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Book Review Transparencies Photographs by Stephen Shore Reviewed by Blake Andrews Transparencies: Small Camera Works 1971-1979 offers an alternative account of one of the most fabled episodes in photographic history: the cross-country journeys that produced Stephen Shore’s luminous new vision of the American landscape, Uncommon Places.
Transparencies. By Stephen Shore.
Small Camera Works 1971–1979
Photographs by Stephen Shore

Mack, London, England, 2020. Unpaged, 11¾x12¼".

In the early 1970s, Stephen Shore seldom left a restaurant table unphotographed. Food was just one small component in his daily captures, which included motel rooms, dirty clothes, parking lots, toilets, ceilings, shops, nightstands, appliances, and all the other artifacts of his domestic explorations. Everything was fair game.

Shore’s aesthetic, which would eventually come to dominate fine art photography, was a deliberate effort to avoid modernist trappings — those of man seeking grandeur in the mundane. Instead, he looked to Ed Ruscha’s deadpan factuality for guidance. Inspired by postcards, commercial signage, and snapshots, he developed a direct, non-fussy style that stripped away any highbrow pretensions to framing, lighting, or the picturesque. Shore’s approach proved prescient. The idea that image is secondary to intention is now the zeitgeist.

TransparenciesBy Stephen Shore.

Transparencies is the latest in a recent slew of books to explore Shore’s early archives. A new edition of American Surfaces is also due soon. It’s rather amazing to look back and realize that these early photos weren’t published as books contemporaneously. The first edition of American Surfaces didn’t arrive until 1999, and it wasn’t until 2005 that a more comprehensive edit came along.

TransparenciesBy Stephen Shore.
Transparencies focuses on the mid-seventies, the period when Shore was transitioning to the view camera. That large format work would eventually produce his best known project, Uncommon Places. But even while consumed by that project, he hadn’t quite given up on 35mm. True, he’d ditched his trusty Rollei 35, but, in its place, acquired a Leica M2. Stocked with Kodachrome, it went everywhere with him.

How did that Leica see differently? The book shows a sampling of what Shore found: 112 photographs, generously sized, without captions. Transparencies compares with Uncommon Places in the ways one might expect. Beginning with a shaky series of indistinct road shots, the photos exude the loose energy of 35mm. Some frames are cockeyed, or seen through a windshield, or suffer from camera shake, or are helped by it. There are generally more pedestrians in Transparencies than Uncommon Places, though that may be a function of editing as much as format. And whereas Shore using a tripod could stop down his aperture to get entire scenes in focus, his 35mm depth of field was often restrained by slow film and unreliable lighting.

Although the work was shot concurrently, there’s seemingly only one scene shot by both cameras. That’s a boat harbor in Miami in 1975, huddled under a massive highway interchange. With no other direct comparisons, the reader looks to the work for hints of Shore’s thinking.

TransparenciesBy Stephen Shore.

Transparencies is sequenced chronologically. As we move through the seventies some familiar themes arise. One change that becomes immediately apparent is the transition to outdoors. Whereas American Surfaces largely featured indoor snapshots, Shore’s Leica found much of its material in public settings. The change in backdrop seems to echo a broader switch in Shore’s approach, from internalized snapshots of a very personal nature toward the dispassionate open landscapes typical of New Topographics. Whether the Leica work was “a parallel iteration of an iconic vision… like a piece of music played in a new key,” as Mack describes it, or simply the efforts of a photographer whose style had already moved on, the results are fascinating.

TransparenciesBy Stephen Shore.
The formalism of Uncommon Places manifests more and more as the reader wades deeper into Transparencies. The opening photos are blurred and dreamy, but they quickly firm up. Soon we see storefronts shot head-on, alleys opening into distant vistas, delicately composed parking lots, an affinity for cars, pavement, signs and vernacular material. There’s even a brief taste of Europe before the book returns stateside. By the time the reader encounters a street corner fronted by plywood walls, angled just so, the world has shifted convincingly toward Uncommon Places.

Regardless of camera, whatever Shore photographed in the 1970s was with intense visual hunger. It’s the same motivation fueling all great photographers and all lasting works, that restless need to swallow the world with a lens. “I wanted to be visually aware as I went through the day,” he is quoted in American Surfaces. “I started photographing everyone I met, every meal, every toilet, every bed I slept in, the streets I walked on, the towns I visited. Then, when the trip was over, I just continued it.”

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TransparenciesBy Stephen Shore.
TransparenciesBy Stephen Shore.

Blake Andrews is a photographer based in Eugene, OR. He writes about photography at

Book Review Day Sleeper Photographs by Dorothea Lange. Edited by Sam Contis. Reviewed by Christopher J. Johnson In this book Sam Contis presents a new window onto the work of the iconic American photographer Dorothea Lange. Drawing from Lange’s extensive archive, Contis constructs a fragmented, unfamiliar world centred around the figure of the day sleeper – at once a symbol of respite and oblivion.
Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.
Day Sleeper
Photographs by Dorothea Lange
Edited by Sam Contis

Mack, London, UK, 2020. Unpaged, 6¾x9½".

As Hamlet, weighing the misfortune of his life against the temptations of death, would say, “Aye, there’s the rub.” Sleeping, even couched in its extreme form as death, begets dreaming, and that’s a space where the unconscious loses control. “Perchance to dream” might be an epigram for Day Sleeper, for the question of dreams may be central to an understanding of this subtle, sensed yet silent dialogue between two Californians born three generations apart.

A “day sleeper” isn’t necessarily someone taking a siesta or a restorative catnap. Some people work at night and are thus asleep during the day while others are up and about. A handmade sign, like that tacked to the door of unit 1D in the image on page 139, is a request for silence in consideration for a graveyard shift worker, engaged at that moment in the fractious, sometimes restorative work of dreams.

Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.

Dreams abound in Lange’s work; one might say that the entire FSA photographic project revolves around dreams, the aspirations for recovery and security amid the Depression’s most terrible socio-economic circumstances. With her background as a successful studio portraitist in the San Francisco Bay Area, Lange had a talent for conveying empathetic depictions of individuals, contrasting, for example, Walker Evans’ forensic headshots of tenant farmers, sunlit against rough planks.

Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.
Appreciating the dreams of others is, by nature, a speculative undertaking. Contis, for her part, forges a relationship with Lange that parallels Lange’s relationship with her subjects, both the sleeping and the fretfully awake. We — readers, Contis, Lange — project ourselves into the unconscious machinations of another. And we, the viewers of this book, encounter another space of dreams, one constructed by astute designers and the photographer-cum-philosopher/visionary Contis. Amidst Lange’s streaming midtones, for instance, an occasional white/black two-page spread intervenes, as though recalibrating a white balance or reasserting the optical extremes of the light/dark spectrum.

One might be forgiven for a first take on Day Sleeper that suggests Contis’ own contemporary photographs interwoven with Lange’s. Many of the Lange images are unfamiliar, and many have a crisp, ethereal modernity that has characterized Yale’s Graduate Photography Program during the last three decades. Contis is among its recent alums. (Note that Contis pursued such an authorship-confounding modus operandi in her earlier book Deep Springs (Mack, 2017); in that project, the leap of time between original photographs and her own was a century.)

Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.

Read this book for its manifest visual pleasures. Contemplate its symbolism, weigh its signs, both those depicted within Lange’s photographs and those built around them as the book object narrative. Grasp and dwell in its subtext of daydreams and nightmares. (Note the zombie-like arms floating out of darkness on page 29 and the grotesquely crucified bird spread across 36 and 37.)

Recall that Lange, like the anonymous day sleeper, famously had a sign on the door of her darkened workspace. In her case, more verbose — a quote from the 17th century English philosopher Francis Bacon which served as a kind of epigrammatic mission statement for her. Bacon wrote: “The contemplation of things as they are, without error or confusion, without substitution or imposture, is in itself a nobler thing than a whole harvest of invention.” While Hamlet fretted over the imagined nobility of suffering “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” Lange, in Contis’ eloquent appreciation, utilized photography to inscribe visions of clarity, integrity, and humane purpose. What did beleaguered 1930s Americans dream of harvesting, besides hope?

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Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.
Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.
Day Sleeper. By Dorothea Lange & Sam Contis.
George Slade, aka re:photographica, is a writer and photography historian based in Minnesota's Twin Cities. He is also the founder and director of the non-profit organization TC Photo.

Image c/o Randall Slavin

Book Review hyle | curtain | backdrop Photographs by Anni Leppälä Reviewed by Christopher J. Johnson Anni Leppälä's work draws from memories, loss, longing and early youth. In her pictures she tries to make connection and closeness tangible, but also to reveal a familiar, deeper meaning.
hyle | curtain | backdrop. By Anni Leppälä.
hyle | curtain | backdrop
Photographs by Anni Leppälä

Kehrer Verlag, Stuttgart, Germany, 2019. 128 pp., 71 color illustrations, 6½x9¼x¼".

hyle | curtain | backdrop is a book of elements, mysteries, and appearances and disappearances. Engaging with the book creates a sort of trance wherein what is seen is only partially experienced, similar to following someone around corner after corner in a dream.

Hyle, the word, alludes to the originary matter of the universe as put down by the Pre-Socratic philosopher Empedocles and later adopted by Aristotle, but in this case it refers to the home as the center of our personal creation; a place of continual renewal and self-healing, but of concealment also.

After living with this book for several weeks, most of the time anywhere I went, I cannot recommend it enough. It is an enigma, but also reminds me of what it is to experience home, healing, and growth. It’s a book that is no book; this book is a spell like creation itself is a spell.

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hyle | curtain | backdrop. By Anni Leppälä.

hyle | curtain | backdrop. By Anni Leppälä.

hyle | curtain | backdrop. By Anni Leppälä.

hyle | curtain | backdrop. By Anni Leppälä.

hyle | curtain | backdrop. By Anni Leppälä.

Christopher J Johnson is a poet and writer living in Santa Fe. He is the author of &luckier, from the center for literary publishing. He is currently manager of photo-eye’s Book Division.

Book Review how lonely, to be a marsh Photographs by Madeline Cass Reviewed by Christian Michael Filardo The promise and pathology of America in the photographs of Epstein, more than half of which are previously unpublished.
how lonely, to be a marsh. By Madeline Cass.
how lonely, to be a marsh  
Photographs by Madeline Cass

self published, 2019. 100 pp., 8x10".

I have been in the wetlands of Virginia when they crested their banks due to an abundance of rainwater to join the River James and caused an algae bloom to kill the fish where the heron makes its nest. Wading knee-high into blue-green, god-knows-what, down by the train tracks while looking for something I still cannot define.

Marshes have an unsettlingly quiet wilderness about them. Waters so dark that gazing into the murk will have you mimicking a witch, looking into a scrying mirror for answers stewed in myth. A similar, yet more compassionate, energy arises when leafing through how lonely, to be a marsh by Madeline Cass. The poet-photographer’s first monograph blends documentary photography with the arts to build narrative around threatened Nebraska wetlands.

how lonely, to be a marsh. By Madeline Cass.

While some may see this book as an active rebellion towards a capitalist society, pushing for the protection of nature. I believe that Cass is using the marsh as a medium to further understand her own identity. Not to imply that the goal of the artist here is inherently selfish but, rather, to say that an  eco-warrior mentality is not the main draw to this experience. That is to say, if we are going to assume that the marsh has feelings synonymous to those of a human being, then we are seeing those emotions projected, through Madeline, onto soil, water, and the wildlife therein via photography, poetry, and research.

how lonely, to be a marsh. By Madeline Cass.
What strikes me most about this book is the artist’s ability to weave themes together in a fairly chaotic way. The interior design is all over the place. Handwritten text merges with typeface, images overlay other images, archival scans go full bleed at random. If the intention behind the design was to copy the fluid natural chaos of the Earth, we find success in the presentation. Images serve as document while walking the line between fine-art and photojournalism.

how lonely, to be a marsh. By Madeline Cass.
These are images that, at times, feel like historical documents, but serve the viewer’s inherent desire for a little eye-candy. We get the sunsets, we get the eggs, we get brush blurred, we get the taxidermy eagle, we get the archival aerial photograph. All the bases are covered and serve their purpose. I wouldn’t be surprised to find this book re-issued by a larger publisher once the initial self-published batch runs out.

Ultimately, what we have in how lonely to be a marsh is the documentation of an artist’s early forays into field research and building a compelling body of work around that practice. A truly impressive result for the size of the undertaking Cass took on in Nebraska. I feel as though this book asks us to take a moment to listen to our surroundings. Beckoning us towards the idea of a more sustainable future. One where we, as human beings, are cognizant of the plague we’ve become to our only home. The hope that we can right the ship and save ourselves before the sun sets on our reality. A book abundant with riddles still waiting for answers.

how lonely, to be a marsh. By Madeline Cass.

Christian Michael Filardo is a Filipino American photographer living and working in Richmond, Virginia. Filardo uses their camera to record everyday nuances, later grouping images to create narratives from the mundane, intimate, and quiet. Filardo writes critically for photo-eye and PHROOM and is a co-founder of the Richmond based art space Cherry. They have exhibited domestically and internationally. Their latest book Gerontion was released at the LA Art Book Fair in April 2019. They also released the zine Not Until This Morning (UDLI Editions) at NYABF in September 2019 which has since sold out.

Book Review Sunshine Hotel Photographs by Mitch Epstein Reviewed by Blake Andrews Cass combines her poetry and photography, images of botanical and zoological specimens, and early 1900s glass plate negatives and journal excerpts by pioneering prairie ecologist Frank Shoemaker.
Sunshine Hotel. By Mitch Epstein.
Sunshine Hotel  
Photographs by Mitch Epstein

Steidl/PPP Editions, 2019. In English. 264 pp., 175 illustrations, 12x12¼".

When you’ve been making photos for as long as Mitch Epstein has —just over a half-century and counting— your archive is likely to be enormous. As time passes, previously disregarded photos take on a fresh air. New themes take shape, images are re-combined in novel ways.

Such is the inspiration behind Epstein’s latest offering Sunshine Hotel. This is a career retrospective, but with a twist. Epstein’s oeuvre has been broken down into individual photos, and then reorganized from scratch by an outside curator. The man for the job, in this case, is Andrew Roth, respected critic and photo aficionado, perhaps best known for the seminal photobook The Book of 101 Books. Tasked here with putting a fresh spin on old material, Roth passes with flying colors.

Sunshine Hotel. By Mitch Epstein.

“For a long time, I’d wanted to break my pictures out of their structured series and put them together on different terms, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it,” Epstein explained during an interview with Document Journal. “Andrew saw it clearly. He laid the groundwork for the sequencing, and broke the established order of my past chronology and projects. […] A madness builds in the book, which is intentional; every picture and placement was highly considered. That said, there is no one reading to any picture, juxtaposition of pictures, or sequence.”

Sunshine Hotel. By Mitch Epstein.
Photos stripped of context and chronology, considered only on their own merits. Such a treatment —closer in spirit to Instagram than traditional, concept-based projects— is quite liberating. Unfettered and set loose on the pages, Epstein’s photos make all sorts of exciting connections. His famous World Trade Center photo becomes less a study of American grandeur than a formal duality. It’s followed by two tracks in the snow, two roads bridging a desert chasm, then a similar road fronting a reservoir, and so on. Another short passage sequences crowd shots, transforming Epstein’s well-known photo of a grinning soldier —a Vietnam war commentary in its previous life— into yet another street study.

There are 175 such photos in the book, cleverly sequenced into 14 passages of varying length. Some of the connections are obvious, while others are more subtle. Regardless of sequence, the individual photographs are strong enough to stand on their own. There are several dozen old favorites included, and a few score more will be familiar to general photo buffs. But there is still more than enough unseen work included —roughly half the book— to entertain even the most jaded Epstein fans.

Certainly, Roth’s treatment strips Epstein’s photos of their emotional resonance. There’s none of the gut-punch power here of, say, Family Business or American Power, severe commentaries on the American dream. But for me, the trade-off is worth it. It’s nice to set aside societal issues for a moment and just enjoy photographs as photographs. If one wants to wade deeper, Sunshine Hotel also works on that level as a broad 50-year snapshot of American culture through the lens of Epstein.

Sunshine Hotel. By Mitch Epstein.

The sheer breadth of Epstein’s career comes across over the course of 175 photos. He is one of the rare photographers —like Friedlander, Soth, Meyerowitz, and some others— able to attack just about any subject with equal tenacity. Street photos, nature, portrait, monochrome, large format, event, social landscape, etc. Epstein handles all with aplomb, and just about everything is represented here.

For those keeping track, this is not the first Epstein career retrospective. Book lovers who own Recreation (2005) or Work (2007) might wonder if Sunshine Hotel has enough new material to justify the purchase. In my opinion, yes. First, this new book includes a sizable chunk of Epstein’s work from the past 12 years. Second, the reproductions are better than in either of the previous books. The color casts and awkward aspect ratio of the roughly chronological Recreation —how can that fit reasonably on any bookshelf?— have been corrected. Work was a better effort, but in comparison to Sunshine Hotel the photos are smallish, and of course, organized by project. Given the excellent print quality and fresh sequencing, Sunshine Hotel has enough separation from those two books to be worthwhile.

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Sunshine Hotel. By Mitch Epstein.

Blake Andrews is a photographer based in Eugene, OR. He writes about photography at

Book Review In Dreams Photographs by Dennis Hopper Reviewed by Zach Stieneker People are the primary subjects of In Dreams, and the cast of characters extends far beyond Hopper’s family. These images hold a celebratory spirit that seems in contrast with the melancholic character of the book’s title and the images of Hopper’s family, but ultimately testifies to the way nostalgia can tightly border grieving.
In Dreams. By Dennis Hopper.
In Dreams  
Photographs by Dennis Hopper

Damiani, Italy, 2019. In English. 140 pp., 97 illustrations, 9¼x8".

There’s a man in a black leather jacket turning toward a stereo; there’s the click of the play button; there’s the disembodied strum of an acoustic guitar. And then there’s Roy Orbison’s voice, crooning “In Dreams” as the man in the black leather jacket silently sings along, his gleaming eyes betraying the forlorn gaze of someone staring more inward than outward.

The scene is from David Lynch’s Blue Velvet (1986), and the man is Frank Booth, played by Dennis Hopper. It represents one of the many iconic performances that famously link Hopper’s name to Hollywood. Although his work as a visual artist and photographer is lesser known, a line of books assembled from Hopper’s photographic archive, edited and designed by Michael Schmelling, testifies to the late actor’s talent in the medium. The latest, In Dreams, is conceptualized as a throughline, an effort to “connect his roles as photographer, husband, and actor” through a series of images made between 1961 and 1967.

Biker Couple, 1961. By Dennis Hopper.

This period, concurrent with a lull in Hopper’s acting career, entails the full extent of his photographic output. His abandonment of photography was as wholehearted as the fervor with which he practiced it. “I was trying to forget…” Hopper confessed in interview, “[t]he photographs represented failure to me. A painful parting from Marin (daughter) and Brooke (ex-wife), my art collection, the house that I lived in and the life that I had known for those eight years.”

That the book’s title, In Dreams, refers specifically to the Orbison ballad that entrances Frank Booth rather than the general realm of the phantasmagorical becomes particularly significant in light of Hopper’s words. In its final verses, the song transmits a similar sense of melancholia:

But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone
I can't help it, I can't help it, if I cry
I remember that you said goodbye

It's too bad that all these things
Can only happen in my dreams
Only in dreams, in beautiful dreams

If the notion of dreams typically invokes the fantastical and enigmatic, this collection of images then resides on a different (though sometimes overlapping) plane. Dreams here are memories, hazy relics of a lost love, yearnings for a halcyon past.

Waiting for Dailies, 1961–67. By Dennis Hopper.

The book opens with an image that encapsulates this dynamic. It shows two hands –– one small, one large –– hovering above a puddle, index fingers outstretched and pointing. The hands belong to Hopper’s daughter Marin and his ex-wife, Brooke Hayward. Joined in the search for tiny fascinations, a feeling of intimate togetherness emanates from the photograph. Hopper’s presence as he crouches alongside his family feels implicit. There’s a unity that we know will not hold –– that may already be crumbling –– and so, the image becomes an emblem of Hopper’s lost, beautiful dream.

Girl in Rear-view Mirror, 1961–67. By Dennis Hopper.
David Hemmings with Lips, 1961–67. By Dennis Hopper.
We are only able to see Marin and Brooke in this photograph through their hands –– an elusiveness that they maintain throughout the collection. The only other photograph of Marin depicts her feet pressed against the back of a car seat; we see her metonymically. Brooke, meanwhile, returns as a weary grocery shopper, a small photograph in an oval frame, a model in a backyard photoshoot, and an out-of-focus lover. In none of these images, however, does she seem to concede herself to the camera –– rather, she is figured with a certain evasiveness. Such unknowability reflects the fogging and fracturing that experiences undergo as they become increasingly distant memories. They can always be recalled, but never in the completeness of the moments from which the photographs were extracted.

People are the primary subjects of In Dreams, and the cast of characters extends far beyond Hopper’s family. Depicting a pantheon of 1960s notability, the book reads in part as a catalog of the actor’s celebrity milieu. These images hold a celebratory spirit that seems incongruent with the melancholic character of the book’s title and the images of Hopper’s family, but ultimately testifies to the way nostalgia can tightly border grieving.

In Dreams is a portrait of a phase in Dennis Hopper’s life. It’s one very particular phase in one very particular life. Its emotional contours, however, may not be so particular. Lost painfully or peacefully, it’s a poignant reminder that each completed phase of our lives will become another of our beautiful dreams.

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Jane Fonda (with garter), 1965. By Dennis Hopper.

Zach Stieneker holds a BA in English and Spanish from Emory University. Following graduation, he spent several months continuing his study of photography in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

photo-eye Gallery Announcing:
FRACTURED Opening February 28, 2020
photo-eye Gallery is thrilled to announce FRACTURED, our first-ever international juried exhibition, opening Friday, February 28th, 2020. This exhibition was juried by the photo-eye Gallery staff, and out of thousands of submissions, 25 artists were selected for the exhibition. We're excited to preview a few of the works from FRACTURED here today.

Above Image:  Marcus DeSieno, 47.366670, 8.550000, Archival Pigment Print of a Still from a Surveillance Camera,
16 x 20 inches

photo-eye recently announced that we are celebrating our 40th year with our first-ever juried exhibition. Over the past few months, photo-eye Gallery held an international open call for artwork relating to the concept FRACTURED. Artists were asked to be broadly creative in interpreting the theme of “fractured” as it might relate to our seemingly broken world, politics, society, identity, or emotional states of being. Applicants were also charged with exploring art’s role as a way to bridge personal and social divides in our fractured times. The gallery received an immense amount of work covering a wide range of these topics.

This exhibition was juried by the photo-eye Gallery staff, and out of thousands of submissions, 25 artists were selected for the exhibition.

The FRACTURED artists are: Charles Anselmo, Tom Atwood, Edward Bateman, David Paul Bayles, Jo Ann Chaus, Heidi Cost, Kelly Cowan, Lauren Davies, Monica Denevan, K.K. DePaul, Marcus DeSieno, Virgil DiBiase, Peter Essick, Jon Feinstein, Meg Griffiths, Jennifer Steensma Hoag, Ruth Lauer Manenti, William Lesch, Christine Lorenz, Marie Maher, Jennifer McClure, Daniel McCullough, Leigh Merrill, JP Terlizzi and Ira Wagner.

Within FRACTURED, our viewers can look forward to a very diverse exhibition of work that considers “fractures” both literally and from perspectives a bit more nebulous. Jo Ann Chaus mysteriously examines the concept of fractured identities in her bold, psychologically captivating self-portraiture, while the photographs of grafted tree species by David Paul Bayles are a direct representation of man-made fractures in our agricultural environment. There are fresh, unexpected takes on materials as seen in Lauren Davies’ deconstructed blanket works, which push the boundaries of how a photograph can exist — in this case, as a fractured, deconstructed object. The show also features exciting explorations into alternative analog photography techniques like the physical alterations Daniel McCullough makes to his film before exposing it, which creates chance interactions between his mark-making and imagery.

Artwork Preview:

Jo Ann Chaus, Shutters, Archival Pigment Print, 19 x 13 inches

David Paul Bayles, Orchard for Arlo 62, Archival Pigment Print, 16 x 16 inches 

Lauren Davies, Detroit House 2, Deconstructed Woven Photography,
22 x 24 inches

Daniel McCullough, Untitled, 2018, Archival Pigment Print, 20x25 inches

FRACTURED will run February 28th – May 23, 2020, with an opening reception Friday, February 28 from 5-7pm corresponding with the Last Friday Art Walk in the Railyard Arts District.

A full online portfolio of works from FRACTURED will debut in the coming weeks. For more information, and to purchase prints, please contact Gallery Staff at 505-988-5152 x202 or

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