When I drive through the streets of Los Angeles, I am overwhelmed by the homeless encampments that are literally everywhere–in door ways, under freeway over passes, in every park in the city–clusters of tents are now a ubiquitous part of the landscape. Co
"The Seven Cities" is the third in his series called "The Invisible Yoke." Here he looks at the people and places of Hampton Roads, and at the weight of memory.
Eich’s latest photography book, “The Seven Cities,” is a look at the places and people that make up Hampton Roads. It shows the variety that anyone can discover in an hour’s drive from an oyster roast in Suffolk to a Russian Orthodox Church service in Virginia Beach to an Amtrak bus station stop in Newport News. It also illuminates the grief, hope, anxiety and laughter of its people.
"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.