In order to address this broader problem, Nick Brandt deliberately set out, in “Inherit the Dust,” to decontextualize his wildlife photographs. He produced life-sized prints of his earlier photographs, fastened them to large panels, and then placed the panels at locations at the forlorn interstices of Africa’s uncontrolled development—garbage dumps, building sites, quarries, factory yards—places where animals once roamed but are now scarcer than U.F.O.s.
Directing is a frustrating business. Vast, precious tracts of your life, when in theory you are at your most creative and energetic, are consumed with projects that ultimately never see the light of day. You’re dependent on the money people to be able to create. And even if you’re fortunate enough to finally get that money, the compromises involved can take you a long way from your original vision. For so many in the film industry, you’re living for tomorrow, not in the present, unable to simply do what you are desperate to do: create.
Photography, however, allows you to just go out and create how you want, what you want, when you want. You’re answerable to no one. You’re in control of your creative life. Joy.
There’s something hauntingly beautiful and indeed powerful about Nick Brandt’s animal portraits that are part of his new book Across the Ravaged Land, the third and final volume in Brandt’s trilogy documenting the disappearing animals of eastern Africa. B
There’s something hauntingly beautiful and indeed powerful about photographer Nick Brandt’s animal portraits that are part of his new book Across the Ravaged Land, the third and final volume in a trilogy documenting the disappearing animals of eastern Africa
