This soft-focused photo from the 1930s, of a confident young Japanese woman in modern dress and a stylish short haircut, is special to me. Let me give you a rare glimpse behind the scenes of the Duits Collection to explain why.

I have four photos of this woman. Yet, I do not know her name, who she is, why she had them taken, or whether she gave them to somebody or kept them for herself.

Even though she remains hidden from us behind the mists of time, the four photos allow her to reach out to us. They are whispering fragments of her forgotten life. The story of how these photos found their way to me adds to their alluring mystique.

I purchased the above print at the Shitennoji temple market in Osaka on January 21, 2007. Only three weeks earlier, I had made a New Year’s resolution to start collecting vintage photographs of Japan. This was one of some 59 images that I acquired during those very first weeks of finding my way into the world of vintage photography.

The Shitennoji temple market is part of a monthly memorial — known as Daishi-e (大師会) — for the Buddhist monk, calligrapher, and poet Kobo Daishi (弘法大師, 774–835). Vendors all over the expansive temple grounds attract thousands of visitors.

Japan’s temple markets are magical. But they are not a good place for finding vintage photographs. Nowadays, I never visit them to search for images. But at the time, I did not yet know where to find high-quality vintage photographs. I did not even know yet how to assess their significance, nor how to shape a guiding collection philosophy.

All I had was a burning desire to understand what daily life once looked like in Japan, the country I had called home for a quarter of a century.

It is remarkable that I found this little treasure at the market. There were actually more prints of the same woman. But I had already bought quite a few items and chose only this one. By the time I got home, I deeply regretted my decision. In the months that followed, I returned to the market several times. But they were gone. I had to accept that they were lost to me forever.

Almost exactly one year later, something incredible happened. Close friends of mine, a couple who used to live in Japan for decades, came over from France. On January 6, we visited Kyoto’s Tō-ji temple market, one of their favorite haunts. By this time, I had already learned that temple markets rarely offered photos of value. So I did not even bother searching for any.

I was walking ahead with the wife when her husband suddenly came running after us. “Kjeld,” he called out, “you have to see this.” He led me back to a vendor we had just passed and guided my eyes to a box of vintage photos.

I could not believe my eyes. Although I had never told my friends about my experience at Shitennoji a year earlier, there were the very photos I had regretted not buying. I do not think I have ever made a purchase so fast.

Occasionally, fortune does not just smile on you; it falls in love with you. This time, I did not find the photos; they found me…

Old Photos of Japan is a community project aiming to a) conserve vintage images, b) create the largest specialized database of Japan’s visual heritage between the 1850s and 1960s, and c) share research. All for free.

If you can afford it, please support Old Photos of Japan so I can build a better online archive, and also have more time for research and writing.

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