Daido Moriyama
Moriyama enters Darwin as abrasion: images that refuse legibility, courting blur, grain, overexposure. He sharpens our bias toward surveillance, drift, and damaged evidence. Streets become nervous systems; bodies flicker as signals. We keep him to insist on photography as compulsion, not record—where authorship leaks, desire accelerates, and seeing corrodes into motion. Tokyo persists as backdrop, pressure, residue; night afterimages linger.
