started to dry up, resulting in a gradual dwindling of residents — both in the danchi and the city it’s located in.

All of which eventually culminated in the abandoned scenes in the photos. A place that at the same time still has several occupied and privately owned residences around it. Plus the roads remain clear for cars and pedestrians. That said, on the day I was there, I saw no vehicles and only one person. The man in the 3rd frame. Otherwise it was several hours of quiet melancholy and a palpable sense of the past.

That somewhat grumpy appearance, however, was shyness more than anything, so eventually spending some time there really was a treat. A place as tiny as it was untidy.

Wandering by again a while ago, I expected to see the owner sat outside reading or listening to his portable radio. Sadly he was nowhere to be seen, and worse, the bar looked like it might have closed down. That said, due to its decidedly shabby appearance, it was genuinely difficult to say for sure. The weather wasn’t great either, which could well have explained the man’s absence.

Then, on a return trip just recently, the owner was there once again. Reassuringly reading as usual. Only this time he was sat across from, rather than in front of his bar. A conscious decision perhaps, as he confirmed the bar was indeed no more. He’d closed down for good a couple of years back. A well deserved retirement after 3 decades in business. News that was nice to hear as well as making my one and only visit feel all the more special.

So this then is my ongoing collection, which includes some new finds, old faves, and one that was both revisited and re-shot.

These then are some such sightings captured over the last few weeks, with the ultranationalist sweet potato seller being an especially timely addition, as my latest newsletter covers Yasukuni Shrine’s recent ban on military uniforms, along with cosplay in general. It’s here should you be interested.

Of this little collection, the overgrown toy and stationary shop is an old favourite, but it was especially pleasing to get the flowers in full bloom and the owner in a nicely matching outfit. Also, capturing the man exiting his far-right, Japanese First poster emblazoned building was satisfying in a very different way.

Those two, and indeed all the rest, were taken on a couple of meandering walks towards the end of June.

A realisation that gradually turned into a more considered way of working, and this small series of photographs is in many ways a culmination of that process. The complete documentation from old to new. Now and then.

Nowadays, however, that once state-of-the-art design is looking more than a little dated, although unlike many hotels of its generation, the Hatoya has somehow managed to survive. As have many of the original fittings and furniture. Even an on-site fire truck. All of which make a stay there akin to stepping back in time.

I’d first seen the hotel when passing through the area several years ago — its rusting and iconic sign creating quite an impression. So much so in fact that I made a promise to go back and stay there. A commitment I finally made good on a few weeks back.

It should be said that for some, the hotel’s worn and faded nature will likely disappoint, with any sense of luxury having long since gone. But for what is essentially a journey back to Showa era Japan, the Hatoya provides an experience like no other.

The rest of the photos are mostly made up of those previously seen locations, but on the day they were all taken, the light and people were different than on other days.

On a similar theme, my latest newsletter is out, featuring a deep dive into Japanese public housing (danchi). A look at the social history of such structures, along with a series of photographs from a location I’ve returned to more than a few times. It’s here, along with all the other editions if you are interested.

For me though, simple, everyday moments mean much more. Especially so when put together, creating documents of a day, area or even time period. This then is a series of such photos. All of them taken on a Tokyo walk in early June.

On a recent visit, however, I was fortunate enough to witness an unexpected event of a much more traditional nature. A festival. One both in and outside a shrine. So these then are some of the people I saw.

This set, however, is a bit different. In many ways it’s all of the above, but most of all it’s simply a number of images from the last month or so. Scenes that in many ways aren’t connected, but at the same time they are in regards the areas and themes they cover.

Having said all that, it’s also an escape of sorts, as there’s a very real element of mindfulness about being out walking with a camera. Problems and worries recede, leaving only awareness of the light, environment and moments worth trying to capture.

The photos here then were taken on such a walk. A long meander that took in several north Tokyo neighbourhoods, along with a visit to a previously featured sweet shop run by a man who is now only 2 years shy of becoming a centenarian. A little place he still opens daily, just like he’s done for the last 77 years.

It is though a part of the capital that keeps on giving, and wandering the area for just a few hours last week, I was reminded once again why I keep returning.

All of which brings me to the series shown here. A set of images from a small warren of interconnected Shinjuku alleyways that I’ve been photographing for a decade. And on a wander there last week, I took the opening photo. A shot I’ve long been hoping for, and the moment I pressed the shutter, it felt like the collection was complete. Or at least as complete as such a series can be. So for now at least, this is what I have. A little bit of Shinjuku from 2016 to 2026.

However, several weeks ago I took the first picture in this set, which piqued my interest and set me on a mission of sorts to get more, culminating in this little series. Something a bit different form my usual work, and to end the collection, there’s a similarly unusual photo of me. A portrait produced back in 2021.

That said, there is thankfully still a lot of history left to see and enjoy, so for something of a change from the more regular scenes of before and after, here are some survivors, all of which were shot very recently.

First is a traditional shoe shop that has been open for a century. It’s now in the hands of its 3rd generation owner, with the 4th already working there and preparing to take over.

Then there’s a similarly aged liquor store run by an 85-year-old who’s also the 3rd generation proprietor. For added interest, the building it’s housed in is even older. Quite something for a wooden structure, particularly so in a city that was heavily firebombed and is prone to both earthquakes and typhoons.

Lastly is a neighbourhood fishmonger that I first photographed in 2020, so I’ve included that shot as well — a memory that made seeing the place still operational even nicer.

The shop was founded by the current owner’s father in 1935. Sadly he died young, so his even younger son took over. That was in 1953, and now, 73 years later, that once fresh-faced youngster is still working there at the ripe old age of 89.