At the end of the month, I’m getting on a plane and pointing my camera at Tokyo.
Not for the checklist. Not for the souvenirs. Not even for the “iconic” shots—though I’m sure a few will find their way into my memory card whether I like it or not.
I’m going because Tokyo feels like a city built out of contrast: old and new, quiet and electric, minimal and overwhelming. And right now, contrast is exactly what I’m chasing in my own work.
I’ve been spending a lot of time lately thinking about shape, about what happens when you remove colour, and the photograph has to stand on structure alone. Tokyo—dense, graphic, layered—feels like the right place to stress-test that way of seeing.
One hotel. One home base. No chaos.
I’m basing myself in Sugamo, and I’m intentionally keeping it simple: I want a place with fast access to the rest of the city, and I want to return to the same bed every night. I’m not trying to “do Japan.” I’m trying to see Tokyo—slowly, repeatedly, with purpose.
Sugamo is also a practical choice: it plugs into Tokyo’s rail network in a way that makes early mornings and late nights feel doable instead of exhausting.
My daily rhythm: morning quiet, midday grit, night light
I’m building the trip around a rhythm that matches how I like to shoot:
- Early: 60–90 minutes of quiet streets, commuters, temples, and transitions—before the city fully turns on.
- Midday: markets, museums, neighbourhood walks—hard light is a feature, not a bug.
- Blue hour + night: reflections, stations, neon, silhouettes, and the kind of contrast that feels like it was designed for black and white.
If I do this right, I won’t come home with a thousand disconnected “nice shots.” I’ll come home with a body of work that has a consistent visual language.
Three mini-projects to keep me honest
When I travel, I’m at risk of becoming a collector—grabbing anything interesting and calling it a day. Mini-projects fix that. They give me a filter.
Here are the three I’m taking with me:
1) Yamanote Faces (without faces)
Hands, shoes, bags, gestures, posture, rhythm—human presence without needing to make it about identity. The “city portrait” told through fragments.
2) Old vs New diptychs
Each day, I want at least one pair: a traditional scene and a modern echo. Not as a gimmick—more as a way to teach my eye to look for visual rhyme.
3) Reflections of Tokyo
Train windows. Storefronts. Glass towers. Puddles. Polished floors. Anything that turns reality into a layered double exposure without Photoshop.
The plan: neighbourhoods, not boxes to be checked
I’m not going to publish a day-by-day schedule here (that’s for my notebook), but the shape of the trip looks like this:
Arrival: a small loop close to the hotel
No heroics. No “I must go to Shibuya immediately.” I’ll check in, shake the flight out of my legs, and do a short local walk—something low-stress that lets the camera warm up with me.
Asakusa + the river: traditional Tokyo, then night atmosphere
I want an early, clean pass through the classic spaces—then I want to return after dark when the mood changes and the light does half the storytelling for you.
Meiji Jingu → Harajuku → Shibuya → Shinjuku
Forest light and shrine geometry, then design and fashion energy, then pure motion and density. This is the “shape-first” day—the day I let silhouettes, movement, and contrast do the heavy lifting.
Ueno + Ameyoko: texture, hands, steam, tight frames
Markets are a gift if you shoot with intent. This is a day for details, gestures, layers, and letting the frame get busy—without becoming messy.
Bullet train day: Japan at two speeds
One day I’m leaving Tokyo by Shinkansen—partly because I want the experience, and partly because the design language of the train itself is a photography lesson: minimalism, motion, precision, restraint.
Odaiba: clean architecture and waterfront reflections
A recovery day with wide-open compositions and modern lines—plus night reflections that beg for slower shutter speeds and steadier hands.
Ginza + Yurakucho + Tokyo Station: polish vs grit
Luxury storefront geometry, then under-the-tracks lived-in texture, then a final hit of classic architecture at night. Tokyo as contradiction—beautifully stitched together.
Fuji view day trip (weather-dependent)
If the forecast cooperates, I’ll chase a view. But the real goal isn’t the postcard—it’s seeing how I translate “iconic” into something that still feels like me.
Flex day: reshoot, edit, fill gaps
This is an “adult” move: a day to revisit what worked, fix what didn’t, and build cohesion. I want time to breathe and time to think, not just time to move.
Departure day: a bookend set
Before I leave, I want to repeat a few scenes from the beginning—on purpose. Same place, different light, different me. Closure frames matter.
The boring discipline that makes the trip work
I’m packing a couple of small habits that matter more than any lens choice: Each night: dump my memory cards, star 10–20 selections, and write down two reshoot goals for the next day.
The point is to stay intentional. Travel photography gets better the moment you stop treating each day like it’s a separate universe.
What I’m really going to collect
Yes, I’m going to collect frames.
But what I’m really going to collect is evidence of growth: proof that my eye is changing, that my work is getting more consistent, that I’m learning how to build a set instead of hoping I get lucky.
Tokyo is going to give me more subject matter than I can possibly photograph. That’s not the challenge.
The challenge is deciding what to ignore.
And that’s the whole point of going.
I’ll be heading out at the end of the month—and I’m going in with a plan, a few small creative constraints, and a very clear intention: come back with a cohesive story, not just a memory card full of snaps.