Platinum, Washi, and the Divine: The Sacred Photography of Nobuyuki Kobayashi

Transmission 378: Interview with Nobuyuki Kobayashi

Nobuyuki Kobayashi was a commercial and fashion photographer in Tokyo but he decided to walk away from the ephemeral glitter of the runway to undertake a deeply spiritual mission: capturing the ‘portraits’ of the ancient gods that dwell within the Japanese wilderness. We live in an era of the disposable image, where landscapes are captured in fractions of a second on smartphones, filtered with effects, posted on social media, and instantly forgotten and buried by similar images. The work of Nobuyuki Kobayashi demands that we stop, breathe, and operate on an entirely different scale of time. Grounded in Shinto animism, his photographs do not treat trees, rivers, or stones as passive backgrounds, but as living, breathing subjects.

He works in a contemplative, respectful tone, creating images that exist somewhere between landscape, memory, and spiritual encounter. His photographs are less about documenting nature than conversing with it; he wanders the mountains until the landscape itself grants him permission to shoot. Working primarily with platinum palladium printing on handmade washi paper, Nobuyuki Kobayashi transforms photographs of forests, mountains, water, and stone into meditative signs of the deities that feel like traces of myriad gods. His working method is an exercise in extreme patience: he photographs with a heavy, large-format 8×10 camera, hand-coats his emulsions, and prints exclusively on traditional Hosokawa Washi, a Japanese mulberry paper made using a 1,300-year-old technique, which he allows to age and mature in his studio for three to five years before use. Because he prints using platinum palladium, these breathtaking, velvety black-and-white images will not fade or decay. Nobuyuki Kobayashi is a photographer, an artist, and also an alchemist, a messenger, and a shaman who, through his meticulous shots, allows those who observe them to draw closer to the nature of the divine. His major acclaimed monographs include ‘Portrait of Nature ~Myriads of Gods’ and its sequel, ‘Quiet Beauty’ (Yu-Gen). 

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In the 1990s, you shot fashion and commercial portraits, a world focused with fleeting human trends, youth, and standardized beauty. When you shifted to taking “portraits of gods” within the wild, organic chaos of nature, did you have to unlearn how you look at a subject? How does one direct or frame a deity compared to a human model?

If asked whether I changed my “perspective on viewing subjects”, I might say that I secretly did. This is because, in commercial photography at the time, I couldn’t deny that I was shooting within various constraints. However, when I stepped out of that realm and began to confront nature purely of my own free will, I think I was able to see and accept “nature as the subject” — in other words, “Gods” — for the first time, without any pretense or staging. Rather, since the subject was “God” and not a model or actor, I made every effort to eliminate any staging elements and to photograph it as it was. The key point is “being allowed to photograph” rather than “taking a photograph”. With a “taking a photograph” attitude, my own ego, or human ego, inevitably comes through. But when I adopted a passive attitude of “being allowed to photograph,” that is, when I faced the subject with a humble heart, I remember being able to shoot with a different feeling than in commercial photography. In that sense, it might be more accurate to say that “my feelings changed” or “my approach to photography changed” rather than “my perspective changed”.

Guided by the Shinto concept , which views every rock, stream, and ancient tree as a living vessel for the divine, he began a long journey to capture the “portraits” of these nature deities

However, when it comes to determining the “composition”, I followed the concept of “pagination” that I cultivated during my time shooting for magazines, determining the angle of view and framing accordingly. Unlike fashion photography, trees and rocks don’t have significant differences or individual characteristics, and I was careful not to use similar compositions, considering how the works would “look” when displayed together.

That being said, I eliminated “special effects” created by lens characteristics. In other words, distortion effects using wide-angle lenses and compression effects using telephoto lenses were out of the question; I shot with a standard perspective close to what the human eye sees. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I use an 8×10 size view camera. No matter the situation, by moving the front and back plates of the camera, I eliminate distortion of the subject and always shoot in a state where I’m facing the subject directly, so as not to be disrespectful to God. Therefore, I think that people who view my work will always feel as if they are facing God directly.

His philosophy directly informs his meticulous platinum palladium printing on traditional washi paper.

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Historically, the Japanese shaped their culture by honoring and coexisting with nature. Today, few remember this ancient truth: that water is the source of life, and that gods dwell within the mountains, rocks, and trees. Can you describe a specific moment when you felt a sudden, distinct divine call that invited you to capture a landscape?

Unfortunately, I agree. That’s precisely why I decided to name the project Portraits of Nature and choose “The Myriads of Gods” as its theme.

When I was younger, I spent about four years backpacking around Asia. During that time, I witnessed many political riots and border conflicts. One of the things I felt there was the issue of religion. Specifically, I was made to think deeply about “why do religious conflicts occur? (Of course, these are also ethnic and territorial issues…)”. Fortunately, Japan has a polytheistic culture. If conflicts arise between monotheistic religions, what would happen if I spread the ideas of polytheism? This thought took root in my mind. By the time my wandering period ended, I had firmly decided that I wanted to photograph “gods found in nature”. In other words, at first, it was largely a trial-based project tied to such experiences. However, that feeling grew stronger over time, and before I knew it, I was creating works based on my convictions. Therefore, it wasn’t some joyful event like a “call from God” that led me to photograph nature; rather, it was an extremely spontaneous and natural impulse from my heart that caused me to start photographing nature.

However, a particular photo shoot transformed that impulse into conviction. I will elaborate on this later, but in any case, for me at the time, who was photographing without a concrete image, the encounter with a certain “rock,” and the act of photographing that rock, solidified the concept of Portraits of Nature, and established the style of “portrait photography of Gods”. In that sense, it might have been the moment when that “rock = God” encouraged me to “approach it with confidence”.

Many of his images are conceived as “portraits of gods” rather than traditional landscapes.

Conversely, have you ever encountered a breathtaking scene where you set up your massive 8×10 camera, only to feel an absolute refusal or closed door from the spirit of that place?

I’ve never felt “rejected”. However, there have been many times when I’ve had to set up my camera again on a different day. I don’t see that as “rejection”, but rather as simply a matter of not being able to establish the right relationship between myself and the subject at that particular moment. Perhaps I wasn’t in the mood, or I wasn’t mentally prepared to face the subject. So, when I’ve set up my camera but haven’t been able to take a picture, I accept that the synchronization between me and the subject was low, apologize to them, pack up my equipment, promise to return, and head home.

The “synaptic” connections that cover the mountains and the entire region instantly convey my feelings and attitude to the area and the trees, so I feel that respect for nature and a calm state of mind are paramount. In fact, when I venture deep into nature, I strongly feel that this kind of communication is taking place.

Your imagery evokes immense peace, stillness, and grace. Yet, in Japanese culture, the awareness of nature is also deeply tied to its destructive power, from earthquakes to tsunamis. How do you personally balance and reconcile nature’s violent, destructive side with the quiet elegance (Yūgen) you choose to capture?

Certainly, we cannot ignore the threats of earthquakes and tsunamis as one aspect of nature. Rather, I believe we need to view these phenomena (not scientifically) as an aspect of nature worship. In Japan, there is a history of feeling and accepting such threats as “awe,” which has led to respect for nature and humble behavior. It is because we feel “awe” that we have protected the traditions left behind by our ancestors and aimed for coexistence with nature. Yes, in Japan, there are voices that desire coexistence with nature, but there is absolutely no consciousness of dominating or controlling nature. Therefore, when I venture into nature, I always act with the awareness that peace and threat are two sides of the same coin. I even think that it is disrespectful to nature to enter the mountains without feeling awe. Because nature is scary, I feel that it is necessary to respect and cherish it.

For this reason, I also photograph the threats of nature. For example, when the Great East Japan Earthquake occurred in 2011, I went to the site every weekend and continued to take pictures for a year. Those were days when I was acutely aware of my own powerlessness after witnessing the terrifying energy of nature. But it is precisely because I know such scenes that I want to capture the other side of nature, “calmness and grace”, in my work. However, perhaps because my feelings during the shoot are subtly present, some people who look at my work sense that “awe” of nature. The fact that there are people who can pick up on that emotional aspect is my greatest joy in creating art.

His artistic practice is as much an act of slow devotion as it is craftsmanship. 

Photography is an entirely visual medium, but Shinto spirituality is felt through sound (the rush of wind), smell (damp moss), the cycles of nature, and thermal elements like heat and cold. When you wander through the mountains or by streams, how do you follow your five senses to translate a non-visual sense into a black-and-white platinum print?

Paradoxically, for me, a “good photograph” is one that “engages the viewer’s five senses”. For example, when looking at my work, if a person feels the wind, smells the air, senses the humidity, perceives the colors, and wants to touch it, and their five senses are stirred, they experience a moment of pleasant excitement — that’s what I consider wonderful. As I walk through the mountains and rivers, taking photographs with this wish in mind, these sensory elements may be woven into the prints themselves.

On a technical note, as you know, I use washi paper as the support for my prints. Each individual fiber of this washi paper, linked to the expressive power of platinum prints, can be said to bring about an atmosphere that cannot be conveyed with silver halide or pigment prints. For example, most commercially available “photographic paper” has a smooth surface. It may be difficult to perceive the sense of realism at the time of shooting from a smooth material. In digital photography, where you can express everything from dark to bright areas by changing the tone curve, faithfully reproducing the texture and presence of a subject may be extremely difficult. Perhaps it’s because of these feelings that I’m so particular about the texture and feel of analog materials. And perhaps it’s because prints are composed of analog elements that they engage the senses of those who see them. That’s why, sadly, the effect of my work might be halved if you don’t see it in person (haha).

You famously let your Hosokawa Washi paper dry and age for three to five years after acquiring it before you even begin printing. How does the paper ‘change’ or mature during this period of waiting? Do you feel you are matching the patience of the nature you photograph with the patience of your art choice and practice?

Washi paper becomes “tighter” after being left to age (dried and matured) for several years. This tightening increases its strength and makes it less likely to dissolve in water. Conversely, if you immerse freshly made washi paper in water, it will dissolve immediately. Incidentally, here’s an interesting story. According to a papermaker (washi craftsman), “the wood fibers that make washi paper remember that they were originally wood and that they were broken down into ‘fibers’ in water, and they try to return to water immediately”. In other words, several years are needed to make the wood fibers “aware that they have become paper” and to keep them as paper without returning to water. It’s an episode that shows the craftsman’s love for washi paper making. And when I work with washi paper in print creation, I certainly feel this to be true. It’s a fact that loose washi paper falls apart immediately when placed in water. And I can also tell this by the feel of the washi paper when I touch it. Washi paper that hasn’t been aged for long lacks firmness and feels somewhat fluffy. Furthermore, the surface fibers are prone to fraying, significantly impacting the print quality. However, properly aged paper has firmness and resilience, resulting in a lustrous sheen on each fiber and a superior finish. Of course, there’s no surface fraying. For these reasons, I now only use washi paper that has been aged for three years or more.

And for me, “waiting for the right shutter timing” during photography and “waiting for the material to mature and become usable” are synonymous. Waiting for that “now!” moment is perhaps one of my “particularities” in creating my artwork.

In the context of Wabi-Sabi, you deliberately leave the irregular, raw rims of the hand-coated platinum/palladium emulsion visible around your images. How do you decide when an irregularity beautifully frames a ‘god’ versus when it distracts from it? Is there a dialogue between your control as a craftsman and the paper’s raw will?

That’s a fun question! Indeed, my work features black lines that outline the images. Of course, since these lines are created by hand-coating, they are irregular. Perhaps some people might find these lines distracting. However, for me, these irregular lines are absolutely essential. That’s because I don’t try to control everything 100% perfectly, either during shooting or when making prints. Rather, I try to prepare and control 99% as much as possible, and leave the remaining 1% to chance or luck. This is because a work that is 100% controlled ultimately cannot break through my own limitations and remains small and confined within the range I have anticipated. However, by leaving even just 1% to chance and other factors, the work often yields an unexpected, good outcome. After all, I’m photographing “God,” so I don’t think it’s good for it to stay within expectations (haha).

Therefore, I always hope for such chance occurrences and a kind of “miracle,” and I prepare and wait for that to happen. In other words, perhaps a dialogue with God (the subject and its surrounding environment) takes place within that 1% margin. It’s okay if the “99% preparation” is wasted for the dialogue. Because if, in exchange for that 99%, a 100% situation full of chance and miracles unfolds before me, then I believe that is proof that I have been accepted by Gods and by nature itself. Paradoxically, without that 99% of prior preparation and anticipated imagery, it would be difficult to deal with, or rather, not even notice, the chance occurrences that actually happen before me. In that sense, rather than asking myself whether I have a dialogue with washi paper as a craftsman, I audaciously try to think that there is a dialogue with the subject “Gods”, from beginning to end, and that any chance occurrences that may occur are “guided by Gods” (haha).

Is there a photo you especially connect with? Can you share its story and why it holds special meaning for you? What is something nature understands that humans keep forgetting, which was revealed to you through this shot?

Yes, there is. It’s a photograph of a “rock” that’s also on the cover of my first photobook. I’ve mentioned this “rock” in the previous question, but encountering and photographing it firmed my thoughts and the concept of my work. This is because the encounter with this rock was a moment when I strongly felt that I was “guided”, and it was something I arrived at while wandering aimlessly, and it was something that made me understand the reason why I was able to reach it, making me think, “So that’s it…” That’s why it’s no exaggeration to say that this photograph is my “best”.

When I encountered it, I was not only surprised, but also so moved that I was brought to tears. The impact was so great that my body trembled for a long time afterward. Even now, I remember that feeling vividly. And the next morning, during the photoshoot for the rock, a miracle far beyond my imagination occurred. At that point, there was no room for doubt. I realized that the act of photography itself was a “dialogue with Gods”. At the same time, I was reminded that I was being allowed to photograph Gods, and my gratitude was endless. This whole sequence of events is a “special reason” for me.

And I titled the photograph Zen / 然. “Zen / 然” simply means “it is so”. In addition, in Buddhism, it means “naturally so”, referring to the true state of things as they are, completely free from human intervention or manipulation (calculations of gain or loss, or forced control). “It’s good just the way it is”, “It’s beautiful just being there” — witnessing such a state without any artifice or staging, and wishing to be like that myself, is why I titled it Zen / 然. It’s my truly finest work.

Many contemporary photographers chase novelty. Your work feels devoted to attention. Which matters more: patience or sensitivity? Is attention becoming a lost artistic skill?

I would be happy if people could feel the “dedication” in my work. It may be natural in this era to pursue novelty, but at the same time, I believe that pursuing and delving into the good old things is also important. I remember when I entered photography school, the principal said at the entrance ceremony: “From now on, it’s the digital age”. At that moment, I thought, “If everyone is seeking digital, then I’ll try to master analog”. And that way of thinking has remained unchanged to this day. I’ve had that mindset from the very beginning of my photography journey, so I’ve never avoided things that were time-consuming or troublesome. Rather, I think I’ve actively tackled them. So, perhaps “patience” is something I acquired quite naturally. Therefore, for me, “patience” is not something painful, but a necessary element in pursuing my ideals, so I have never compared it to “sensitivity” in the past. However, if I were forced to compare the two, I think “sensitivity” would be more important. After all, “sensitivity” is the starting point for all creative work. It’s like starting the creative process based on one’s sensitivity, and then needing patience along the way. But I think that “patience” and “perseverance” are also “talents” in a different sense. No matter how rich in sensibilities a person is, if they can’t persevere, no work will be created. So my answer would be that both “patience” and “sensitivity” are important (haha).

And as you suspected, “attention to detail” in creative work may be a skill that is gradually being lost. It even seems that there are more and more people who don’t notice the “attention to detail”, no matter how much attention I put into it. But that doesn’t mean I can abandon “attention to detail”. Because I believe that “attention to detail” is the lifeline for an artist to live as an artist. “Attention to detail” is an artist’s policy and style. It is also an artist’s way of life and philosophy of life. Without it, there may be no point in creating and publishing works to the world in the first place. I think it’s that important.

Now we are in the age of AI, and countless automatically generated images are produced, but they are all just imitations that have come out of the average. Because AI does not possess “attention to detail.” In other words, I think that in the future, when works are evaluated, “attention to detail” will become one of the criteria for value. Because the more “attention to detail” is lost, the more “value” will be found in it, which is also a constant of the times.

We live in a time of hyper-fast, disposable digital images, AI-generated landscapes, and instant gratification. Your work is the antithesis of this. How does the physical, laborious act of analog alternative printing maintain a sense of hope when standing in a rapidly changing world that is losing its grip on the tactile and the sacred?

“The antithesis?” Yes, I think so. After all, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve been aiming to establish that position (haha). There are quite a few people who ridicule it as “a foolish act” or “a lonely battle,” but I don’t care about such evaluations or reputations at all. Rather, I feel lucky. Of course, if the need disappears, most of the products will no longer be sold, and everything that is needed will have to be handmade. But if I can continue that work without finding it burdensome… I might eventually be given the title of “the only one in the world”. However, if there is no one who sees value in that, such a title will be nothing more than a piece of paper (haha). So I think a sense of balance in measuring the era and the needs is necessary.

But times change. As the term “nostalgia” suggests, when digital becomes prevalent, people will feel warmth in analog, and when AI rises, conversely, human touch will be sought after. In other words, as an artist, their principles, philosophy, and convictions are important, and I feel that possessing that sensibility is “hope” for the future.

In Japan, there’s a proverb that says, “A samurai may starve, but he still picks his teeth with pride”. It means “Even in dire circumstances, maintain your dignity,” and I quite like this saying. Rather than being swept away by the times and simply consumed as a photographer, even if life is difficult, I want to continue photographing what I want to photograph and creating what I want to create with unwavering pride and conviction.

And finally, if there’s one more thing I’d like to add — I have a personality that allows me to fully enjoy this kind of solitary and often perceived as difficult creative activity. Perhaps this is a true “talent” that God has bestowed upon me.

Photos courtesy of © Nobuyuki Kobayashi

Dominique Musorrafiti

Ciao! My name is Dominique. I’m Italian and I’m proud to be a mix. My father was an Italian chemical engineer and high school teacher, with Greek and Polish heritage. My mother is Haitian, she was high school language teacher, with Dominican, Spanish, French, Portuguese, African and Native American heritage. Being a mix makes me appreciate to want to understand different cultures and lifestyles. I grew up in Italy, lived few years in Haiti, travel around main European capitals, lived many years in China, in Spain and UK. Traveling makes me feel that we can learn something from every situation in every part of the world.