It all started with graffiti. Or, to be more precise, the very existence of graffiti itself.
What I did was to deconstruct its way of being into several elements and follow its process.
In order to mix the various states, situations, environments, and mediums,
I changed the printing method and paper each time.
As I repeated this process, the images gradually became meaningless.
An abstract aspect began to emerge, and it seemed as if nothing meaningful existed at all.
The only thing I had left in my hands were tattered prints with no clear picture of what was on it.
There were only crumbled letters, symbols, and fragments of landscapes anonymously lying around.
Nevertheless, due to the nature of the photographic medium,
there was no change in the fact that this is somewhere and something that definitely existed.
For example, it was like a battered vinyl record that had been passed through many hands,
listened to repeatedly, worn out, scratched, skipped over,
and although only noise could be heard now, it continued to earnestly play its sound.
Even though you could no longer hear the music, the vinyl continues to exist as a vinyl,
and in this sense, my photographs will never stop being a photograph.
I was a street photographer. That was good enough for me.
And, when you wipe away the certain things in an image, the certainty, would, eventually—. 
 
Ryuhei Yokoyama