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`​When I was a young child, I heard on the news that there had been a serial road crash involving five vehicles. I wanted to know what had happened to the sixth car that would have been following immediately behind the others. I still vividly remember that the adults around me thought I was funny, and that the only thing they said to me was “Nothing happened to the sixth car!”

The news stated the cause of the accident and that it involved five cars. I knew nothing about the vehicle that was not involved in the crash. Perhaps the car itself was undamaged, but the people inside had been injured when the brakes were applied. It was a mystery to me back then that people would assume that the fact that we were told nothing meant that nothing had happened.

Is there no need to find out whether nothing happened or is happening? When I examined my reasons for continuing to take photographs, I noticed that I had been pondering this question. The story of an event is like a tree: it has a thick trunk and thin branches. Having grown up, I understood for myself how difficult it is to resist the power of the thick “trunk” of the story. And sometimes, to avoid getting bogged down in details, we have to ignore those thin “branches”.

The camera has the power to draw the photographer to places where there seems to be nothing, and there certainly are places that one finds through having a camera. There is a connection between this and my childhood curiosity about the sixth car – the thin branch of that story.




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