"I actually have no idea what street photography is, but I can oddly sense its look-off-tilted cameras, bit of asphalt, coupla ppl, maybe a mean looking dog, some bit of crazy occurring in the corners, some action as it were"
It is becoming
I began this review with these questions in mind, mostly in passing as they reflect the cacophony and performance of Mihai Baranbancea’s incredibly chaotic and brilliant Falling On Blades (Edition Patrick Frey, 2020). The book is thick tome full of intense images of Barabancea’s Romania. It is in colour and likely shot through a Yashica T4 or Contax-some form of small compact camera that allows the artist close access to the innumerable scenes of wild Romania. I tend to think of this kind of work once belonging to Vice in the early 2000s and that is not a slight against Mihai-in fact, that would have been about the timeframe when Vice was equally chaotic and sociologically-speaking was pushing boundaries that now in 2020 that as a news organisation look slightly faded and increasingly unnecessary. I am reminded of Peter Sutherland, Dash Snow etc. when I look at Mihai’s work. He has an access to Romania that outsiders do not and you can feel the low-light and flash-induced images in all their fast-paced glory. There is an anxiety involved. There is a palpable danger and a return to risk-taking that seems to have gone missing over the past decade.
"The picture stays in the kid. Tell heaven don’t wait for me"
What is an image produced if not the perversion of self either in or out of frame? Authorship is dictatorship, no? What to do with a pare?
Game Over, and if this isn’t an obvi
Pardon me while I bloviate awkwardly regarding the magnificent efforts of David Billet & Ian Kline’s Rabbit /Hare published by Deadbeat Club in the year of our Ford, 2020 (Technically). The book is packed with singular impacting images that show a Texas of the mind instead of a pre-packaged land of people built on simple historic myth and the stereotypes that one reaches for in the mind if unfamiliar. Sure, there are cowboys. They are African American and often women. There isn’t a piece of BBQ in sight, but the natural world rages upon the frame from aviary flights of fancy to the car’s rearview window to the feline onslaught reaching for similar prey. There are hints of religious experience, the ecstasy of which is being carried out by a girl holding her nose underwater and another man dreamily laying against the ground in nocturnal bliss.
"I hear the sound of victory. I hear the sound of victory. I hear the sound of victory”. 1976, the centenary-a procrastinator's wet dream"
The kids are smiling, their bodies are interlaced within the disused tire mound and the coyote snarls staring
Mimi Plumb’s The White Sky (Stanley/Barker, 2020) is the excellent follow-up to her much acclaimed Landfall (TBW, 2018). The White Sky continues to mine her archive of California and the social and psychological terrain of the 70’s American West. The book is somehow a little less about spectacle than Landfall was and in many ways, this adds layers to her vision. Instead of a stellar flow of single overly strong images, which worked as perfect introduction to Mimi’s work, with The White Sky there is something more subtle at play. That is not to suggest the images are less attractive or that they do not stand on their own, but there feels like a more cohesive thread between the images of children and the 70’s Californian landscape that they inhabit than previously seen.
Book Review East of Nowhere Photographs by Fabio Ponzio Reviewed by Brian Arnold A poetic and empathetic vision of human perseverance...
East of Nowhere, the new book by Italian documentary photographer Fabio Ponzio, chronicles 20 years of his wandering and photographing throughout Eastern and Central Europe between 1987-2007. During his travels, Ponzio witnessed incredible poverty and despair, the rise of despots like Slobodan Milošević, and the glimmers of hope found in the eyes of those searching for a new life to come.
Philip Gefter’s new biography, “What Becomes a Legend Most,” argues for Avedon’s place as one of the 20th century’s most consequential artists.
The issue is pressing while reading “What Becomes a Legend Most,” Philip Gefter’s wise and ebullient new biography of Richard Avedon. Gefter takes the reader inside so many of Avedon’s photo shoots, and so deftly explicates his work, that you’re thirsty to sate your eyes with Avedon’s actual images.
"FloodZone" is Miami-based Russian photographer Anastasia Samoylova’s account of life on the knife-edge of the Southern United States: in Florida, whe...
The color palette is tropical: lush greens, azure blues, pastel pinks. But the mood is pensive and melancholy. As new luxury high-rises soar, their foundations are in water. Crumbling walls carry images of tourist paradise. Manatees appear in odd places, sensitive to environmental change. Water is everywhere and water is the problem. Mixing lyric documentary, gently staged photos and epic aerial vistas, FloodZone crosses boundaries to express the deep contradictions of the place. The carefully paced sequence of photographs, arranged as interlocking chapters, make no judgment: they simply show.
A new book of photos documents the human impact of the bombings that ended World War II — and challenges a common American perception of the destruction in Japan.
“I beg you to allow me to take pictures of your utmost sufferings,” Mr. Matsumoto, who was 30 at the time, said he told survivors. “I am determined to let people in this world know without speaking a word what kind of apocalyptic tragedies you have gone through.”
Occam’s Razor tells me that for any given problem the simplest explanation is the one to pick. So I would have to assume that what my grandfather took part in and witnessed is very much along the lines of what has just been published as Das Auge des Krieges [The Eye of War] by Buchkunst Berlin. The photographs in the book were taken by a certain Dieter Keller, a man from a privileged background who in some capacity spent the majority of his life in the world of art.
It’s always a sorry sight when a well known artist jumps the shark (to borrow that expression from popular culture). It’s particularly disheartening to see someone do it who based on her or his earlier work you would have thought should know a lot better. Yet here we are, being presented with Oliver Chanarin’s photographs of his partner, Fiona Jane Burgess, the mother of their two children (various of the pictures can also be found on Instagram).
Book Review Entering a New World Photographs by Massimo Vitali Reviewed by Blake Andrews Whether relaxing beachside, exploring the r...
"That book is enormous!” cried my wife upon spotting Entering a New World, the new monograph by Italian photographer Massimo Vitali. Her reaction is a good summary review. Every aspect of the book is gargantuan. It’s more than 14 inches across, 11 inches tall, weighs 6.4 pounds, and covers ten years of shooting. For most of his career, Vitali has used large-format cameras to absorb acres of subject matter all at once, every corner reproduced in exquisite detail. There are no half measures here. Instead, we are presented with a full-corpus embrace of the world.