The BBC is shining a light on the story of Ukai Gyokusen, Japan’s first professional photographer, who buried his glass negatives, nearly erasing his legacy.
In 1883, pioneering Japanese photographer Ukai Gyokusen buried several hundred of his glass plate negatives in a Tokyo cemetery, an act he believed would preserve them. Four years later, he was interred beside his photographs, with two tombstones detailing his life and career. With this final gesture, much of the tangible evidence of his work and recognition for his contributions disappeared.
In a BBC documentary, photo historians Naomi Izakura, curator at the JCII Camera Museum, and Torin Boyd, filmmaker and photojournalist, discuss Ukai’s career, the significance of his buried negatives, and exciting new discoveries that have emerged during research into his life.
“Nearly 150 years ago, a man carefully digs a hole and places several hundred glass plate photographs inside. He buries them. And there they lie until some 70 years later. Some survive, most don’t. They were a worm feast for all that time. It’s kind of sad, but in a strange way, there’s kind of a poetry to that,” BBC’s video explains.
From Sake Seller to Japan’s First Pro Photographer
Ukai, born the son of a samurai, initially pursued multiple paths as an artist and antique collector. His encounter with American photographer Orin Freeman in Yokohama introduced him to the new art of photography. Ukai purchased a camera and lessons from Freeman, returning to Edo (modern-day Tokyo) at age 54 to establish Aishendo, Japan’s first professional photography studio, meaning “Hall of True Images.”
Operating primarily for the samurai class and aristocracy, Ukai’s work did not immediately find a broad market. According to his tombstone, photography was initially met with skepticism. However, by 1861, he was clearly active, making him the country’s first professional photographer. Ukai exclusively employed the ambrotype technique, producing one-of-a-kind images without additional darkroom prints, creating precious treasures for his subjects.
For eight years, Ukai captured samurai, dignitaries, and cultural elites. In 1869, at the dawn of photography’s broader popularity in Japan, he abruptly closed his studio and abandoned the profession, returning to his passion for antiquities.
“He alone revered the ancient,” one historian notes. “There’s a certain irony that this pioneer of Japanese photography, who revered antiques to such an extent that he ditched the new fad of photography, has now been the subject of a long chase to recover his buried images themselves… now antiques.”
The Burial of History
Frustrated by the fading of his images and his inability to distribute them to their subjects, Ukai buried several hundred glass plates beside his own grave at Yanaka Cemetery. Historians describe the decision as baffling, given the fragility of photographic glass, yet it also reflects Ukai’s devotion to older, antique art forms over newer techniques.
“As photographs faded and deteriorated over time, he became disillusioned. I just can’t even fathom putting a negative into the ground, just how that would destroy the image. That’s unbelievable,” BBC’s film explains.
Ukai passed away approximately four years later, and his legacy remained largely forgotten.
Excavations and Rediscovery
In 1956, intrigued photography experts and Ukai’s descendants arranged an excavation of the grave plot. About 100 glass plates survived, though most were severely damaged, deteriorated, or consumed by worms. Efforts to preserve or publicly display the negatives were limited, leaving Ukai’s work largely inaccessible.
A second attempt in 2009 yielded little additional material, as prior excavations and soil compaction had destroyed remaining negatives. Some surviving plates eventually entered private collections or were donated by photography enthusiasts, offering glimpses into 19th-century Japan through Ukai’s perspective.
“Suddenly, we can see a much deeper glimpse into 19th-century Japan through Ukai’s eyes. Rather than a mere footnote in Japanese history, his compositions demonstrate a man ahead of his time rather than one chasing it,” the historians share.
A Photographer Ahead of His Time
Ukai’s compositions reveal a sophisticated, artistic eye, distinguishing him from contemporaries. Many sitters are depicted looking away from the camera or engaging with the frame in unconventional ways, demonstrating a creativity rarely seen in early Japanese photography.
Ukai Gyokusen’s story is a reminder that innovation and foresight do not always guarantee recognition, and that the preservation of history can be as fragile as the glass plates that once captured it.
Image credits: BBC