The depth of solitude in Masahisa Fukase’s photographs makes me shudder. A raven descends. With crouching wings and sharpened black beak, it stares. This goblin...
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Where can one find temporary help in this hectic world? People go on retreats, join religions, cushion themselves in headphones, or lose themselves in novels. We counter the rush hour stampede with a walk in the park, and against the public squall of political debate we set the private consolation of poetry. In an age of mayhem, everyone needs ballast and, for most people, I would guess, that ballast is made of several different things. Near the top of my personal list: photobooks.