Aya Fujioka's I don't sleep condenses five years of photographs into a book with a coherent story. Absolute distance and soft tentacles: the work takes place mainly in the photographer's hometown, exploring the faint tears and slight shadows in daily life and shaking memory loose. Its beginning establishes her pure photographic talent, with the large size of the book complementing her carefully balanced snapshots. The pictures seem to be taken more or less at random, but slowly Fujioka begins to reveal the events happening around her, and a distinctive way of sequencing the photographs brings the viewer closer to her world and in turn explains the title. It is a daily journey of meeting again and again the landscapes and the family she thought she knew well, in which the scenery around the house overlaps with an irreplaceable life, and the workings of life and death appear before our eyes. Her strength as a photographer is clear throughout, but the book is not only an aesthetic expression: it is an unflinching, deeply personal reflection on family ties.