“Which season is the brown one?”
Fragmentary writing is, ultimately, democratic writing. Each fragment enjoys an equal distinction. Even the most banal finds its exceptional reader. Each, in turn, has its hour of glory. Of course, each fragment could become a book. But the point is that it will not do so, for the ellipse is superior to the straight line.
— Jean Baudrillard
Thinking about the next steps with this image object. I have it printed, 24 x 30 on a translucent Japanese paper. Is the production of an image-object enough? Or, is there a next step? A collaborative action to be taken through drawing, mapping, sorting order onto chaos?
Potato quality image of actual image-object:
If you lived here… you’d be a Modernist by now.
From the “University Grove Neighborhood Website”: The University Grove neighborhood, tucked in a quiet, wooded corner next to the University of Minnesota St. Paul campus, is a showcase of midwestern residential architecture. The 103 homes built for professors and administrators over a 60-year period represent an “architectural time capsule” of modern America according to a 1989 article about the neighborhood in The New York Times. The result is a mix of family homes, from modern to traditional, side-by-side. What ties the homes together is the visual continuity of openness between individual lots and street setbacks.
I’m incredibly proud to announce that a photography book project I have been working on with MIEL in Belgium will officially come to fruition. BADLANDS will arrive as a hand-bound volume this spring. Featuring an introduction by Éireann Lorsung and essays by Patricia Healy-McMeans and Jan Estep, the book is now available for pre-order through MIEL’s website here.
From the editor’s introduction:
“In BADLANDS, Schroeder’s photographs of empty and seemingly empty and presumed-to-be-empty-but-really-not-empty spaces (including the eponymous holy territory that is now held by South Dakota) also enact Keats’ valuing of doubt, question, mystery. What are these spaces for, the photographs seem to ask. What do they withhold from us? How can we know them? The photographs refuse ‘knowing’ as a rubric, to some extent, leaving us with the strangeness of objects-as-themselves.
“Schroeder’s eye is intent on refocusing: a landscape photograph appears to be deserted, until the tiny upright bodies of tourists appear, marking it both occupied (in several senses) and immense. His photographs ask us to reconsider what is important, what is significant, and what is visible. They say, you think you see the important thing here, but you don’t. Look again. This is Schroeder’s “being in uncertainty”.”