Kiyotaka Tsurisaki and the beauty of the unbearable - Interview

 

To speak of Kiyotaka Tsurisaki is to enter one of the most uncomfortable and fascinating territories of contemporary documentary cinema. A photographer, filmmaker, and chronicler of the margins, his work has been marked by a constant obsession with death, violence, and those spaces where society prefers not to look. But reducing his work to mere visual shock would be a mistake. Behind the extreme images lies an aesthetic and human search that seeks to understand the fragility of existence through its most brutal manifestations.

His best-known film, Orozco the Embalmer (2001), took him into the depths of El Cartucho, one of the most dangerous areas of 1990s Bogotá, where he documented the daily routine of Froilán Orozco, an embalmer who spent decades preparing the bodies of victims of poverty, exclusion, and violence. Far from sensationalism, the film became a raw portrait of a Colombia marked by everyday death and, at the same time, a deeply human reflection on the dignity of the forgotten.

In this interview, Tsurisaki reflects briefly on his time in Colombia, his artistic philosophy, and the possible “ethical limits” of representing death through images.

Your work consistently addresses death, violence, and the harsh dimensions of human existence. How would you articulate your conceptual approach to death, and what motivates your insistence on representing it without aesthetic or moral mediation?

Reality is beautiful. Reality is magic.

Froilán Orozco foto de Kiyotaka Tsurisaki

“Orozco the Embalmer” is widely regarded as one of your most significant works. From a methodological and emotional standpoint, how would you describe the experience of producing that documentary?

Orozco was a beautiful man. He was a nameless saint on the street. I’m very proud to have been with him.

For how long did you reside in Colombia, and what factors led you to choose the country as a site for your documentary practice?

Extreme violence. Magic realism.

El Cartucho in Bogotá has become emblematic of urban marginality and violence. What memories do you retain of that place, and how did it influence your understanding of social exclusion?

Everything was fantastic there. El Cartucho was excluded, another world.

In addition to Bogotá, which other Colombian cities or regions did you visit, and how did these experiences contribute to your broader perception of the country?

Medellin, Cali, Cartagena, Uraba, Cesar, Meta, Amazonas. Colombia is a beatiful country. Colombia literally improved my esthetic sense.

Would you consider returning to Colombia to produce another documentary today? If so, what themes or realities do you believe remain insufficiently documented?

If I return to Colombia for film making, I want to make a narrative film.

Assassination / Bogota, Colombia 1995 foto de Kiyotaka Tsurisaki

Among the countries you have visited, which would you identify as culturally the most extreme or violent? What specific social or historical conditions contributed to that assessment?

The former Colombia.  La Violencia continued.

Do you perceive any cultural parallels between Colombia and Japan, particularly in relation to attitudes toward death, violence, or collective trauma?

Japan looks totally different country from Colombia, but in fact, Japan is one of the most tolerant country to gore culture

Alex Okendo (Masacre) - Bogota, Colombia 1996 foto de Kiyotaka Tsurisaki

Your film The Wasteland presents a global vision of destruction shaped by war, religion, and other forces that contribute to the degradation of the planet. How did this project expand or redefine your understanding of violence on a planetary scale?

“The Wasteland” is my witness of beauty on the death trail around the violent world of the decade from 9.11 to 3.11.

What has been the most extreme or unsettling situation you have documented to date? Was there a moment when you felt ethically or psychologically compelled to stop filming?

I was offered to make a snuff film in my early days. Then I was torn as an artist. As a result, I didn’t make it. I thank goodness for this.

Your work has frequently been compared to the tradition of Italian “mondo” documentaries, yet it maintains a distinct identity. How would you define your own documentary or photographic methodology, and in what ways does it diverge from those precedents?

I was influenced very much and really respect Italian shockumentaries. I actually positioned “Orozco el Embalsamador” as the last latin shokumentary of the 20th century (the first edition of “Orozco el Embalsamador” was completed in 1999). I see myself as a son of Jacopetti, so I mustn’t be an journalist, but an artist, and had to pursuit sincerity all the more.

Bone Cleaning Ritual - Samut Sakhon, Thailand 2004 foto de Kiyotaka Tsurisaki

Which artists, filmmakers, or authors have significantly influenced your practice? Are you familiar with the work of photographer Joel-Peter Witkin, and how do you situate his work in relation to your own?

As for filmmakers, Pier Paolo Pasolini and Yasujiro Ozu, althogh the catalyst for filmmaking was “Jaws”.  As for authors, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Yukio Mishima. Of course I was very influenced by Joel-Peter Witkin. I can’t possibly imitate him and I shouldn’t do. He is cold-headed, robust and gorgeous.

Your work has been the subject of criticism due to its explicit depiction of real bodies and violence. How do you respond to these critiques, and how do you define the ethical boundaries of your documentary practice?

Freedom of expression is sacred. My expression is to give a name to the nameless body on the street.

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