Found Lost is not unsure of itself, but it doesn’t let on to much intent either. It reads like your first step into deeper reflection, a precursor to finding oneself where one finds out that what they have discovered is that what they now know, is that they don’t know—a personal and rambling and wandering space where meaning pings like pennies dropped on the sidewalk.
Sand gets on everything. In clothes, in shoes, in your eyes, in the chambers of a gun. It might get brought back home after you have been on a trip to the beach or after a tour of duty. Despite being ten years after Chan’s tour, Ten Years After Iraq deals with the now—his family, his post-war perspective, his guilt by way of the unsettled, perhaps never to be settled, past.
As much intersubjective agreement as possible. Pictures Without Words Volume 001, Issue 003 includes work by Mark Albain, Dick Blau, Shawn Bush, Jonathan Clayton, Nathan Compton, Nick Korompilas, Juan Madrid, Simon Martin, Lindsay McCarty, Zora J. Murff, Joaquin Palting, Nathan Pearce, Quentin Pinczon, Betty Press, Justin Clifford Rhody, Cyril Sancereau, Martina M. Shenal, Marylise Vigneau, and Rana Young
This isn’t a meta photobook review. That is to say, it’s not a photobook review about photobooks. And it’s not about me reviewing photobooks. It’s about the terror of stillness and that, “That’s what calls me to the Midwest,” writes Nathan Pearce in conclusion of his latest Midwest Dirt iteration.
“Making the leap was such a physical and social experience, but also an intensely interior and private one; your friends teased you until you did it, but then you’re all alone in that eternity between flight and splash.”
“I certainly believe in the importance of bearing witness to what stands before us (or as photographers, what we choose to stand before), while honoring that we may not know or understand what it is we are actually seeing, and may never.”
Remembrance is just as prevalent in Birmingham-based fine art photographers Jared Ragland and Cary Norton’s collaborative project GUSDUGGER—of which the series Where You Come From Is Gone is included—as it was integral to the 2016 political campaign slogan: Make America Great Again, but the two could perhaps not be further divided. If MAGA remembers a time we as Americans are to reclaim, then Where You Come From Is Gone remembers what we took and the places deconstructed to make this country what it is today.