Towards evening, couples young and old settle down along the banks of the Kamo river, that runs through the centre of Kyoto, refreshing the city. There is an almost measurable distance between couples, an almost conscious agreement, like cormorants on a rock. They talk or kiss or hug or gaze out across the river to form typologies that are readable in terms of age, posture, clothing, accessories or behaviour. We see the couples from behind and this perspective keeps them both distant and close: we can look at them, watch them, or sit with them, looking out. One is one and alone but two is the source of many, so each couple, even in its separateness, is already a society.

Towards evening, couples old and young settle down along the banks of the Kamo river, as couples have sat and will sit. They are part of the flow, slower than the river, less patient than the rocks. It is beautiful, that they are together, that they lean towards each other or away, that a river runs beside them, that they keep time. They take themselves there, bring themselves there, hold themselves together and apart, in an evening observance. David Williams passes quietly, noting it all, catching the differences, the nuances.