A group of young women and men are sprawled across a bed, lit by the hazy afternoon sun. One woman sits with her back against the wall, holding a cigarette; the others press their bodies close, or hold hands, their eyes radiant with life as they meet the camera’s gaze. The room is charged with the promise of youth, and an intimacy captured only by an insider or confidante. Mao Ishikawa immortalized this scene in Red Flower: The Women of Okinawa (1975–77), a seminal series of black-and-white photographs that marked the beginning of her half-century career. Central to Ishikawa’s practice is an insistence on forging relationships with those whom she photographs, often spending weeks, months, even years, with them. “I try to show myself first, because in order for them to trust me they need to know me,” she tells me over Zoom. This ethos distinguishes her from the detached outsider photographer who flies in on assignment, then promptly departs. It also upends antiquated power imbalances between subject and photographer that have come into sharp relief of late, especially in the midst of the heightened discourse surrounding decolonization. But Ishikawa developed this approach without the need to intellectualize. She calls it “Okinawa soul.”