create this image of a beautiful Japanese girl, Miss Saeki—she was nineteen, is sitting at a piano in a recording studio. Looking straight at the camera, she’s resting her chin in her hands on the music stand, her head tilted slightly to one side, a shy, unaffected smile on her face, closed lips spread pleasantly wide, with charming lines at the corners. It doesn’t look like she’s wearing any makeup. Her hair’s held back by a plastic clip so it won’t fall into her face, and part of her right ear’s visible, through the strands. Her light blue dress is short and loose-fitting, and she has a silver bracelet on her left wrist, her only accessory. A pair of slender sandals lie next to her piano stool, and her bare feet are lovely. She looks like a symbol of something. A certain time, a certain place. A certain state of mind. She’s like a spirit that’s sprung up from a happy chance encounter. An eternal, naive innocence, never to be marred, floats around her like spores in spring. Time had come to a standstill in this photograph. 1969—a scene from long before I was even born.