Kohei Yoshiyuki

When I was maybe twelve, the neighbor across the street showered at seven every night with the curtains completely open. My uncle gave me binoculars for Christmas—nice ones—and for a couple years, seven o’clock was the only moment that made my days worth anything. Everything else was just background. I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing in any real way. It was just want, and proximity.

I came across Kohei Yoshiyuki sometime after that. He’d done the same basic thing but made it his actual work. Prowling parks at night with an infrared camera, shooting people who didn’t know they were being photographed. Couples, strangers, whoever. The work ended up in galleries—MoMA, institutions in Tokyo—and suddenly it had context and a name and permission.

What stays with me is how little separates those two things. The impulse is identical. The method is the same. The only real difference is that his ended up on a gallery wall, which apparently changes what it means to call it. I understand why that would matter, why seeing someone like you get called an artist instead of just…that would be validating. If it happened, maybe you’d feel less alone with it.

But I also know the people in those photographs didn’t consent to being there, and a frame and a gallery and a critical distance don’t change that. It’s the same thing. Same violation.

It’s one of those things you think about and don’t land on anything useful.