Discover more from 200 words about culture
There’s this account I follow, some photographer in Japan. They post beautiful pictures of a city at night. Purple and blue harbors made out of shadows, vending machines lit up against dark cubic midrises. I bought a book of their photos just as the pandemic was arriving, as Japan stopped mailing stuff to America. Between April and August, I received this email five times: “Currently, all international shipping is stopped due to the coronavirus, so we cannot ship it. We don't know when it will be restored. Please wait a little longer… I wish you all good health from Japan.” It showed up some time in September, perfect: a feeling from somewhere I don’t know and probably won’t ever visit, couldn’t visit even if I wanted to. Foreign yet soothingly ordinary. A line of tail lights on a city street, the moon over a gas station. Leafing through the book feels like being transported to a place you already live, or that you remember from dreams. I haven’t gone anywhere for over a year, but I’ve gone there.