Sayuka Tanaka: Finding Warmth and Intimacy in Photography

Before becoming a photographer, I worked as an interviewer with well-known figures in Japan. Over time, I began taking photographs alongside my interviews, and gradually, photography opened doors beyond the media world, connecting me with people from many different fields.

That is how I found the path to live as a photographer. When I meet someone, listening to their history and what they hold dear feels like a personal ritual to me. In the same way, through my lens I am drawn to capture the living presence of all things—whether people, landscapes, or moments that hold quiet meaning.

The award-winning series was created in a small town called Yugawara, just west of where I live in Japan. There is a place called BÉDA, surrounded by fruit trees, water, and the scent of the forest. I was immediately captivated by its atmosphere, and I photographed the landscape with an old film camera inherited from my father.


Although I have never lived abroad, the scenery evoked a sense of being in the French countryside—both familiar and foreign at the same time. Receiving this award makes me feel grateful that such a personal and intimate vision can resonate with others across cultures. It encourages me to continue creating work that preserves those fleeting moments where memory, place, and emotion intertwine.

When I choose a piece to submit to a competition, I don’t decide only by whether the image is visually striking. What matters to me is whether it carries a story, an emotion, even the trace of a scent or a sound.
For this award, I chose to submit a series. The meaning of BÉDA is not revealed in a single instant, but unfolds slowly, across multiple frames.

I believe that the quiet layering of the senses can sometimes resonate more deeply than one dazzling photograph.
In the end, I always choose the work that feels most faithful to my vision. Even if it seems modest—or even belongs to a minority point of view—I want to live with gratitude for those who connect with my innocence and see the world through it.

The first camera I ever picked up was a FUJIFILM Utsurun Desu, a disposable film camera, during my high school years. I took countless photographs of classmates, club activities, and the friends I lived with in the dormitory.


Not long after, my father passed down to me his film SLR, which he had used to photograph mountains and our family. With it, the world of film photography suddenly expanded for me, and I began to see photography not just as a memory of friends, but as a lifelong way of seeing.

I am most drawn to fine art and documentary-style photography that captures the quiet presence of life. Whether it is a person, a landscape, or even an ordinary object, I love to reveal the small moments where something fleeting becomes eternal through an image.
What moves me is not grand gestures, but subtle atmospheres—the way light falls, the way silence carries emotion, or the way a place holds its own memory. Photography allows me to stay close to these fragile yet powerful sensations, and that is why I love it.

My go-to setup is the Contax 645 with the Carl Zeiss Planar T* 80mm. I’m drawn to the way it renders distance and emotion—with a quiet restraint that feels tender, yet also infused with fragility and a sense of wavering. It reflects my own soul, which loves ambiguity and imperfection.

Intimacy—as if gently holding someone’s hand.
If someone somewhere in the world feels lonely, and through my photographs they can share even a trace of warmth, a scent, a sound, or an atmosphere, then they are no longer alone—for them, and for me as well.
To have that kind of connection through photography would truly make me happy.

The most important thing I kept in mind while photographing at BÉDA was not technical skill, but my state of mind. The place was overflowing not only with visual beauty—abundant water, trees, and kind people—but also with presence, sound, and scent.
To capture it in a way that felt true to me, I had to quiet my own expectations and intentions, and surrender to my senses. The real challenge was finding the courage not to control or perfect the image, but to trust the natural rhythm and breathing of the place itself.

I try to live my life with care, and I bring that same sensibility into my photography. Each time I take a picture, I ask myself how I truly felt in that moment, and how I can translate that emotion into an image.
I also draw inspiration from many different forms of expression. Experiencing how others feel, where that takes them, and how they choose to communicate it always broadens my own perspective.


Literature has been especially important in shaping my sensitivity. The works of Yoko Ogawa, with their quiet yet piercing insight, capture the invisible layers of human experience with warmth, and that has deeply influenced me.
Cinema has also been a strong influence—particularly the films of the Coen brothers and Giuseppe Tornatore. The way they create entire worlds through light, memory, and atmosphere resonates with what I hope to capture in my own work.

Some of the photographers I deeply admire are Coco Capitán, Erik Kessels, Kulesza & Pik, and Taro Mizutani.
What inspires me most about their work is the way they embrace fragility and playfulness in life—and how they transform those qualities into images. Their approach has had a profound influence on my own way of seeing.

What photography awards have given me is the chance to face myself, others, and the world around me. I was able to share my sensibility—with all its imperfections—with someone who took the time to judge it. And through that, my work reached eyes I might never have encountered otherwise, creating unexpected connections.
That is why I would encourage anyone who is hesitant to take the leap—because it may open doors you never imagined.

If I had to give one piece of advice, it would be to live in a way that takes care of both body and mind. Stay healthy, train your strength and reflexes, and get enough sleep. I believe that a life filled with gratitude and joy sharpens the senses and creates the foundation for meaningful photography.
It may sound extreme, but I never press the shutter when I’m sleep-deprived or when my heart is clouded by resentment.


Another important thing is to treat your equipment like a close friend or a lover—with care, trust, and devotion. Photography cannot exist without what is in front of the lens, and I believe that this spirit of respect is what allows an image to carry its soul.

Editing and post-processing, to me, are like helping a photograph find its breath.
With film, I take responsibility for refining the atmosphere from the tones returned by the lab—as someone who was truly present in that moment.


With digital, it is less about replicating objective reality and more about adjusting colour and light to align with the landscape I saw through my inner eye when pressing the shutter.
What matters most is expressing the vision I held in that inner eye. For me, editing is never about decoration or making something fashionable, but about remaining faithful to what I truly saw and felt.

Technology and AI will certainly shape the future of photography. I see them as tools for efficiency and new possibilities—ways that might allow photographers to focus more deeply on their own vision and sensitivity.
For me, however, the essence of photography lies in human senses and emotional responses. No matter how advanced AI becomes, it cannot replace the warmth of someone’s presence, the silence of a place, or the trembling of a fleeting moment.

I want to photograph as many places, landscapes, and people as I can.
Through photography—whether in my personal work or in collaborations—I hope to exchange smiles and greetings with people across many countries.
That simple act of connection is my greatest wish.