Sea of Japan, Oki, Hiroshi Sugimoto, 1987

I first encountered Hiroshi Sugimoto’s “Seascapes” during a conversation with a friend who transcended our age difference. His mother had passed away six years ago, and his father had recently departed. He said, “I never had the chance to properly appreciate the ‘Seascape’ hanging in my room until the day my father passed away. After a long day of funeral arrangements, in the deep quiet of night when I was finally alone, I made tea, turned off all unnecessary lights, and quietly gazed at Sugimoto’s sea. I felt my body and mind completely relax, as if I finally understood the meaning of ‘dependent origination and emptiness.’”

As Buddha says, “The world is not the world, that is why it is called the world.” (佛说世界,即非世界,是名世界。)

At that time, I couldn’t fully comprehend his enlightenment. Years later today, Sugimoto’s sea serves as a bridge, transporting me back to those memories. Having now experienced the loss of loved ones and the pain of growth myself, while I’m far from achieving the state of perfect understanding of causality, I can sense a form of eternity that transcends both the tangible and illusory in this blurry, dark meeting of sea and sky.

According to Sugimoto himself, the Seascapes series originated from a thought he had while living in New York in 1980: “Do people today see the same things as prehistoric humans?” With this idea in mind, Sugimoto initially considered photographing Mount Fuji and Nachi Falls in Japan. However, when he climbed Mount Fuji to prepare for shooting, he realized that mountains and rivers had actually changed dramatically over millions of years. The only thing that remained unchanged was the sea. Thus, he began creating his most famous series, “Seascapes,” focusing on the ancient ocean.

As you can see, almost all works in the Seascapes series appear “identical” with extremely simple composition: just the ocean, sky, and horizon line, only black, white, and gray, along with the texture created by gelatin silver on photographic paper. Yet upon closer inspection, each photograph is far from monotonous or repetitive, containing potential for infinite variations within its tranquility and embodying an Eastern Zen perspective. Sugimoto has often expressed his admiration for Song Dynasty painter Ma Yuan’s works, and many people find similarities between the Seascapes series and Ma Yuan’s “Water Studies.”

Picture of Water, Ma Yuan, Southern Song Dynasty

While they may appear similar in content, I believe they differ significantly in philosophical implications. Ma Yuan’s “Water Studies” uses water as a metaphor for the Dao, with brushstrokes depicting various states of water, adapting to circumstances and following natural flow. Its somewhat abstract, freehand style reflects the Daoist view of life as uninhibited and accepting. In contrast, “Seascapes” uses concrete, realistic modern photography to express a sensitive “mono no aware” (awareness of impermanence). As Susan Sontag mentioned in “On Photography”: the reality expressed by cameras necessarily conceals more than it reveals. Under the theme of time and eternity lies a hidden lamentation or contemplation, and such emotional response depends on the viewer’s inner world.

Unlike other contemporary photographers, Sugimoto prefers film and traditional photography techniques. When shooting seascapes, he sets his camera’s focus to infinity and uses long exposure times. He explains this choice: “The human eye, without a shutter mechanism, can only adapt to long exposure. From the moment of birth until closing one’s eyes on the deathbed, human eyes have just this one exposure time.” This shows how Sugimoto views photography as a form of “installation” art, infused with the artist’s “actions.” After shooting, like complex darkroom techniques, from development to fixing, each step is methodical. His orderly shooting approach matches the steady, solid quality of the final images, seemingly critiquing digital technology and today’s fast-paced world. This represents his respect for photography, treating both the initial conceptual thinking and subsequent refinement process with meticulous care to achieve extremely high quality in his works, revealing the temporal texture of each silver halide grain on the photographic paper.

I’d also like to recommend a “seascape” Sugimoto shot in 1993, which differs from the others. It’s the only piece where the sea and sky aren’t divided in the middle of the frame, titled “Tyrrhenian Sea, Mount Polo 1993.”

Tyrrhenian Sea, Mount Polo (Morning, day, night), Hiroshi Sugimoto, 1993

This work differs from other “bisected” seascapes because it clearly shows the aesthetic inheritance of Color Field painting. Mark Rothko is a well-known master of Color Field painting, and one can see similar artistic approaches between their works. This explains why Sugimoto’s exhibition layouts are similar to those of Color Field painters: first, the images are large, at least one meter in dimension; second, they’re displayed without glass so viewers can examine details up close; finally, galleries are typically dimly lit. When I gaze at Sugimoto’s Seascapes series for extended periods, I often forget their representational photographic elements of sea and sky, instead falling into contemplation amid pure color fields, an experience very similar to viewing Color Field paintings.

No.14, 1960, Marko Rothko, 1960, SFMOMA

Photography has evolved continuously since Vertov’s era, no longer serving as a subsidiary or substitute for traditional art forms. Artists like Sugimoto have transformed photography into a unique artistic expression. I don’t intend to deify anyone, but I’m grateful and respectful of how Sugimoto has realized art’s true and highest purpose. Perhaps on some deep night, that mystical, empty sea will again redeem some souls ready to cross over.

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