The pandemic in Tokyo has gotten worse again, but people still cram into trains under the sweltering heat to get to work, quietly plotting their August summer vacation trips. Last month, I went with a friend to check out an exhibition at the Tokyo Photographic Art Museum called Memento Mori and Photography: What Does Death Illuminate?.

This Latin phrase popped up big-time in mid-14th-century Europe, right when the second wave of the plague was hitting hard. Christianity latched onto it to preach to its followers: all the fun and glory of this world? Total nonsense. What matters is saving your soul after death for the next life.

But here’s the twist—this phrase traces back to something the ancient Roman poet Horace wrote: "Carpe diem." You might know it from Mr. Keating in one of my favorite movies, Dead Poets Society. It’s probably a life motto for a bunch of you out there too. Horace’s "seize the day" is all about optimism and strength, while its offshoot, "Memento mori," takes a humbler stance toward death. They’re different vibes, sure, but really, they’re like two sides of the same coin.

“Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero. Seize the day, put little trust in tomorrow.“

What makes these two sayings hit deep is how they’re stuck in this wild tug-of-war with time, full of contradiction. The second one, "Memento mori," left a huge mark on art. Think Baroque stuff—Grim Reapers, skull still lifes, clocks—all those creepy-cool themes came straight from it. Take this 17th-century French artist, Philippe de Champaigne. In his still life paintings, he sets up these neat little scenes with three random-looking things: a tulip, a skull, an hourglass. Break it down, and it’s life, death, and time, all sitting pretty together.

Philippe de Champaigne, Still life with a skull (Vanitè), 1660s

Danse macabre by Michael Wolgemut (死亡之舞)

With all this meaning packed in, the exhibition I saw tries to figure out what "Memento mori" stands for right now. We’re in an era staring death in the face—pandemics, wars—while living in a capitalist world obsessed with personal pleasures. What’s that combo say about us?

The show uses photos from different times to tease out how "Memento mori" ties into photography, loneliness, humor, and even happiness. Like Susan Sontag put it, the second a photo’s snapped, that moment’s already gone—proof of how fate flips on a dime. Think war shots or pics of refugees. Even everyday stuff, like catching the lonely slouch of some nameless subway rider in the big city, points straight to death’s shadow. Photos drag up history too, but they can also feel timeless. Take Josef Sudek’s shot of a church—it’s so peaceful, time just seems to stop.

“All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.”

— Susan Sontag, On Photography (Penguin Classics, 1977, p. 15)

Robert Capa, ”Near Fraga (Aragon), November 7, 1938. Loyalist offensive along the Rio Se, 1938”, Gelatin silver print, Collection of Tokyo Photographic Art Museum

Josef Sudek, "View of the nave and down - south side of the new part of St. Vitus Cathedral", From the series of 'St. Vitus', 1928, Gelatin silver print, Collection of Tokyo Photographic Art Museum

Original Post in Chinese.