Kingpouge Laika 12 78 Photos Photography By Hiromi Saimon Official
Unlike the globally recognized names of Nobuyoshi Araki or Daido Moriyama, Hiromi Saimon exists in the spectral margins of the Japanese photo world. Active primarily between the mid-1970s and early 1980s, Saimon was known for gritty, high-contrast black-and-white street photography, with a specific obsession: the urban animal.
Saimon’s work often utilized repurposed Soviet camera equipment—hence the reference to "Laika." In photography circles, the Laika (often a reference to the Zenit or LOMO cameras produced at the KMZ factory named after the dog Laika) was known for its heavy build, misleading light meter, and a lens that produced a distinct, painterly distortion. Saimon reportedly carried a modified "Kingpouge" (believed to be a phonetic play on the phrase "Kinpo-ji" or a specific lens mount modification known only to a repair shop in Shinjuku).
Unfortunately, there is no digital database of the full "12 78" series. Hiromi Saimon reportedly refused to digitize the work before disappearing from the art world in 1985. To experience it, one must visit: kingpouge laika 12 78 photos photography by hiromi saimon
Searching for "kingpouge laika 12 78 photos photography by hiromi saimon" is not merely a quest for images. It is the act of remembering a pre-digital, pre-commercialized era of photography where the tool was flawed (Laika 12), the subject was hostile (Kingpouge), and the quantity was finite (78).
Hiromi Saimon didn't want you to see all 78 easily. He wanted you to work for it—to drift through the concrete jungle just as he did, with a faulty Soviet camera and an unflinching eye. The 78 photos are not a collection; they are a ghost in the machine of photographic history. And the "12" are the holy grail for those who understand that the best photography doesn't show you the world; it shows you the film’s emulsion decaying in real-time. Unlike the globally recognized names of Nobuyoshi Araki
If you ever get to hold one of those contact sheets, look closely at Frame 12. You won’t see a dog or a pylon. You’ll see the shadow of Hiromi Saimon himself, reflected in a broken vending machine glass, holding his beloved Laika—a phantom photographer capturing his own void.
Are you a collector looking for provenance on the Kingpouge Laika 12 prints? Or a photographer trying to replicate the Jupiter-12 aesthetic? Use the comments section below to continue the discussion. Are you a collector looking for provenance on
Saimon’s Kingpouge Laika 12/78 photos are a reminder that photography’s power lies in selective attention. By marrying a lens with distinct character to a patient, empathetic gaze, she makes the ordinary feel consequential. These images resist spectacle and instead reward slow looking: the longer you stay, the more the scenes unfold.
The Kingpouge Laika 12/78 is not just a lens; in Hiromi Saimon’s hands it becomes a storyteller. In this 78-frame series, Saimon pairs the Laika’s particular optical character with an unflinching curiosity for texture, light, and the quiet theatrics of everyday life. The result is a body of work that feels intimate and expansive at once — a portrait of places and people rendered with a compassion that never sentimentalizes.
The series comprises exactly 78 photographs. Unlike digital bursts of hundreds of images, 78 frames represent nearly three full rolls of 35mm film (approximately 36 exposures per roll, minus a few lost shots). This constraint suggests Saimon was not spraying and praying; he was hunting.
The subject of these 78 photos is a singular stray dog—presumably named "Laika" by the artist—observed in the back alleys of Ueno and Asakusa during the winter of 1978.