Lessons in light from a Japanese novelist, for modern design professionals
The other day while plant shopping, I picked up a plant book. It’s name (and frankly, the subject matter) was wasted on me as my interest was hijacked by a quote from another book on its back cover.
If light is scarce, then light is scarce; we will immerse ourselves in the darkness and there discover its own particular beauty.
As an interior design photographer whose style relies on moody, contrasty compositions, a search began. The quote was an excerpt from In Praise of Shadows and it arrived on my porch, package smiling, the very next afternoon.
A brief piece published in 1933 by Jun’ichirō Tanizaki (with recent printings featuring a foreword from Charles Moore, Head of UCLA Architecture), it’s a beautifully meditative exploration of light, shadow, and the interplay between the two in context of traditional Japanese aesthetic principles. Tanizaki describes the Japanese’ reverence for shadow and the intimate quality it brings to architecture and interiors (right down to toilets), then juxtaposes the West’s affinity with gleaming bright lighting. Such light that prioritises function over form, often does so at the cost of erasing shadow and thus flattening the depth and emotional atmosphere of a space. And as a photographer, I found it an indispensable manifesto for understanding the power of darkness in creating that elusive sense of moodiness, an element so integral to the practice of photography, just as is is to interior design.
Tanizaki’s observations of how light interacts with textures, materials, and the spaces around them should also resonate deeply with anyone who designs or curates interiors. The gentle way light softens the roughness of wood, or how it can make the polished surface of a lacquered bowl feel intimate and tactile, serves as a nudge to the beauty that lies in the understated. His appreciation of traditional Japanese architecture and interiors rounded out my perspective on shadow versus light: That rather than being opposing forces, they can and should coexist in balance. The dynamic play between the two is vital when designing and photographing a room, as it’s not just the furnishings or the layout that evoke feeling: it’s the light filtering through a window, or the shadows cast by a piece of sculpture, that imbues an energy into a space. And for photographers like me, it serves as an instructive reminder that we are not just capturing light and composing for darkness; we are attempting to transmute, and impress upon the viewer, the energy of a space on a two-dimensional plane.
Tanizaki presents a compelling critique of Western design’s almost compulsive tendency to make a room “bright and airy”; arguing that light is best left to fall softly, letting shadows do their part in deepening the dweller’s experience. In Praise of Shadows calls us to slow down and appreciate how imbuing a space with light, and the shadows that fall from it, transforms a space, particularly throughout the course of a day. It is a call to embrace nuance, an incredibly resonant concept in design and photography. Shadows are not necessarily to be “pushed” out in postproduction, but to be celebrated as part of the broader interplay between light, space, and time.