[jorge borg]

For Araki the world is nothing but a swarming mass lit up in a flash of light and his world, the one he calls "The happy hole" is the neighbourhood - maybe city - of Shibuya, a black hole inside the endless swarming of the Tokyo metropolis, a dark hole crowded with thousands and thousands of human beings, panting, aggressive, bloodthirsty, grotesque, stupid, lost, unknown to themselves and unknown to others, and every one of them, every single one of them in search of nothing but that strange moment the Americans, dragging out the sound of the word, call "happiness".
"Happiness" which is neither good nor evil, neither right nor wrong, neither beautiful nor ugly: pheraps it's not even "felicità" at all; that bright word, that mysterious word which contains a dream one already knows to be impossible, an Italian word which is rarely used as if it were exaggerated idea, almost an idea in bad taste. "Happiness" is not a concept; nor is it a dream one already knows to be impossible. Instead it is a violent and unstoppable desire, a desire which has no notion of what's to come and does not let any obstacle stand in its way. Those who search for "happiness" don't stop to ask what it really is.
All they know is they must struggle with existence to get their hands on "Happiness". I think it was Araki who wrote somewhere: "I think it's quantity that makes or breaks photographs. Among my pictures are serious ones and lighter ones forming a melody" This is more or less to say the future of photography lies in quantity, nor in quality (or in his emulsion).
Ettore Sottsass