said in 1974, after moving to New York, you found how serious art can be. How and why? SUGIMOTO. As
a photographer, I thought the only way to pay for myself was to be a commercial photographer, a fashion
photographer or something similar, in the age of Avedon. So in the first stage of my career, I set out to be-
come a commercial photographer. I worked as several photographers' assistants, and I didn't enjoy that at
all. I did a JCPenney catalog shooting—it was awful [laughs]. And then I encountered some minimalist
gallery shows, which interested me. The visions of these artists were not straightforward. They had this
new kind of presentation, and I shared this new feeling, so I fit myself into the field. ANDREA. How did you
segue from JCPenney to Dan Flavin? Do you remember what your first series was? SUGIMOTO. My first
series was Diorama. Before I began the project, I wondered to myself which medium to use, considering
painting and sculpture. But I had trained myself as a photographer and believed that photography could be
adaptable to this new field of art. Photography had been considered a second-class citizen of the art field.
ANDREA. True. SUGIMOTO. My effort was to make this second-class status into a first-class citizen.
ANDREA. Well done. SUGIMOTO. [Laughs] I think I did it well. ANDREA. How did you come to architec-
ture? SUGIMOTO. Architecture? That was not my intention at all. Something always happens that forces
me to do it. My first architecture project was in 2002, Naoshima Island, Benesse House. Mr. Fukutake
asked me to redesign an old shrine, and then I did. That's how it started. People liked it, and others started
asking me, "Oh, will you do this gallery design, this house design?" I never had the intention to be a profes-
sional architect. It was because of the people's request. I do anything by request [laughs]. ANDREA. Why
did they come to you? What did they see about you or your work that led them to ask you to design a gal-
lery? SUGIMOTO. People find some kind of uniqueness of my design and simply this Japanese kind of
sensitivity of space. I just never said no. I used to be an antique dealer for 10 years, which paid my rent for
a while. In 1995, I was given my first museum show at The Met, and my art started selling. Then, ever since,
I have had so many museum shows, one or two every year. I would work on the floorplan, thinking about
how to design my show within the Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Bilbao or many other awkward spaces. I
trained myself. ANDREA. Well, one thing that I find remarkable is that you opened up an architectural firm
without a license. So I imagine that you create designs, and others do the detail work to make your designs
architecturally sound. SUGIMOTO. I have a professional structural engineer, of course. I have 10 people
working for me in Japan. Six of them are all licensed. I have given up on taking an official architecture test
for my license—I’m too old [laughs]. ANDREA. Some people have said that your work is mournful. What
do you think about that? You did say when you had your show in Paris, "Imagining the worst-conceivable
tomorrow gives me tremendous pleasure at the artistic level. The darkness of my future lights up my pres-
ent." I thought that was great. SUGIMOTO. That is a very cynical statement. ANDREA. Yes, and it's very
poetic. I think your work is poetic in the truest sense of the word. How is this reflected in the upcoming
show? SUGIMOTO. I think art is a commodity now. The ghostly figures in the work represent the end of
spiritual life and the change to a commercial presence. People buy art for capital, not beauty. The issue of
beauty is a very small percentage of consideration in art these days. At the same time, I think that people
still believe in a future with beauty. I address that kind of sense, believing in the future, in my work. AN-
DREA. People say you are the master of long-exposure photography. How did you start working with long
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