My work explores the contemporary landscape at night, revealing a psychological exploration within a physical space. Most of the works depict a minimal light source within residential and urban environments, such as a single window lit from within. It implies the activity of others, even though they can’t be seen. But what is important in the photograph is what is not seen – what is implied. I provide only minimal information, allowing a freedom and open-endedness to the work, but not without direction. While seemingly voyeuristic or isolated, there is also a sense of belonging in the space – a comfortable exploration. Similar to the visual and physical experience at night, the eye and senses must be given time to adjust. I am asking the viewer to invest in a slow read of the work, giving time for contemplation.
— Kimi Kolba
These large-format photographs were made during 2008 – 2009 on South Vancouver Island, on Canada’s West Coast. This area has seen a shift from a resource-based economy of logging, fishing and in its distant past whaling and seal hunting, to primarily one of tourism.
I photographed the everyday world of this environment with an acknowledgement of this history. I present the murals, cruise ships, recreation vehicles, ocean-view property and other subjects as a means to explore ideas that are concerned with our perceptions of nature.
I perceive our relationship to the natural world as one that is mediated by romantic ideals of beauty and harmony. Our representations of nature can be seen as attempts to frame the chaos of the natural world within the markers of familiar cultural symbols. We are all tourists in the contemporary landscape.
— David Pollock
Using the NASA map of the world at night as a guide, over the last five years I have photographed the man-made light emanating from 45 cities in the three brightest regions in the world. Lux focuses on cities in the United States, Western Europe and Japan. These economically- and politically-powerful regions not only have the greatest impact on the night sky but this brightness reflects a dominant cumulative impact on the planet.
For most of human history, man-made light has signified hope and progress within local and global arenas. In this project, light also paradoxically denotes regression or transgression — an index of the complex negative human impacts on the health and future of the planet.
— Christina Seely
The photos from Images01 were edited from nine and a half months of daily iPhone photo posts on my tumblr account. I started posting every day as an exercise, to make myself take photos. I found that this helped me to slow down in looking at things around me. I think of most of my ongoing projects as rural or urban landscapes, and this project feels like a little departure from that. At first incidentally, but now with intention, it has become a journal of sorts, of my travels and of mundane daily activities.
— Gloria Chung
One of the things I find fascinating about photographing in the High Falls historic district of Rochester, NY is the way my vision slips so quickly from the literal to the abstract. I find a never-ending stream of geometric studies within this urban landscape, and use them as an underpinning for the series. Within these abstractions lie other interesting studies in decay, renewal, and the struggle between beauty and harshness within an urban microcosm.
— Christopher Hubbell
These photographs are part of a survey of the landscape of Long Island that I have been working on since late 2008. I have been systematically making my way eastward from Brooklyn into Long Island, seeking out patches of semi-wilderness to explore and photograph. I say “survey,” but the photographs are not so much a record of the place as they are a record of my experience of the place, which I think is an important distinction.
I often struggle to reconcile my interests in the classical notion of picturesque beauty and the distressing truth of the contemporary landscape, and that struggle has become the foundation for this project.
I can’t say exactly what it is that draws me to a particular place—hopefully that is communicated through the photographs. Once I’ve found a location that interests me in some way, I return over the course of months and years to continue to explore and observe the small changes that occur over time. I plan to continue working on this project indefinitely.
— Dalton Rooney
After Trinity is a photographic project I began in the spring of 1987 and resumed in 2009. As an artist I feel a need to do more than just create aesthetically-pleasing photographs. My hope is to make art that both educates and promotes discussion. Global issues have been part of my consciousness for many years. Nuclear weapons (and their proliferation) entered my awareness after I read about Hiroshima as a ninth-grader. Without a doubt the threat of nuclear conflagration and the on-going technological development of such weapons systems are still causing political turmoil worldwide.
With these ideas in mind I adopted a multi-faceted, anthropological approach for this project. I visually catalog the symbols and artifacts of the atomic era, the detritus of early nuclear testing, and the active (or decommissioned) weapons installations just beyond public view.
For the Proximity subset of the After Trinity series my intent was to photograph the dichotomy of typical rural landscapes that sat only a few miles away from active ICBM missile silos. As Mark Rawlinson puts it in his essay titled Out of Sight, Out of Mind, the Proximity triptychs “gather together the tick-tock of everyday life—the work of the grain elevator, the life of the corner convenience store—with the Minuteman ICBM silos. Abutted in this way, the disjunction between one and the other, long forgotten, becomes chillingly apparent: Out of sight is out of mind.”
— Jeff Brouws
As a photographer, I work the night shift, the time of transition from daylight to night. During this liminal period, natural light gives way to streetlight, moonlight, window light, and advertisement and surveillance lighting. The workday crowds ebb, and the city’s avenues, bridges, parks, and buildings begin to resemble a giant set, a theatrical approximation of a city.
Paradoxically, it is only in these moments of dereliction that we can begin to populate the metropolis with our own thoughts and fantasies.
Lately, I have searched out places where the highways and bridges of the city’s exoskeleton abut construction sites overgrown with weeds. Such places remind me of illustrations in anatomy books, cross-sections that reveal the body’s structure. Locations in Long Island City and Hunter’s Point, Queens, are rich in these juxtapositions. These areas, like others I have photographed in Manhattan’s former meat packing area and Brooklyn’s DUMBO section, show a city in transition from an industrial to a post-industrial phase.
I work with traditional media: medium format cameras and color negative film which I print in a traditional darkroom whenever possible. I use digital media for scouting places and for extremely large prints.
My subject is elusive: the locations that reveal the city’s dis-location, seen at the brief moments each day when the light itself is shifting.
— Lynn Saville
My home is Southern California, a sea of concrete highways and shopping malls, suburbia interspersed with farmlands. How we use our land, assign its value, and employ it as a resource threads through our wide nation, and radiates from our shores across the world.
In both the urban blocks and rural expanses, the American landscape possesses our conflicts and fascination with change, our acceptance of the rough harmony of determination and deterioration.
I photograph in the fields and community of Oxnard, where an ever-changing landscape reflects the combined pressures of farming, commercial development and suburbia. The immense wealth of productive farmland is the core of this community. The land is cultivated, harvested, and turned into itself, to which the process loop begins, again and again.
These photographs are about the fringe of suburbia, that transition from the earth that feeds us to the homes that consume the land and the businesses that manufacture our way of life. How do we place value on the soil that feeds us and then tear up crops to build a shopping mall, only to see it shuttered before completion and left to spoil? In what do we believe and how do we want to create our landscape?
— Kurt Jordan
On my way back from Sydney, Australia to Frankfurt, Germany I had an overnight stay in South Korea. It was January 2010 and when we came out of the airport everything was covered with snow. It was extraordinarily beautiful and captivating.
The snow slowed everything down. There was hardly any traffic on the roads and the city looked like a deserted landscape. As we arrived at the hotel, every TV station was reporting on the masses of snow — which seemed to be unusual for Korea.
I started shooting some night views from our hotel window and continued the next morning. The landscape, with all the construction sites and the empty spaces, was totally fascinating to me.
I immediately fell in love with Incheon and wanted to capture this unusual and beautiful part of Korea in this rarely-seen state.
— Michael Werner