Mother's Covers

Shitamichi Motoyuki 

In 2012, after my marriage, my wife and I moved into her mother's house in Aichi.
It was the first place I called home after moving out of my small Tokyo apartment, where l'd lived for over ten years since starting art school.
The house in Aichi was a beautiful time-worn place, filled with carefully built-in furniture, all designed by my wife's grandfather, an architect.
I began sharing meals with my wife and mother-in-law ── a rare kind of family time I hadn't had since high school. I was becoming part of a new family.
Naturally, there were different customs, little things that puzzled me. Where to find things, where to put them back, what to add to the miso soup...
Each day brought new discoveries, and I felt like a stray cat wandering in and out of the house, or like someone who'd washed ashore on a small, unknown island, starting a new adventure.

In March 2011, the Great East Japan Earthquake struck.The tsunami and the nuclear power plant accident had followed.
I saw how easily the ordinary could vanish, swept away in a moment, and it made me feel fiercely attached to the small, everyday details of life.
Experiencing such a loss gave me more feelings towards the people close to me and to the things around me.
I hope you understand what I mean ── but I do believe things can be born out of losses.
The thing is that people tend to forget quickly, wanting to return to their routines.
It's like leaving from that unknown island to your home ── your comfort zone.
But I wanted to keep hold of that new sensitivity that was already growing within myself as I started over in the time-worn house in a suburb area.

One morning, I noticed an improvised "cover" over a teapot. It was a bit clumsy,
a little awkward, and endearing ── a lovely, everyday tablescape.
From then on, each morning, with my heart beating just a bit faster,
I'd sneak into the kitchen with a camera in my hand.

After finding my motif to take pictures on the morning table,
I kept capturing these small scenes, thinking,
"Primitive people in caves probably made coverings for things too..."
It really felt like glimpsing a preserved, ancient part of ourselves,
and somehow it made me delighted.

This ritual continued for about two years.
Then I had a chance to hold a small solo exhibition with the photos.
I printed them all and showed them to my mother-in-law.
She was puzzled at first, but she gave her permission to show the photos in the exhibition.
This "confession" meant the end of the project as she'd now be self-conscious of her little routines.
Soon, though, the photos found their way to exhibitions in different countries.

Several years later, my wife and I had a daughter.
My wife became a mother, and with that came a new tablescape.
My mother-in-law had begun improvising new covers daily
── no longer mindful of my camera. Then one day, I saw a cover made by my wife.
This was the beginning of "Mother's Covers: Season 2".
And once again, I began capturing these scenes, now with my phone.
A new life created different dynamics, layers and connections
within our family and it also brought me back to the days of photographing the "covers".

Related Event

写真集『ははのふた』刊行記念トーク 日時：2025年7月4日（金）19:00〜 会場：誠光社（京都市上京区中町通丸太町上ル俵屋町437） 定員25名、参加無料（1ドリンクオーダー制）