Newland presents photographs of spaces built in the last few years in five new Dutch towns. This project questions the construction of the identity of these towns. How have these cities with no history been drawn and laid out? What has been erected there? Which monuments for which celebrations? However, we don’t have enough distance with these objects to be able to appreciate their legacy value for the next generations. It seems that photography, by freezing places and times in such spaces, vouches for or creates the legacy status of these objects.
The drawn spaces take shape through the photographic staging, whose role is here to create a moment – a moment and a monument. Newland is an imaginary space because it merges the landscapes of five cities. These landscapes present a scenography of the promotional/advertising town. This photographic corpus claims to be, maybe paradoxically, an archive in becoming. We ask ourselves the question of durability, while facing landscapes that were still but drawings half a century ago. Now it’s up to the viewer to question the shift between the imagined territory, photographed here, and the representation of reality, that often escapes us.
— Maxime Brygo
“All the past we leave behind,
we debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!”
– Walt Whitman, 1865
Pioneers! O Pioneers! is a survey of the modern American west, looking at a forgotten and rutted history of western expansion across the nation via rivers turned emigrant trails turned train tracks turned interstate, sprawling though still largely un-tamed and under-developed land, with much of it re-claimed, or “won” back, from the hand of progress.
So far I’ve traced back roads and emigrant trails through Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho, and Utah, as well as taken a small glimpse into the way we both use the land of the west and strangely recast history to make it tourist-friendly, as seen in Oregon and Colorado.
The project stems from my childhood fascination with the emigrants who first journeyed west as distorted and immortalized for a very different generation and audience through the computer game Oregon Trail, and also through my adult travels through the west where I have found and been inspired by a vast, beautiful, and empty America. I have plans to head back west to New Mexico and California over the new few months to continue the project.
— John Loomis
ticky-tacky: (adj.) made of shoddy material; cheaply built.
legacy: (n) something handed down from an ancestor or a predecessor.
In this series, I use two cameras to convey my notion of our ticky-tacky legacy. In the spirit of shoddy craftsmanship, one set is photographed with an old medium-format camera that leaks light. I take little heed to convention points of focus and composition. In contrast, with a large format view camera, I aim to capture, with precise detail, the structures and environment we leave as our legacy.
— Oliver Ogden
When I moved to Brooklyn in 2009, Newtown Creek was this great mystery lurking to the north separating my neighborhood of Greenpoint from Long Island City in Queens. I knew it was considered one of the most polluted waterways in the nation, but there was a lot that I didn’t know because the creek is hidden from view and walled off on all sides by industry.
After a year of digging I found layers of history embedded in the banks of the creek, dating back to the dawn of industry in the United States. Today on the surface one sees a wasteland stripped bare by generations of degradation, but the areas adjacent to Newtown Creek still serve as an important role in New York — at once a part of the city yet a world apart.
— Noah Devereaux
My body of work, Rochester, began as an exploration of street photography in the digital age. Building on the genre’s tradition and mantra of the “decisive moment,” as well as considering contemporary photographic practices that incorporate digital technology, these photographs could be considered “constructed moments.”
I photograph the landscapes and city scenes that surround me, and by compositing together multiple frames from the scenes I photograph, I create fictional narratives of the everyday. I often look towards mid-century street photography as well as pre-modern landscape painting to inform my own work.
Often when I’m out shooting I search for imagery that resembles common motifs in those types of pictures. I see it as a way of carrying on a type of conversation with artists of the past, the subject being the myth and mundane of the life that surrounds us, and the character of the environments we live in.
— Greg Jones
I had been there the day before, but the workers were still doing their work on the construction site, so I just took a shot of a bulldozer and went home. Two days later the weekend had started and the construction site was empty so I went back.
There used to be a small field where this picture is taken. Next to it there used to be a small forest, and in the forest there used to be 15 houses. I don’t know how many pictures I have taken of these houses through the years, but it wasn’t until they were abandoned that I took a series that I was satisfied with.
It makes good sense when you look at my work. I prefer to find the emptiness in spaces, and with a new road being build it was probably my last chance to photograph there.
— Martin Petersen
The suburbia that I live in tends to be a homogenized landscape. The inhabitants of my town, and towns like mine, often drive past a plethora of diverse environments masked by the unassuming architecture that sprawls across the space we occupy.
With the intent of simply visiting new places and trying to understand a bit more about the diversity that surrounds me, I set out to document the spaces that various religious institutions occupied, and observe the physical impact of spirituality in the landscape.
Some spaces were as small as a storefront in a strip mall and others had their own large swaths of land complete with campuses and never-ending parking lots. During the project (which I often think about picking back up) I also attended services and spoke to the leaders of the different institutions. While this is not by any means an exhaustive method of spiritual pursuit, I came to a personal conclusion that many of these institutions, taken at face value, were pursuing unique ways of what appeared to be mostly similar ideals. The pursuit of these ideals just manifest themselves through a variety of arrangements and environments.
This image is from what is one of the largest non-denominational Christian congregations in the area, Calvary Christian Church in Naperville, Illinois.
— Peter Hoffman
I began a project titled Rooftop, photographing green roofs and rooftop gardens as part of my ongoing visual investigation of the human relationship to the environment and contemporary landscape.
By exploring cities and documenting green roofs and rooftop gardens, I am highlighting the ingenuity of these additions to architecture and the landscape, and showing their relationships and tension to the skylines they occupy.
These gardens are largely invisible and inaccessible to the general public and therefore not meant to be lived in or enjoyed up close. Instead, their purpose is to create a path to a more secure environmental future.
Rooftop addresses what we are doing to correct our folly and make up for our relentless need to expand. In this extended project, I am building a compendium of photographs that will show the significance and positive effects of green roofs and rooftop gardens while revealing their function and visual sanctuary.
— Brad Temkin
Completed in 1974, Alaska’s Dalton Highway (known locally as the haul road) is the northernmost road in America. At 414 miles, the predominately dirt road follows the upper half of the Trans-Alaskan Pipeline, and is maintained exclusively as the transportation route for the oil fields at Prudhoe Bay. The road was opened to the public in 1994.
I began running the road in the Fall of 2007. Always North or South — advancing or retreating. The road is in my blood. The hum of my tires in my ears. Those I meet on the road are mostly searching for something. Some know what they search for, while others hope the answers will come from the landscape.
My own search begins, and ends, with the road — a dirt scar, cut through an impossible landscape. Beautiful and heartbreaking.
This is the ‘last frontier’, yet here we are.
— Ben Huff
Rome is living in a particularly critical period in dealing with new immigrants coming to the city in search of a job and a new life. One of the most visible elements of this crisis is the increasing number of illegal urban settlements.
This photo series is a small collection of these temporary and precarious “accommodations” developing both in the suburbs and in the city center. In those place, where asphalt leaves the space to nature, new immigrants (coming especially from East Europe and North Africa) can find a shelter.
The attempt of my work is to map these places, not with the intention of social denunciation or easy commiseration, but by trying to create a shared fantasy which belongs to all of us. The suggestion is the first idea we get of our world, if we think to children’s drawings, where fundamental things are condensed in a landscape with a tree, a little house and some people.
This basic landscape is what I am ideally trying to recreate in my pictures. Even if the house is just a mattress under a tree, or between two bushes, that place, at that moment, represents what we consider home: protection, habit, safety, the thin line between what is inside and what is outside.
— Alessandro Imbriaco