Making up

I wanted to ask, to Marzia, if she, too, occasionally makes peace with her photographs. I wanted to ask her, but then we talked about something else, about Japan, about mental health and how difficult it is to tell the story. About colleagues.

For example, it took me a long time to make peace with this picture.

There is this park in Japan where monkeys live. And you can go in there, and walk among hundreds of monkeys. It's not a zoo.

They tell that monkeys, wild, as early as several centuries ago, took to coming down from the mountains around and frequenting the hotel built a little further down at the bottom of the valley. They used to go there at night-I imagine. They say that in winter they would bathe in the hotel's thermal pools, filled with water from the hot springs, which are very frequent in the area (across the river from the hotel is a geyser, it makes a hellish noise). They used to walk on rooftops during the day, which they do even now while we are here.

Climbing up the path on the opposite slope, you pass through a beautiful forest of dense, straight, tapering cryptomerias: after passing the ticket booth hut, you continue a little further and find yourself, in effect, immersed in monkeys.

It is afternoon and very hot, a humid heat, just slightly less stifling than the humid heat of the plains. You can tell, though, that it must be cold in winter. Earlier, in the ticket office, I saw pictures of monkeys in the snow, of monkeys bathing in a steam-smoking tub.

I walk, but move cautiously. I'm reminded, and it's very funny, that several years ago a monkey slapped me really hard as I knelt down to paint her portrait. It made my glasses fly off: a cartoonish thing.

There is actually a tub of water, but it must be warm and no monkeys are bathing. There is one that you can tell is thinking about it, but is not convinced. It will go down into the water later.

It is understood, in effect, that although they are physically very close, humans and apes are worlds apart: no contact, not even intention. No exchange of food: it is forbidden, but there is no intention either.

Is it right to be here? It's not a zoo. But it's also not a forest where monkeys live.

In the middle of the afternoon, two keepers open a large locked metal crate and take out apples, which they cut into wedges and throw onto the rocks on the wall above. The monkeys climb up to catch them. They finish their meal and then, in groups, climb back into the forest, where they will spend the night.

It is not a zoo, but these monkeys are not really wild either.

It is a compromise, a new condition.