Here. Still. (The Book of Windows)

A ten-year project of wandering and isolation, longing and stillness, "Here. Still." is a story of loss felt through a presence of people not visible, of seeing life play out as if on a stage, but we sit in an empty theatre, on the inside of a window.

In the winter of 2000, when I was nineteen and a university student in Canada, my father suddenly passed away. At a loss for what to do next, upon graduating in 2002 with a degree in History, I moved back to my birthplace of Tokyo to start a career in finance.

A dozen years later, my career had taken me to New York, where it had reached a crossroad: I was burned out from the stresses of work and
had come out of a long-term relationship. I gave up the lease on my apartment, placed my things in storage and looked ahead to an uncertain future. I realized that I had never reconciled with the direction of my life after my father’s death. In 2015, I set out on the road, with just a backpack and suitcase, unsure where my path would take me.

My initial destination was the Southwest United States. There, I met the photographer Sam Abell. Under his tutelage, I found a photograph from 2009 that I had made in a hotel room at Lake Louise, Canada, a place my father used to take our family. I remembered being there, alone in that room and looking out at the late summer twilight and the turquoise lake and longing to see my father again.

I continued my journeys for nearly a thousand days, and as I did, I made photographs where I felt the presence of humanity inside a space, and the stillness of life unfolding beyond the window- inaccessible, as if on a screen in an empty theatre. I recalled my childhood growing up in the organized chaos that is Tokyo, looking out on the enormous city from my bedroom, which provided a safe distance from which to view the world, and my days trapped inside a crowded office, wanting to be outside.

There is a Japanese word: nukumori, a lukewarmness that might refer to the presence of someone who occupied a place but had departed: an empty chair, a tea cup, the inside of a bus or train car, and of course, the many hotels and motels where I found myself. Nothing in the series is staged; everything is just as I found it in real life.

The series has been exhibited in venues around the world including the Tokyo Photographic Art Museum in 2024, and a monograph is in the works.

© George Nobechi - The Devil's Bridge, Tuscany 2015
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The Devil's Bridge, Tuscany 2015

© George Nobechi - Moonrise Bus Ride, Nagano 2016
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Moonrise Bus Ride, Nagano 2016

© George Nobechi - Battleship Island, Nagasaki 2016
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Battleship Island, Nagasaki 2016

© George Nobechi - Visitor Center, Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado 2016
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Visitor Center, Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado 2016

© George Nobechi - Museum Window, Colorado 2016
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Museum Window, Colorado 2016

© George Nobechi - Morning Fog, Hirosaki 2017
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Morning Fog, Hirosaki 2017

© George Nobechi - Catacombs of a Chateau, Provence 2017
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Catacombs of a Chateau, Provence 2017

© George Nobechi - Reservoir, Toyama 2018
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Reservoir, Toyama 2018

© George Nobechi - Tour Boat, Hakone 2019
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Tour Boat, Hakone 2019

© George Nobechi - Ferry, British Columbia 2019
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Ferry, British Columbia 2019

© George Nobechi - Fuji and Lake Suruga, 2019
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Fuji and Lake Suruga, 2019

© George Nobechi - Bedroom, Chiba 2022
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Bedroom, Chiba 2022

© George Nobechi - Diner, Yukon 2022
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Diner, Yukon 2022

© George Nobechi - Ferry, Tsugaru Strait 2023
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Ferry, Tsugaru Strait 2023

© George Nobechi - Cafe, Hiraizumi 2023
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Cafe, Hiraizumi 2023

© George Nobechi - Diner, Coast of Maine 2023
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Diner, Coast of Maine 2023

© George Nobechi - Window to the Chitose River, Hokkaido 2024
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Window to the Chitose River, Hokkaido 2024

© George Nobechi - Boathouse, Kyoto 2024
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Boathouse, Kyoto 2024

© George Nobechi - Hotel Room, Oita 2025
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Hotel Room, Oita 2025

© George Nobechi - Leaving the forest of the 7,000 year old Jomon Sugi tree after a 12-hour hike, Yakushima 2025
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Leaving the forest of the 7,000 year old Jomon Sugi tree after a 12-hour hike, Yakushima 2025