Like sea shells washed ashore, floating unencumbered, a fragment of time
drifts toward the depth of my consciousness.
Gazing upon the sea, I feel I may arrive at its origin from that bygone time
by retracing that which drifts from beyond.
This saga commenced with the sea and it shall end with the sea. Like the
human civilization that flourished amidst the glacial periods.
Will the splendid moon rise above the stark night sea?
—Hiroshi Sugimoto

“Every time I view the sea, I feel a calming sense of security, as if visiting my ancestral home; I embark on a voyage of seeing.”—Hiroshi Sugimoto

Throughout a formidable career that has spanned for nearly four decades, Japanese photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto has continuously explored the limits of photography, perhaps most notably in rebuking connotations of instantaneity. Over multiple bodies of work—from prehistoric dioramas to movie theatres, architectural masterpieces, wax figures and as seen in the current lot, seascapes—the artist has elegantly negated the common misconception that a camera’s strength lies in its accurate capturing of a given moment. “To me photography works as the fossilization of time,” the artist has reflected. “The accumulation of time and history becomes a negative of the image.” Awareness of the passing of time, therefore, is integral to the strength of his photographs.

In his Seascapes series, of which the current lot is a superb example, Sugimoto focused on life’s most rudimentary building blocks, water and air, for their strength as “the most abstract themes.” In preparation for each image, the artist spent anywhere between one and three weeks staying at the location, observing the sea, never from a boat, always on the ground. “I feel like I’m part of that nature and landscape,” he has explained. “I start feeling ‘This is the creation of the universe and I’m witnessing it.’” The reference to creation is noteworthy, as the series is remarkably devoid of any contemporaneous references. Sugimoto’s horizons are consistently minimalist, lacking ships, aircrafts, distant lands, birds, clouds, stars or people. They are stripped down to how the sea would have likely existed for millions of years, well before the introduction of any of the aforementioned man-made influences. Their physical presence under Sugimoto’s lens is subsequently transformed into a spiritual essence.

In Lake Superior, Cascade River, the sea and sky at first glance appear to have merged into a single entity, fully and deeply black. Indeed, they appear as a single primordial block, one in which air and water are indistinguishable. However, a closer look reveals a magnificent sliver of light on the horizon, a reflective hint of the moon’s presence. Its subtle appearance is poetic and eloquent, making itself seen only upon closer inspection and deep meditation. Under Sugimoto’s lens, Lake Superior is transformed into a Rothko Black-Form painting. Like Rothko’s late-in-life paintings, Sugimoto’s image gradually and patiently reveals subdued details, confident in its ability to seduce and slowly mesmerize the viewers. As an elegant anchor in the horizon, it asserts its presence as a reward to those who have taken the time to study it and allowed the tranquility of the image to gradually reveal its beauty and strength. “Stillness,” Sugimoto has said, “is not something that I am promoting, but most people see it. And it’s very quiet, and serene.” The gentle unfolding of the nuances embedded within the image indeed leave the viewers feeling calm, centered and appreciative of a most understated sight of timeless beauty.