Of the items I inherited from my father - a lighter, a frayed tie, his music recordings; documents in scratchy, illegible writing - it is his photographs that I love the most. In them, I find my sense of him; of us; of how we were; and how we might have gone on to be. It is through them that I travel to Tokyo in the early seventies, to a time when my father was so interested in the world, he tried to capture it in a small black box.