When her grandmother died, Anne Sophie Merryman inherited a box of postcards with images so surreal and bizarre for any old lady to keep. The postmarks on the cards are equally perplexing, adding to the mystery of how the late Mrs. Merryman came to possess them. By the end of the book, all is revealed with a pull of a thread.
Thrice married and divorced, Monique Sindler griped about her life and how her children gave her little attention. So when she died, her daughter turned her memoir and family photos into a full-scale exhibition. She may not be the mother everyone would hope for, but she was certainly an interesting character.
A photographic journal exploring the curious relationship between Katinka Goldberg and her mother. Though the book is loosely structured and carries no linear narrative, an intimate story develops as photographs ebb and flow like fleeting memories.
Barcelona, Second World War. Twin sisters pose for the camera seemingly detached from the brutal conflict happening around Europe. I was unaware of the plot when I first looked at the book, but midway through I already know what’s about to happen. And when it did, I still felt terrible.
Here’s a book about a book. Johan van der Keuken’s Paris Mortel was originally released in 1963 and is now a classic. Instead of a straight reprint, this new edition goes in-depth by including the complete book, of course, plus its final dummy and some 85 previously unpublished photographs.
This book takes us back to a day in 1958 when Johan van der Keuken photographed a street dance on Ile St. Louis, Paris. The scene is simple, inconsequential even, but perhaps it’s the realization of an evanescent wonder, a moment of pure bliss, which makes the viewing of it such a beautiful experience.
Monteleone’s story of war-weary Chechnya is that of an uneasy compromise - sacrifice independence and freedom in exchange for peace and prosperity. Everything works, as the Chechens are told, if they just follow the rules and suck it up. Russia may have found a winning strategy at last, though quite a precarious one.
Luciano Rigolini mines the internet for what look like spare parts of cars and some industrial thingamajig. The items are positively mundane, presented bluntly though often against a colorful background. Are these to be viewed as art? How do we decide which is or isn’t art? And does it even matter?
Over-the-top opulence bordering the absurd and downright vulgar. Rossell took these images as documents of her own social clique, but combining them as a book changed the context into something less innocuous. I’d imagine the flak she received from these girls who have now become archetypes of evil and corruption in Mexico.
How do you immortalize the end of an era with no more than 25 pictures? From 1988 to 1990, Andreas Weinand did just that by taking snapshots of friends in youthful freewheeling debauchery. A concise yet compelling account of what it is to be Gen X during the late 80s.