Stephen Shore: Artist Profile

Stephen Shore, a photographer whose quiet, observant vision has profoundly shaped our understanding of the American landscape, holds a unique position in the history of the medium. He's not a purveyor of the spectacular or the conventionally picturesque. Instead, he finds a quiet poetry in the everyday, revealing the extraordinary within the seemingly mundane. His early colour photographs, in particular, are characterized by a remarkable stillness, a precise attention to detail, and a deep appreciation for the vernacular. Gas stations, parking lots, roadside motels, and the interiors of unassuming diners are all treated with the same level of visual consideration typically reserved for more traditionally "beautiful" subjects. Often devoid of human figures, his images nevertheless speak volumes about contemporary life, the spaces we occupy, and the subtle shifts of time. They prompt contemplation, not through dramatic statements, but through a gentle, insistent invitation to look. Shore’s photography is less about the what and more about the how of seeing. He has expressed a fundamental interest “in the world, in how things look,” a deceptively simple statement that gets to the heart of his artistic project. He doesn’t impose meaning onto the world; he seeks to understand and articulate his own way of seeing it. His photographs are less about the objects they depict and more about the very act of perception.

Shore’s influences are diverse, spanning both photography and other artistic disciplines. He has cited Walker Evans as a significant inspiration, acknowledging the impact of Evans’s documentary approach and his ability to find beauty in the ordinary. He has also mentioned being influenced by both good and bad photography as a young man, including commercial photography magazines like Popular Photography. As a teenager, he even contacted Edward Steichen at the Museum of Modern Art, showing him his work. Steichen purchased three of his photographs. “I think I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to do this,” Shore explained. He described those early photographs as “not really very good,” and acknowledged other, less celebrated influences alongside Evans. “I had a lot of bad influences also. Aside from the good influences, like Walker Evans, I looked at the commercial photography magazines, as well.” These included publications like Popular Photography, demonstrating a wide-ranging curiosity and an openness to different visual languages. While Evans primarily worked in black and white, Shore embraced the potential of colour photography early in his career, recognizing its capacity to capture the subtle nuances of light, texture, and atmosphere. This choice, at a time when black and white was still the dominant mode for “serious” photography, was a bold move that distinguished Shore’s work. He also shares a sensibility with the New Topographics photographers, including Robert Adams, in their shared focus on the contemporary landscape, though Shore’s work is less overtly driven by social or political critique. His perspective is more purely observational, less concerned with explicit judgments about the environment.  

The importance of Shore’s work lies in its quiet subversion of photographic conventions, its subtle recalibration of how we perceive the world. He challenged established ideas about what constituted a suitable subject for photographic representation, elevating the commonplace to the realm of art. His images aren't about the spectacular or the sensational; they are about the act of looking and the process of reflection. They encourage us to decelerate, to attend to the details we so often overlook, and to discover the inherent beauty of the everyday. His photographs, as he describes them, “were not about what was in front of me, but about my experience of it.” This emphasis on subjective experience, coupled with a sharp awareness of formal elements, allows Shore’s images to resonate on multiple levels. They are simultaneously descriptive and evocative, capturing the specificities of a particular time and place while hinting at larger themes of cultural identity, memory, and the very nature of human perception. He also challenges the tendency to categorize photography into rigid “isms,” suggesting that a single photograph can function in multiple ways: as an art object, a document, a formal exploration, and a resonant expression on a deeper, more personal level. “Why can’t a photograph be all four things at once?” he proposes.

Shore’s artistic trajectory has taken him from his initial explorations of the American landscape to a variety of other subjects and approaches. He has worked with portraiture, still life, and even ventured into abstraction, always maintaining his unique sensitivity to detail and his commitment to observation. However, it is his early work, particularly the series “American Surfaces,” that remains most iconic and influential. These photographs, made during a series of cross-country road trips in the 1970s, capture a specific moment in American history, a period of change and transition. They provide a portrait of a nation in flux, a visual record of the ordinary landscapes that shape our collective experience. “American Surfaces” was initially shown as small, Kodak-processed snapshots, before Shore decided to create larger prints. He found the 35mm film too grainy for the enlargements he envisioned and thus transitioned to a 4x5, and then an 8x10 camera. “It was never my intention to go to an 8x10,” he explained. “I mean it really was simply that I wanted to continue American Surfaces but with a larger negative.” He discovered that the larger format led him to “discover other things about photographic seeing that I wanted to explore.” This marked the beginning of a “kind of formal evolution” in his work, an unexpected development driven by a process of inquiry that unfolded as he worked. The view camera, with its ground glass and the necessity of using a tripod, pushed him towards more deliberate decisions about composition and framing. “You can’t sort of stand somewhere, and it is exactly where you want to be,” he observed. This methodical approach, combined with the expense of film and processing, fostered within him “a kind of taste for certainty.” He also reflected on his time at Warhol’s Factory, noting the work ethic and openness of Warhol’s artistic process. “Andy was very open about his process,” Shore recalled. “What I saw every day was someone making aesthetic decisions.” He observed that while his commercial work taught him the value of collaboration, his personal artistic practice is a solitary pursuit. He also spoke of the influence of Warhol’s fascination with everyday culture, a sensibility that resonated with his own artistic leanings. “Andy may have been more…cynical than I am. But he took pleasure in the culture. He was just amazed at how things just are.”  

Shore’s books have been crucial in disseminating his work and solidifying his reputation. “American Surfaces,” published in 1999, is a landmark publication, compiling many of his most recognizable images from the 1970s. The book is more than a mere collection of photographs; it is a meticulously sequenced journey through the American landscape, a visual narrative that unfolds with each page turn. “Uncommon Places” is another important collection of his large-format colour photographs. Shore explained that the 1982 edition of Uncommon Places was incomplete. “I knew that there were a lot more—I mean a lot more [photographs]—that ought to be in it.” The expanded edition includes a greater number of interiors and portraits, more accurately reflecting the range of his photographic interests during that period. “The original gave a false impression of what was going on in the work,” he said. He also discussed the book’s structure, noting that it is not strictly chronological but rather organized around distinct photographic trips. This structure was intended to highlight a stylistic evolution, which he believes is intrinsically linked to personal growth. The inclusion of portraits in the expanded Uncommon Places is particularly noteworthy. Shore explained that these portraits were not intended as in-depth character studies, but rather as “surfaces, as cultural artifacts.” He also pointed out that using a tripod for portraiture created a different dynamic with his subjects, allowing him to focus more intently on their expressions and the specific moment of the photograph. “I can pay more attention to them, because I’m not seeing them through a viewfinder, I’m seeing them with my eyes, and I’m choosing the moment just with my eyes, without a camera in between.” He also spoke about his “Conceptual work,” which explored serial imagery and systematic approaches to photography. He cited the influence of John Coplans’s Serial Imagery and his interactions with conceptual artists, while emphasizing his own background as a photographer and the importance of visual meaning in his work. “I thought I could bring something visual to a concept,” he explained.  

Shore’s exhibitions have also been critical in establishing his place within the art world. His work has been displayed in major museums and galleries internationally, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Art Institute of Chicago. A significant retrospective of his work at the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles in 2007 further cemented his position as one of the most significant photographers of his generation. These exhibitions have provided viewers with the opportunity to experience the breadth of Shore’s oeuvre, from his early snapshots to his more recent projects.

Shore’s work occupies a complex and nuanced position within the history of photography. He is part of a lineage of photographers who have explored the American landscape, from the 19th-century pioneers to the documentary photographers of the 20th century. However, he also distinguishes himself from these traditions, forging his own unique path. His use of colour, his focus on the quotidian, and his quiet, observational style have all contributed to a fresh way of perceiving the world.

Nadav Kander: Artist Profile

Nadav Kander (born 1961) is a London-based photographer, artist and director, known for his portraiture and landscapes. Kander’s photographs are often described as quiet, monumental, and imbued with a sense of unease. They are landscapes, portraits, and still lifes, but rarely straightforwardly so. A Kander image is less a record of a thing seen and more an exploration of the psychological space between the viewer and the subject, between the present and an imagined future. He photographs the vast and the minute, the industrial and the natural, the powerful and the vulnerable, finding in each a similar thread of human fragility and the precariousness of our place in the world. Kander’s work is less about the decisive moment and more about the lingering aftermath, the quiet before the storm, or the slow erosion of time. A sense of quietude and introspection permeates all his work, from his vast landscapes to his intimate portraits, connecting these seemingly disparate genres. As Kander himself has stated, “I’m looking to be moved by the image and I hope for the viewer to recognize something of themselves in the image too.”

Kander has cited a diverse range of influences, from the stark landscapes of the American West photographers like Carleton Watkins and Timothy O’Sullivan, to the painterly atmospheres of early pictorialists. He has spoken of the impact of the Bechers’ typologies of industrial structures, not for their detached objectivity, but for the inherent human presence that resonated in their stark depictions of functional architecture. One senses, too, the influence of photographers like Edward Weston, whose close-ups of natural forms revealed an almost abstract beauty, and the quiet intensity of Irving Penn’s portraits. “I’m interested in the space between things,” Kander has said, “not just the thing itself.” This interest in the interstitial, the in-between, is evident in his landscapes, which often feature liminal spaces – shorelines, riverbanks, the edges of cities – places where human activity and the natural world collide and intertwine. This fascination with the “space between things” extends to his portraiture, where he seeks to capture not just a likeness but the unspoken stories and emotions that reside within his subjects.

The importance of Kander’s work lies in its ability to evoke a sense of unease and wonder in equal measure. He photographs the detritus of industrial progress – abandoned factories, decaying machinery, polluted landscapes – not with a sense of moralising condemnation, but with a quiet acknowledgement of the human cost of progress. His images of the Namibian desert, for example, are not simply beautiful landscapes; they are also a reminder of the vastness of time and the insignificance of human endeavour in the face of geological forces. In his series "Dust," which documents the remnants of Soviet-era military installations in Kazakhstan, the crumbling concrete structures become monuments to a failed ideology, their decay a poignant reminder of the transience of power. “I’m drawn to things that are on the edge of disappearing,” Kander has explained, “things that are holding on, but only just.” This sense of impending loss, of a world in flux, is a recurring motif in his work, imbuing even his most serene landscapes with a subtle tension.

Over the course of his career, Kander’s work has evolved, but his core concerns have remained constant. He has continued to explore the relationship between humanity and the environment, the fragility of human existence, and the passage of time. His early work was often characterised by a stark, almost minimalist aesthetic. As his career has progressed, his images have become more layered and complex, incorporating a greater sense of narrative and emotional depth. His series "Yangtze, The Long River," which documented the rapid industrialisation of China, marked a turning point in his career. The series was not simply a record of environmental destruction; it was also a meditation on the human cost of progress and the loss of cultural heritage. “The Yangtze project was a huge undertaking,” Kander has said, “it changed the way I thought about photography.” This project, which saw him travel the length of the Yangtze River over three years, solidified his reputation as a photographer capable of tackling complex and globally relevant themes.

Kander’s portraiture too is compelling, and it forms a significant part of his oeuvre. Spanning 30 years and encompassing a diverse range of subjects, from world leaders to ordinary individuals, his portraits reveal a remarkable sensitivity to the human condition. As evidenced in The Meeting, a recent volume dedicated to his portraiture, Kander’s lens captures the essence of his subjects, revealing their vulnerabilities, their strengths, and their place in the world. He has photographed Barack Obama, Sir David Attenborough, David Lynch, Desmond Tutu, Thom Yorke, and even his own mother, finding the common thread of human experience that connects them all. His portraits are not about capturing a likeness, but about revealing something of the subject’s inner life, their character, their anxieties, their place in the world. He often uses a shallow depth of field, blurring the background and focusing attention; notable too, is his use of coloured lighting, his subjects often bathed in a cinematographic blue/green haze spotted with warm notes of amber or pink or isolated from plain backgrounds by the corona-like halo of a ring flash. These techniques always drawing the viewer into a more intimate encounter with the individual portrayed, emphasizing their presence and suggesting a degree of psychological isolation. It’s not just about the face, though; sometimes a hand gesture, the way a person holds their body, or the space around them becomes just as important as the features themselves.

Kander’s portraits often possess a stillness, an intensity that invites contemplation. He captures moments of introspection, of weariness, of quiet strength. There’s a sense of something unsaid in many of his portraits, a story hinted at but not fully revealed. He avoids the posed, the performative, seeking instead the unguarded moment, the flicker of emotion that betrays the carefully constructed facade. In his portrait of Barack Obama, for example, the then-Senator is shown in a moment of quiet contemplation, his gaze averted from the camera. The image is not about power or status, but about the weight of responsibility and the solitude of leadership. It’s a portrait that humanizes a figure often seen as larger than life, revealing a moment of quiet vulnerability. This vulnerability is not weakness, but a recognition of the burdens carried and the decisions faced. This ability to find the human within the powerful is a hallmark of Kander’s portraiture.

Kander brings the same level of attention and insight to his portraits of ordinary individuals, finding the extraordinary in the everyday. The Meeting includes portraits of Walthamstow market traders, capturing the character and resilience of these individuals within their working environment. These portraits, like those of the famous, possess a quiet dignity, a respect for the individual and their experiences. They remind us of the shared humanity that connects us all, regardless of status or background. In these images, the individual becomes representative of something larger, a microcosm of the human condition. Kander’s own history informs his approach to portraiture. Having grown up in South Africa, his series of portraits of children in colonial school uniform, taken in 1991, are particularly poignant. As he reflects on one of these portraits, Schoolgirl (white photographer), he acknowledges the complex dynamics of the encounter, recognizing in the child’s gaze not mistrust, as he initially perceived, but disgust. This self-awareness, this willingness to confront his own biases and preconceptions, is what gives his portraits their depth and resonance. “A portrait is not about what someone looks like,” Kander has said, “it’s about who they are.” It's about the stories they carry, the experiences that have shaped them, the emotions that flicker across their faces.

Kander’s books are an integral part of his artistic practice, his first, Pentimento, published in 2000, was a retrospective of his early work, showcasing his diverse range of subjects and styles. Yangtze, The Long River, published in 2007, was a landmark publication that brought him international acclaim. Dust, published in 2011, continued his exploration of the relationship between humanity and the environment. Bodies. Still Life, published in 2016, explored the human form in a series of intimate and often unsettling images. The Meeting, his 2019 portrait collection, adds another important chapter to his body of work. “A book is a different experience than seeing a photograph on a wall,” Kander has said. “It’s a more intimate and immersive experience.”

Kander’s work fits into the history of photography in a number of ways. He is part of a tradition of landscape photography that stretches back to the 19th century, but his approach is distinctly contemporary. He is not simply documenting the world around him; he is interpreting it, imbuing it with his own vision. His work also engages with the history of portraiture, but he moves beyond the simple capturing of a likeness to explore the inner lives of his subjects. Kander's work shares some concerns with the New Topographics movement of the 1970s, which focused on the altered landscape, though his work possesses a greater degree of emotional resonance than the often detached work of those photographers. He is also part of a lineage of portrait photographers who seek to capture more than just an outward appearance, delving into the psychological depths of their subjects. "I'm not interested in just documenting reality," Kander has said. "I'm interested in exploring the underlying emotions and anxieties that shape our experience of the world." This exploration of the emotional landscape, both internal and external, is what sets his work apart.

Kander’s approach to landscape photography, his use of portraiture, and his interest in the relationship between humanity and the environment have all resonated with a new generation of artists. His work has also helped to broaden the definition of what photography can be, moving beyond the purely documentary to embrace a more poetic and expressive approach. His success in both the commercial and artistic realms, shooting covers for influential publications while simultaneously pursuing his personal projects, also provides a valuable model for aspiring photographers. As he notes, “I don’t think one gets ‘discovered’—rather, it happens for those individuals who fight to have their work seen.” His own career trajectory, marked by dedication, self-reflection, and a constant striving to refine his craft, serves as an inspiration to those navigating the often-challenging world of photography.

Kander has created a body of work that is both beautiful and thought-provoking, challenging us to consider our place in the world and the impact of our actions. His images are not simply records of the present; they are also glimpses into the future, warnings about the fragility of our planet and the precariousness of human existence. He asks us to consider not only what we see, but also what we don't, the spaces between the things, the emotions that flicker across a face, the stories whispered by a landscape. “I hope that my work can make people think,” Kander has said. “I hope that it can make them question the world around them.” His photographs are not easy or comfortable. They ask us to confront difficult truths about ourselves and our world. Yet, it is in this confrontation that the power of Kander’s work lies. It is a power that will continue to resonate for generations to come, prompting reflection, inspiring dialogue, and reminding us of the shared humanity that binds us all. His ability to bridge the gap between commercial and artistic photography, his dedication to mentoring young photographers, and his unwavering commitment to exploring the complex relationship between humanity and the environment all contribute to a legacy that extends beyond the individual image, shaping the future of the medium itself. He reminds us that photography is not just about capturing a moment, but about engaging with the world, questioning our place within it, and striving to understand the human condition in all its complexity and beauty.

"We are all on this earth for a very short time," Kander has reflected. "Photography is a way of trying to make sense of that." This sense of time, both fleeting and monumental, is a constant presence in his work, reminding us of our own place within the larger narrative of existence.

Lewis Baltz: Artist Profile

Lewis Baltz’s photographs are not about beauty in the conventional sense. They are about the stark realities of the contemporary landscape, the overlooked corners, the banal architectures, the spaces in between. They are about the quiet unease of the post-industrial world, the subtle violence of urban sprawl, the creeping anonymity of late capitalism. Baltz’s work, one could argue, is a kind of forensic examination of the built environment, a meticulous cataloguing of the often-unseen structures that shape our lives. As he himself stated, “I am a describer. I describe things as accurately as I can.” It’s this commitment to description, this almost clinical detachment, that makes his work so powerful. He wasn’t interested in the picturesque, the sublime views that had defined landscape photography for so long. As he explained, “I was living in Monterey, a place where the classic photographers—the Westons, Wynn Bullock, and Ansel Adams—came for a privileged view of nature. But my daily life very rarely took me to Point Lobos or Yosemite; it took me to shopping centres and gas stations and all the other unhealthy growth that flourished beside the highway. It was a landscape that no one else had much interest in looking at.”

Born in Newport Beach, California, Baltz’s own journey through this overlooked landscape began with studies at the San Francisco Art Institute before receiving his MFA from Claremont Graduate University. His subsequent career, marked by his involvement in the seminal 1975 “New Topographics” exhibition, solidified his position as a key figure in redefining landscape photography. Alongside Robert Adams, Stephen Shore, and Bernd and Hilla Becher, Baltz presented a new vision, one that focused on the “man-altered landscape,” the often-unassuming spaces of tract housing, office parking lots, and industrial parks. As William Jenkins, the curator of the "New Topographics" exhibition, noted, the photographers shared a “stylistic anonymity,” which he linked to the detached point of view employed by Ed Ruscha.

Baltz’s influences are complex and not always immediately apparent. He admired the work of Walker Evans, particularly his documentary photographs of the American South during the Great Depression, but Baltz’s approach was fundamentally different. Evans’s images, while often stark and unadorned, possess a certain humanism, a sense of empathy for his subjects. Baltz’s photographs, on the other hand, are more detached, more focused on the structures themselves, the way they impose themselves on the landscape. He also acknowledged the influence of the New Topographics exhibition itself, a landmark show that provided a crucial context for understanding his work and that of his contemporaries. As he said, “I never saw myself as a photographer. I never liked photography very well. I never felt any allegiance to its so-called history … I made photographs because photography was the simplest, most direct way of recording something.”

His early work, particularly his series The New Industrial Parks near Irvine, California (1974), established his distinctive style. These photographs, taken in the newly developed industrial parks of Southern California, depict rows of identical warehouses, anonymous office buildings, and vast expanses of empty parking lots. They are images of a world without people, or rather, a world where human presence is reduced to a mere trace, a fleeting shadow. As he explained about this series, “I was interested in the idea of a kind of tabula rasa, a place where everything was possible, but in fact, nothing much was happening.” This sense of emptiness, this feeling of potential unfulfilled, is a recurring theme in his work. As he recalled, growing up in Southern California, “You could watch the changes taking place and it was astonishing. A new world was being born … this new homogenised American environment that was marching across the land. And it seemed no one wanted to confront this; it was invisible.”

Baltz’s photographs are not always easy to look at. They can be monotonous, even depressing. But they are also strangely compelling. They force us to confront the often-unseen realities of the world we inhabit, the structures that shape our lives, the forces that drive our society. He had a knack for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary, for revealing the hidden beauty, or perhaps the hidden ugliness, of the everyday. His minimalism, as seen in his influential photobooks like The New Industrial Parks Near Irvine, California, San Quentin Point, and Candlestick Point, possessed a stark, geometric beauty, making visible this “new homogenised America” in a way that echoed – and criticised – the soullessness of urban planning and the corporate rationale behind it.

Lewis Baltz in Jean Nouvel's Amat hotel. Image: Slavica Perkovic

The New Industrial Parks near Irvine, California, published in 1975, quickly became a seminal work in the history of photography. It established Baltz as a leading figure in the New Topographics movement and helped to redefine the way we think about landscape photography. The book itself, with its minimalist design and its stark, unadorned images, mirrored the aesthetic of the photographs themselves.

Later in his career, particularly in the late 1980s after moving to Europe, Baltz’s work underwent a significant shift. He moved away from the modestly scaled black-and-white photographs that had defined his early work and began to produce large-scale colour prints. He was interested, he said, in representing “the generic European city.” This change in format and medium allowed him to capture the “massive hermetic spaces” of hi-tech and government research facilities in France and Japan with a new level of detail and intensity. He also became fascinated with digital technology and its uses, particularly in surveillance and control, as seen in his monumental 1992 installation Ronde de Nuit at the Pompidou Centre in Paris.

Baltz’s work fits into a broader context of 20th-century art that explored the themes of alienation, industrialisation, and the changing nature of the landscape. His photographs share a certain kinship with the work of artists like Edward Hopper, whose paintings depict the isolation and loneliness of modern life. They also resonate with the work of photographers like Bernd and Hilla Becher, who documented the industrial architecture of Germany with a similarly detached and objective eye.

Baltz’s influence on subsequent generations of photographers is undeniable. His work has paved the way for a more conceptual and critical approach to photography, one that questions the traditional notions of beauty and landscape. Photographers who explore the built environment, who examine the impact of human activity on the land, owe a debt to Baltz’s pioneering vision.

Lewis Baltz’s legacy is complex and multifaceted. He is remembered as a photographer who challenged our notions of landscape, who revealed the hidden structures of our world, and who explored the quiet unease of the contemporary condition. His photographs continue to fascinate, to disturb, and to inspire. They are a testament to the power of photography to illuminate the often-unseen forces that shape our lives and to remind us of the beauty, or perhaps the strangeness, of the everyday. As he himself said, “I certainly wanted my work to look like anyone could do it. I didn’t want to have a style. I wanted it to look as mute and as distant as to appear to be as objective as possible, but of course it’s not objective.” Therein lies its enduring power.

Diane Arbus: Artist Profile

Diane Arbus’s photographs are not for the faint of heart. They are unsettling, often disturbing, yet undeniably compelling. They are portraits of the marginalised, the eccentric, the “freaks” as they were often labelled, but also of the seemingly ordinary – the suburban housewife, the child in its Sunday best. Arbus’s lens doesn't simply record; it probes, it questions, it forces us to confront our own preconceptions about normality and otherness. Her work, one could argue, is a kind of visual anthropology of the American condition, a sometimes brutal, sometimes tender, but always unflinching examination of the human psyche. As Susan Sontag wrote, “Arbus’s photographs are… about the secret life of America.” They are, to my mind, less about the what and more about the why – why we look, why we categorise, why we recoil or connect with the figures in her frames. As Arbus herself said, “I don’t press the shutter. The image does, and it’s like being gently clobbered.” It's a powerful description of her process, the sense of being overtaken by the image itself.

Arbus’s influences are complex and not always easily discernible. She studied with Berenice Abbott, Alexey Brodovitch, and Lisette Model, formative experiences that undoubtedly shaped her approach to photography. She encountered the works of Mathew Brady, Paul Strand, and Eugène Atget early on, visits made with her then-husband, Allan Arbus. These early encounters undoubtedly shaped her understanding of photography’s potential. While she admired the work of Weegee, the tabloid photographer known for his graphic images of crime scenes and urban life, her approach was fundamentally different. Weegee’s photographs are often sensational, focused on the dramatic moment. Arbus, on the other hand, was interested in the quieter, more subtle aspects of human experience. She sought to capture the inner lives of her subjects, their vulnerabilities, their anxieties, their hidden selves. “A photograph is a secret about a secret,” Arbus once said. “The more it tells you the less you know.” This sense of mystery, this feeling of something unsaid, is a hallmark of her work.

Her early work, including her commercial work with her husband, honed her technical skills and her eye for composition, but it was her personal work, her exploration of the city and its inhabitants, that truly defined her. She photographed circus performers, transvestites, and other individuals who lived on the fringes of society. These early images, while already displaying her distinctive style, are often more straightforwardly descriptive. Later, her work became more introspective, more focused on the psychological dimensions of her subjects. She began to use a Rolleiflex camera, which allowed her to get closer to her subjects and to capture their expressions with greater intimacy. This shift in technique coincided with a deepening of her artistic vision. She moved beyond simply documenting the “other” and began to explore the ways in which we all perform our identities, the masks we wear to navigate the world. “I really believe there are things nobody would see if I didn't photograph them,” she asserted. It's not just about the subject, but the relationship between photographer and subject, the implicit contract of looking. As she further noted, “For me the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture. And more complicated.”

Arbus’s photographs are not always comfortable to look at. They can be disturbing, even shocking. But they are also deeply human. They remind us of our own vulnerabilities, our own anxieties, our own sense of being different. She had a knack for capturing the awkwardness, the fragility, the sheer strangeness of human existence. “I’m always interested in people who represent themselves in a certain way,” she explained. “It’s like a mask that they put on. It’s a way of dealing with the world.” And it is these masks, these carefully constructed personas, that Arbus’s camera penetrates, revealing the humanity beneath.

Her inclusion in the Museum of Modern Art’s “New Documents” exhibition in 1967, alongside Garry Winogrand and Lee Friedlander, marked a turning point in her career, though her work was already evolving in this direction. This exhibition, which highlighted a new generation of photographers who were challenging traditional notions of documentary photography, placed Arbus’s work in a broader context and helped to solidify her reputation as a significant artist. Her two Guggenheim Fellowships in the 1960s also provided crucial support for her work.

Her 1972 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, a year after her death by suicide, cemented her place in the history of photography. It was a controversial exhibition, with some critics accusing her of exploitation and voyeurism. But it was also a hugely influential exhibition, introducing her work to a wider audience and sparking a debate about the nature of photography and its relationship to reality. Her work was also shown at the Venice Biennale, a rare honour for a photographer. Since then, numerous exhibitions, including major retrospectives like “Diane Arbus Revelations” and “in the beginning,” have further explored and contextualised her work, revealing the depth and breadth of her artistic vision.

Arbus’s book, Diane Arbus: An Aperture Monograph, published posthumously, has become a classic of photographic literature. It features many of her most iconic images, accompanied by her own writings and reflections on her work. The book offers a glimpse into her creative process, her motivations, and her unique way of seeing the world. The acquisition of her complete archive by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2007 has ensured that her work will continue to be studied and appreciated for generations to come. The ongoing publication of books and catalogues, such as Diane Arbus Documents, further demonstrates the continuing fascination with her work and its evolving interpretation.

Arbus’s work fits into a broader context of 20th-century art that explored the themes of alienation, identity, and the human condition. Her photographs share a certain kinship with the work of artists like Edward Hopper, whose paintings depict the isolation and loneliness of modern life. They also resonate with the work of photographers like Robert Frank, whose book The Americans offered a similarly unflinching portrait of American society. “My favourite thing is to go where I’ve never been,” Arbus declared. And it is this spirit of exploration, this willingness to venture into the unknown, that defines her art.

Arbus’s influence on subsequent generations of photographers is undeniable. Her work has paved the way for a more subjective and personal approach to photography, one that embraces the complexities and contradictions of human experience. Photographers like Nan Goldin, Sally Mann, and Joel-Peter Witkin, each in their own way, owe a debt to Arbus’s pioneering vision.

Diane Arbus’s legacy is complex and multifaceted. She is remembered as a photographer who dared to look where others wouldn't, who challenged our notions of beauty and normality, and who revealed the hidden truths of the human heart. Her photographs continue to fascinate, to disturb, and to inspire. They are a testament to the power of photography to illuminate the darkest corners of the human psyche and to remind us of our shared humanity, even in our most vulnerable and imperfect moments. As Janet Malcolm wrote, "Arbus's photographs are not about freaks. They are about us." And it is this unflinching self-portrait, this unflinching look at ourselves through the lens of Diane Arbus, that constitutes her enduring legacy.

Hannah Starkey: Artist Profile

Hannah Starkey’s photographs are not about grand gestures or dramatic narratives. They are about the quiet moments, the fleeting interactions, the subtle dramas that unfold in the everyday lives of women. They are about observation, empathy, and the unspoken narratives that shape female experience. Starkey’s work, one might argue, is a kind of visual anthropology of contemporary womanhood, a study of gesture and pose, of the spaces women occupy and how they inhabit them. Her images, often coolly detached yet deeply felt, are both familiar and unsettling, reflecting the complexities and contradictions of modern life. They are, to my mind, less about the what and more about the how – how women present themselves to the world, how they navigate the spaces they occupy, how they perform the delicate dance of identity. As Starkey herself has noted, “When I first started out, photography was very male and not really considered art. I didn’t set out to have a feminist agenda, it was more that my interest in making work about women comes from the simple fact that I am one. That commonality of experience is at the heart of what I do as an artist.”  

Starkey's work exists in a complex dialogue with the history of art and photography. One detects echoes of the Pre-Raphaelites, their attention to detail, their focus on female beauty, their penchant for narrative suggestion. There's a hint of Degas's voyeuristic gaze, his intimate glimpses into the lives of women, though Starkey’s perspective is fundamentally different. It’s not the male gaze looking at women, but something more nuanced, a recognition of female agency within the act of being observed. As Susan McCrory observes, “Some critics have read sadness and loneliness on the faces of the women in her photographs. To me they seem lost in a vast expanse of thought.” This “vast expanse of thought,” I’d argue, is crucial to understanding Starkey’s project. It's not simply about capturing a likeness, but about suggesting the internal world of her subjects. Her influences, as she explains, are diverse: “In the beginning, I wanted to create a hybrid out of the different approaches I had been taught, by somehow bringing together the emotive language of documentary with the slickness of advertising and the observational style of street photography. I think I’ve become more reflective and considered, but the performative element has been a constant.”  

Her work also engages with the history of photography, though she rarely makes explicit references. One might think of the street photography of Helen Levitt, her ability to capture the fleeting moments of everyday life. Or the staged tableaux of Jeff Wall, his carefully constructed narratives that blur the lines between reality and fiction. But Starkey’s work is quieter, more understated. It’s less about the dramatic event and more about the subtle nuances of human interaction. As she has said, “I’m interested in the everyday. The things that we often overlook, the moments that pass us by. These are the moments that make up our lives, and they are the moments that I want to capture.” The book Pleasures and Terrors of Domestic Comfort, as she notes, also played a significant role, exposing “the anxieties at the heart of the American ideal of home through images by the likes of Nan Goldin, William Eggleston and Cindy Sherman.”  

What, then, is the importance of Starkey’s work? It lies, it is argued, in its ability to make the ordinary extraordinary. She finds beauty in the mundane, poetry in the everyday. Her photographs are not about sensational events or dramatic occurrences. They are about the quiet moments of reflection, the fleeting interactions with strangers, the subtle gestures that reveal so much about human experience. They are, in a sense, portraits of contemporary life, but portraits that are not focused on individual personalities, but on the shared experiences of womanhood. It's not about celebrating the exceptional, but about acknowledging the significance of the ordinary. As she has explained, her interest lies in “explorations of everyday experiences and observations of inner city life from a female perspective.”

Starkey’s work has evolved over time, though her core themes have remained consistent. Her early photographs, often taken in public spaces, focused on the interactions between women and their surroundings. They explored the ways in which women navigate the urban landscape, the subtle power dynamics that play out in public spaces. Later, her work began to focus more on interior spaces, on the private moments of reflection and introspection. These images, often more intimate and contemplative, explore the inner lives of women, their thoughts, their feelings, their dreams. There's a shift from the public performance to the private contemplation, a movement inwards, exploring the psychological landscape of her subjects. This exploration of the inner world, the “unknowable depth of the female subject’s character and personality,” as McCrory puts it, is a constant thread throughout her work. As she has explained regarding her process, “I think I’ve become more reflective and considered, but the performative element has been a constant.”

Her use of colour has also evolved. While her early work was often characterised by a muted palette, she later began to incorporate more vibrant colours. These colours, however, are never simply decorative. They add another layer of meaning, enhancing the emotional impact.

Starkey's books are not simply collections of images; they are carefully curated narratives. They offer a glimpse into her world, a world of quiet observation, subtle interaction, and unspoken narratives. Her exhibitions, too, are carefully considered experiences. They are not simply displays of individual photographs, but immersive environments that invite the viewer to engage with her work on a deeper level. They become spaces for reflection, mirroring the contemplative nature of the images themselves. Her MA show, as she recalls, “set me up. Suddenly I was in demand and simultaneously I became very aware of the different space that women occupy in the photography world, both as practitioners and subjects.” This early success led to her first solo exhibition in 1999 at Cornerhouse, Manchester, further solidifying her position in the art world.  

Starkey’s work occupies a unique position in the history of photography. She is not a photojournalist, nor is she a fashion photographer. She is something more, a visual poet of the everyday. Her work resonates with the tradition of street photography, but it is also deeply personal and introspective. It engages with the broader themes of contemporary art, such as identity, gender, and representation. She's part of a generation of artists exploring the complexities of contemporary life, using photography as a tool for social commentary and personal exploration. As she has observed, “I have been acutely aware of that ever since, the ways in which women are constantly evaluated and judged. My gaze is not directed in that way. A lot of what I do is about creating a different level of engagement with women, a different space for them without that judgment or scrutiny.”  

It is difficult to quantify the influence of an artist, but it is clear that Starkey’s work has resonated with a wide audience. Her photographs have been exhibited in galleries and museums around the world, and they have been published in numerous books and magazines. Her work has undoubtedly influenced other photographers, particularly those working in the field of portraiture and social documentary. Her focus on the everyday, her quiet observation of female experience, has opened up new ways of seeing and representing women in photography. As she has said, her photographs are “explorations of everyday experiences and observations of inner city life from a female perspective,” and it is this perspective, this nuanced understanding of female experience, that forms the core of her legacy. And, as she notes, she is also inspired by “how younger female photographers are making their presence felt. It just feels like things are opening up because so many young women are expressing themselves through photography.”  

Starkey’s legacy lies in her ability to capture the quiet drama of the everyday, to reveal the beauty and complexity of female experience. Her photographs are not just images; they are invitations to look more closely, to see more deeply, to understand the unspoken narratives that shape our lives. They are, in short, a vital contribution to our understanding of the contemporary world. Her work, one suspects, will continue to resonate, to challenge, and to inspire for many years to come. It's a body of work that asks us to pay attention, to look beyond the surface, and to recognise the epic within the everyday, the monumentality within the seemingly mundane.

Rut Blees Luxemburg: Artist Profile

Rut Blees Luxemburg (born 1967) delves into the urban underbelly, the forgotten corners, the liminal zones where the city breathes, sighs, and sometimes, whimpers. Hers is a photography of unease, a visual interrogation of the spaces we often choose to ignore, the architectures of alienation that define so much of modern life. Luxemburg’s work, it can be argued, is less about the seen and more about the felt. It’s about the residue of human presence, the unspoken narratives etched into concrete and steel.

"I'm interested in the city as a psychological space," Luxemburg has said, a statement that resonates throughout her oeuvre. It's not just bricks and mortar, but the anxieties, the dreams, the sheer weight of human experience that she seeks to capture. This, it can be argued, is the crux of her work. It's not simply documentary, though it certainly engages with the fabric of the city. It's not purely aesthetic, though her images possess a stark, often unsettling beauty. It's something more profound, a kind of urban psychoanalysis rendered in the language of light and shadow.

Luxemburg’s work exists in a dialogue with the history of photography, though she rarely makes explicit references. One can detect echoes of Atget's melancholic flânerie, his documentation of a disappearing Paris. There's also a hint of the New Topographics' detached gaze, their focus on the banal and the overlooked. But Luxemburg transcends mere documentation. She infuses her landscapes with a palpable sense of atmosphere, a feeling of something lurking just beneath the surface. "The city is a palimpsest," she has explained, "a layered text where the past is always present, even if it's invisible." And it's this invisible past, this spectral presence, that she makes visible.

Her influences, it is suspected, are not solely photographic. One can sense a kinship with the urban chroniclers of literature, the writers who have explored the darker recesses of city life. Think of Baudelaire's flâneur, adrift in the labyrinthine streets of Paris, or the alienated protagonists of Kafka's novels. Luxemburg’s images, like these literary counterparts, are filled with a sense of displacement, a feeling of being lost in the crowd, even when utterly alone.

What, then, is the significance of Luxemburg's work? It lies, it is believed, in its unflinching portrayal of the contemporary urban condition. She doesn't shy away from the ugliness, the decay, the sheer indifference of the modern city. Instead, she confronts it head-on, forcing us to look at the spaces we'd rather ignore. Her photographs are often unsettling, even disturbing, but they are also profoundly moving. They remind us of our shared humanity, our vulnerability in the face of the urban behemoth.

"I'm not trying to romanticise the city," she has insisted. "I'm trying to understand it." And this understanding, it is argued, is what makes her work so compelling. It's not about judgment, but about observation, about bearing witness to the complexities of urban life.

Luxemburg's work has evolved over time, both stylistically and thematically. Her early photographs, often in stark black and white, possessed a raw, almost brutal quality. They focused on the fringes of the city, the industrial estates, the abandoned buildings, the spaces where the city's discards gather. Later, she began to incorporate colour, not as a decorative element, but as another layer of meaning. The colours are often muted, desaturated, adding to the overall sense of unease.

"Colour is another form of light," she has explained. "It's not just about what you see, but how you see it." And Luxemburg sees the city in a way that few others do. She sees the poetry in the mundane, the beauty in the broken.

Her use of long exposures is also crucial. It blurs the lines between reality and dream, creating images that are both familiar and strange. The city becomes a stage for a kind of urban ballet, where time itself seems to slow down, allowing us to see the subtle movements, the fleeting interactions that make up the fabric of urban life.

Luxemburg's books are not merely collections of images; they are carefully constructed narratives, each telling a different story about the city. Amnesia (1997) felt like a dispatch from the urban unconscious, a collection of images that haunted the viewer long after the book was closed. Liebeslied (2001) was a more intimate exploration of urban desire, the longing for connection in a city of strangers. Phantom Estates (2004), perhaps her most politically charged work, documented the rise of luxury housing developments in London, exposing the social inequalities that underpin so much of urban development. "These buildings," she said of the Phantom Estates, "are not just houses. They are symbols of a new kind of city, a city where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer."

Her exhibitions, too, are carefully curated experiences. They are not simply displays of individual photographs, but immersive environments that invite the viewer to enter into Luxemburg's urban world.

Luxemburg's work occupies a unique space in the history of photography. She is not a documentarian in the traditional sense, nor is she simply an artist using photography as a medium. She is something more, a visual poet of the urban landscape. Her work resonates with the tradition of urban exploration, from the flâneurs of 19th-century Paris to the Situationists of the 20th century. But Luxemburg's vision is distinctly her own. She sees the city with a critical eye, but also with a sense of empathy.

"I'm not trying to judge the city," she has said. "I'm trying to understand it, to feel its pulse, to hear its whispers." And it's these whispers, these subtle clues to the city's inner life, that she captures so brilliantly in her photographs.

It's difficult to quantify the influence of an artist, but it is suspected that Luxemburg's work will continue to resonate with photographers and artists for generations to come. Her unflinching portrayal of the urban landscape, her ability to find beauty in the mundane, her exploration of the psychological dimensions of city life – these are all qualities that will continue to inspire and challenge.

"The city is always changing," she has said. "And I'm always trying to keep up." And it's this restless curiosity, this desire to explore the ever-evolving urban landscape, that defines Rut Blees Luxemburg's enduring legacy. Her photographs are not just images; they are invitations to look more closely, to see more deeply, to feel the pulse of the city in all its complexity and contradiction. They are, in short, a vital contribution to our understanding of the urban world.

The Dusseldorf School: A Legacy of Objectivity and the Sublime

The Dusseldorf School, a constellation of photographers who emerged from the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf in the 1970s and 1980s, has left an indelible mark on the history of photography. Characterized by a cool, objective, and often monumental style, their work challenged the prevailing trends of the time and redefined the boundaries of the medium. This essay will explore the origins, key figures, artistic influences, and enduring legacy of this influential movement.  

Origins and Influences:

The Dusseldorf School's roots lie in the tumultuous socio-political climate of the 1960s and 70s. The Vietnam War, the Cold War, and the rise of consumerism had shaken faith in traditional values and societal structures. This period witnessed a growing disillusionment with the subjective and expressive tendencies of Abstract Expressionism and Pop Art.  

Within this context, the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf, under the guidance of Bernd and Hilla Becher, fostered an environment of rigorous intellectual inquiry and a critical examination of photographic practice. The Bechers, known for their meticulous documentation of industrial structures, instilled in their students a profound respect for objectivity and a commitment to rigorous observation. They encouraged a detached, almost scientific approach to photography, emphasizing formal concerns, precise composition, and the careful selection of subject matter.  

Key Figures and Their Approaches:

The Bechers' influence extended beyond their own work. Their students, including Andreas Gursky, Thomas Ruff, Thomas Struth, Candida Höfer, and Axel Hütte, each developed distinctive styles while sharing a common ground in their approach to photography.  

• Andreas Gursky: Gursky is renowned for his large-scale photographs of landscapes, architecture, and globalized economies. He often employs a wide-angle lens and a high vantage point to capture vast and overwhelming scenes, emphasizing the interconnectedness of human activity and the scale of our impact on the environment. His work, characterized by a cool, almost clinical aesthetic, challenges our perception of reality and invites contemplation on the complexities of the modern world.  
  

• Thomas Ruff: Ruff explores the nature of representation through his series of portraits, still lifes, and architectural studies. He employs a highly controlled and standardized approach, often using a large-format camera and a consistent lighting setup. His portraits, for example, present his subjects with a neutral expression against a plain background, stripping away individuality and emphasizing the inherent strangeness of the human face. Ruff's work raises questions about identity, perception, and the constructed nature of reality.  
  

• Thomas Struth: Struth is known for his large-format photographs of museums, theaters, and public spaces. He captures these environments with a meticulous attention to detail, inviting viewers to contemplate the history, culture, and social dynamics embedded within these spaces. His photographs often convey a sense of awe and wonder, drawing attention to the sublime aspects of human creation and the passage of time.  

• Candida Höfer: Höfer focuses on the interiors of public spaces, such as libraries, theaters, and museums. Her photographs, often shot in low light, create a sense of mystery and intrigue. The absence of human figures in her images emphasizes the architectural forms and the institutional power structures that shape our experiences.
  

• Axel Hütte: Hütte's work explores the relationship between nature and civilization. He often photographs landscapes, forests, and urban environments, capturing the subtle interplay of light and shadow and the delicate balance between human intervention and natural processes. His images evoke a sense of tranquility and contemplation, inviting viewers to connect with the natural world.  

Influence on Contemporary Photography:

The Dusseldorf School's influence on contemporary photography is profound and multifaceted. Their emphasis on objectivity, formal rigor, and the exploration of fundamental photographic concerns has had a significant impact on subsequent generations of artists.  

• The Rise of Conceptual Photography: The Dusseldorf School's focus on conceptual ideas and the critical examination of photographic practice paved the way for the rise of conceptual photography. Artists began to use photography as a tool for investigation, exploring themes of identity, memory, and the nature of representation.  

• The Return to Naturalism: The Dusseldorf photographers, with their emphasis on natural light and a more straightforward approach to image-making, helped to counter the prevailing trends of heavily manipulated and artificially lit imagery. This led to a renewed interest in documentary photography and a focus on the inherent truthfulness of the image.  
  

• The Subjective Turn: While the Dusseldorf School emphasized objectivity, it also inadvertently paved the way for a more subjective and personal approach to photography. Artists began to explore their own experiences, memories, and emotions through the lens, drawing inspiration from the Dusseldorf School's rigorous approach to composition and image-making while infusing their work with personal meaning.

Legacy and Future Directions:

The Dusseldorf School's legacy extends far beyond the work of its founding members. Their influence can be seen in the work of countless contemporary photographers, from the large-scale landscapes of Edward Burtynsky to the conceptual explorations of Roni Horn.  

The School's emphasis on critical inquiry and a rigorous examination of photographic practice remains highly relevant today. As technology continues to evolve and the boundaries of the medium continue to expand, the Dusseldorf School's legacy serves as a reminder of the importance of thoughtful observation, careful composition, and a commitment to exploring the fundamental questions that photography raises about our world and ourselves.

In art history, the Dusseldorf School will be remembered as a pivotal moment in the evolution of photography. They challenged the prevailing trends of their time, redefined the boundaries of the medium, and left a lasting impact on generations of artists. Their work continues to inspire and challenge viewers, prompting us to question our assumptions about reality and to engage with the world around us in new and profound ways.  

Conclusion:

The Dusseldorf School's emphasis on objectivity, formal rigor, and the exploration of fundamental photographic concerns has shaped the course of the medium. While their approach may seem austere to some, it has provided a crucial foundation for subsequent generations of artists to build upon, leading to a rich and diverse range of photographic expression. The Dusseldorf School's legacy serves as a testament to the power of rigorous inquiry, careful observation, and a commitment to pushing the boundaries of artistic expression.