Sue Scott Gallery

Constructed Realities: Contemporary Photography

Sue Scott, Orlando Museum of Art (exhibition catalogue)

For most of its short history, photography has been used primarily as a tool to document and record reality. French artist Henri Cartier-Bresson, one of the most influential photographers of the 20th century, preached truth to image, believing the photographer must be on the scene to capture "the decisive moment." But beginning in the 1970s, artists such as Cindy Sherman. Sarah Charlesworth, Laurie Simmons, David Levinthal, David Haxton and James Casebere challenged this definition of photography. As part of the media generation, they grew up with the influence of television and commercial advertising. As artists, they came of age in the late '60s and early '70s when Conceptual Art was at its peak. The confluence of these two entities gave rise to a new way of making art that was both lens-based and conceptual. As a result, this generation of artists viewed photography not as a way to document reality, but as a way to manipulate it; a photograph could be made, not just taken. Scenes need not pre-exist; they could be conceived, controlled and staged by the artist toward a conceptual end.

The ensuing three decades have given rise to numerous artists who have extended the possibilities of photography. These artists, Gregory Crewdson, Oliver Boberg, Christoph Draeger, Meghan Boody, Anna Gaskell, Anneè Olofsson and Yasumasa Morimura, built on the tradition of their predecessors while incorporating such broader influences as film, literature, narrative and contemporary life. In addition, they capitalized on technical advances which broke through limitations of size, scale, color and surface. This exhibition, Constructed Realities: Contemporary Photography, presents the work of these 13 highly accomplished artists who, through different means and motivations, explore the shifting boundaries between truth and fiction.

Cindy Sherman is one of the most influential artists of her generation. Since her first exhibition, Untitled Film Stills, presented in 1980 at the Kitchen in New York City, Sherman has continued to explore cultural and personal identity, taking inspiration from history, art history, fairy tales and movies. Most of Sherman's photographs are non-conventional self-portraits in which she assumes various roles—actress, historical figure, ingénue, vamp or perpetrator—using costumes, disguises, wigs and prosthetic devices. Sherman emerged at a time when Minimalist philosophy controlled the art world aesthetic. Content, let alone autobiography, was deemed unacceptable. With colleagues such as Robert Longo, Richard Prince and Sherrie Levine, Sherman reinserted content and narrative into her work.

Sherman's settings are non-specific. They may imply a place or reference a person who seems familiar but in reality does not exist. She is more interested in "types" than specific individuals. In Untitled Film Still #22, 1978, for instance, a well-dressed woman—an Audrey Hepburn type—sprightly descends an outdoor stone staircase. The architectural detailing of the background and the woman's suit and hat bring to mind classic American films of the '50s. In Untitled Film Still #60-A, 1980, the artist wears a black wig and tight clothes. She smokes a cigarette while gazing at a desolate setting with an abandoned building. The viewer is drawn in by the mystery of the woman's presence in such a desolate place.

In the 20 years after she completed the film stills, Sherman worked her way through various series inspired by fashion, fairy tales, disasters, history portraits, sex pictures and horror and surrealist films. The history portraits, made between 1988-1990, have the same premise as the film stills; in their similarity to a specific genre they evoke a familiarity. Yet, they are mere fabrication by the artist. Sherman's most recent work in the exhibition, Untitled #398, 2000, comes from a series in which she explored the "types" who hang around Hollywood, in support roles or those who never made it. By presenting a "real" picture of the world, Sherman questions reality through scenes that tweak a collective memory. "I am trying to make other people recognize something of themselves rather than me," Sherman noted early in her career. (1)

• Like Cindy Sherman, Swedish artist Anneè Olofsson uses herself as the main subject in her videos and photographs. Unlike Sherman, however, Olofsson relies less on costumes and disguises and instead creates psychological constructs exploring the relationship between self, family and friends. Usually the setting is uncomplicated and the activities are from everyday life, such as dancing, sleeping or simply standing. Yet, with the slightest twist, Olofsson layers the scene with psychological implications.

For instance, in We are not the ones we used to be, 1997, an elegantly dressed young woman (Olofsson) stands next to a handsome, formally attired gentleman. The mind sees them as a couple—perhaps the cliché of the older man with the younger woman—and an elliptical narrative evolves from there. The fact that the man is her father (he recurs often in Olofsson's work), layers the psychology of her work. In I put my foot deep in the tracks that you made, 2000, Olofsson stands behind her mother, whose reflection can be seen in the mirror. All the viewer sees of the artist is her hair flowing behind her mother's face; they have merged into one. Again, through a simple twist, Olofsson speaks to complicated ideas of familial connection, genetics and destiny. In Unfamiliar, 2001, Olofsson sits pensively, her arms gathered protectively around her bent knees. The lighting is dramatic and the figure of the artist in a plain white dress emerges from an inky black background. From the left, a man's hand (her father's) gently strokes her cheek; from the right side an older woman's hand (her paternal grandmother's) holds her head. The three form a trinity of three generations. But what interests Olofsson is not only family connections. It is the slippage between reality and dream/fantasy/nightmare: a possibility that the caress can become a slap, the gentle gesture a yank of the hair. Olofsson's oversized and elegant photographs "seduce us with this beauty and humor, while questioning the nature of reality. It is a reality that shifts intangibly between dreaming and waking, a nether region that is not neutral at all, but packed with metaphor, autobiography and universal conundrums." (2)

• Japanese artist Yasumasa Morimura makes photographs that deal with identity, cultural cross-pollination and variations of self-portraiture. Morimura has been compared with Cindy Sherman, for his photographs emulate film stars and historical figures, but both the impetus and methodology are different.

Morimura's first level of transformation is that of an Asian man becoming a Caucasian woman, which he does through the use of intricate costuming, make-up, prosthesis and wigs. Certainly the tradition of the male assuming female roles, or onnagata, has a long history in Kabuki theater, a link Morimura appears to play up with his heightened use of white make-up. Morimura morphs into a specific character/actress so that again, the implications are layered. His Audrey Hepburn, for instance, is not merely Audrey Hepburn, it is Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly. In his actresses series from the early '90s, Morimura becomes Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O'Hara, Faye Dunaway as Bonnie (of Bonnie and Clyde) and Marlene Dietrich as the Blue Angel, among others. In doing so, Morimura replicates cultural icons that themselves are creations of film. They are real in that we have a shared cultural memory of them but in the end they are simply fictional characters.

In addition to his fascination with actresses and film characters, Morimura looks to the great tradition of painting and fuses himself with such masterpieces as Edouard Manet's Olympia, Diego Velazquez's Infanta portraits and numerous self-portraits by Vincent van Gogh. The most recent series focuses on Frida Kahlo, an artist also obsessed with self-portraiture. In An Inner Dialogue with Frida Kahlo (Flower Wreath and Tears), 2001, Morimura plays up the Baroque aspect of the portraits by using a gold background, a head wreath of flowers and leaves, fake pearl-like tears and a chiffon robe. As the artist observes of Kahlo, "Her self-portraits embody all the aspects of life—love, agony, pain, sickness and joy—in a very fierce way. She was in desperate need to show her face in her work. She was afraid to be forgotten." (3)

• Much of Laurie Simmons' work emerges from her memories of a '50s suburban childhood, a growing awareness of feminism and exposure to the art world (initially the work of Marcel Duchamp and later, contemporary photography). Simmons studied printmaking and sculpture at the Tyler School of Art, Temple University (she graduated in 1971), but it was not until she moved to New York City in 1973 that she began to consider photography a viable medium. In 1976, Simmons made two works—Sink/Ivy Wallpaper and Sink/Connecticut in which a bathroom sink—a domestic object—figured prominently. Sink/Ivy Wallpaper featured a miniature sink set against the large-scale patterns of the wallpaper. The other image was of an actual sink in a real bathroom, photographed to make it appear miniature. Both exemplified to the artist how she could control perception through set-ups and photography.

As Simmons notes, "The great thing about working with the photographic image is that scale becomes meaningless in a certain way .... [E]verything is unified within this surface. Well, that kind of ambiguity is what drew me to working with the camera in the first place .... I never was concerned about whether the camera tells the truth. I've always been concerned with how much it can lie and how far can I take this." (4)

In her earliest work, Simmons created tableaux in which small dolls—housewives—were placed in domestic scenes, usually doing chores in the kitchen or the bathroom. Simmons made no attempt to hide the fact that these were dolls; there was no photographic sleight of hand. As a result, the dolls function as surrogates commenting on the traditional role of women.

Much of Simmons' work builds on notions of domesticity and stereotypes. Yet the formal considerations of her scenes are always present. After completing a set-up, she photographs it numerous times capturing changing lights and mood. Black Bathroom, April 16, 1997, is a beautiful example of the artist's attention to detail. The bathroom is striking in its verisimilitude—the tiles are perfectly in scale with the sink, bathtub, toilet and even the toilet paper roll. The light coming through the window heightens the mood and adds to a sense that the scene is "real." At the same time, the character taking a bubble bath is a doll. Yet, we as the viewer empathize with her—her mood of sadness and longing pervades the scene. She may not be "real," but we somehow are drawn into the reverie of her emotional life.

• David Levinthal emerged almost simultaneously with Laurie Simmons and, like Simmons, television and movies influenced him. As a student at Yale University (he graduated with an MFA in photography in 1973), Levinthal collaborated with fellow Yale student Garry Trudeau creating a fake documentary of the 1941 German invasion of Russia. In making the piece, there was little that differentiated his activities from the childhood game of "Cowboys and Indians"—except in this instance he documented the "play" with photography. Levinthal ignited model planes, used flour to simulate snow and created elaborate setups with tiny soldiers and their props, even once, as his collaborator noted, "setting fire to ... his living room rug." When a professor at the time asked Levinthal, "Why don't you take pictures of reality?" the artist replied, "These toys are my reality." (5)

The resulting book, Hitler Moves East, 1977, influenced younger artists who became aware of the possibilities of staged scenarios and photography. What is interesting about these early Levinthal photographs—and different from the aims of Simmons, for instance—is their emulation of newspaper/photojournalistic photographs. They look like real journalistic documentations. This fine line between staged scenes and the portrayal of reality is at the foundation of Levinthal's work. In the ensuing 20 years since the Hitler Moves East series, Levinthal has explored aspects of cultural icons, stereotypes and clichés, including the Wild West, notions of romance, race, desire and pornography.

• The myriad possibilities of film and photography fascinate David Haxton. In the mid-70s, he was among the first artists of his generation to create a "stage," which he then photographed. However, his interests are more formal than narrative—that is, they are more about capturing the effects of light and shadow rather than conveying a story. He fabricates scenes, such as Sunlight on White Through White with Light Stands, 1981, using the equipment of the photographer—light stands, electrical cords and photographic backdrop paper, which in some cases has been gouged and torn. The scenes can be read as self-referential; the presence of the artist is felt, though not seen. These photographs combine abstract qualities of light, color and composition that come out of a long tradition of abstraction (one critic compared the work to a Mark Rothko painting) with a personal statement. The viewer has been invited into the studio and if the artist has exited, the residue of his creative process remains.

"These works have to do with Process Art, Abstract Expressionism and Marcel Duchamp," observed Haxton. "Just as Abstract Expressionism is about the paint, these works are about the photograph itself. The process of making the photograph is revealed. I see the use of primary materials in my photographs—the backdrop paper for instance—like Pollock uses paint. The materials I use are found, not constructed. Like Duchamp's Bottle Rack or Urinal, I chose it to be in the picture." (6)

James Casebere is another artist whose initial interest in photography was both about constructing scenes and conveying the abstract qualities of light and shadow. His early works from the '70s are simple constructions made with cardboard, glue and found objects. These images of interior scenes play with ideas of scale and visual relationships and like Simmons' work, make no attempt to hide the fact that they are mere constructions. For instance, Fork in the Refrigerator, 1975, juxtaposes the obviously handmade refrigerator and stove with a real fork, which has been stuck into the refrigerator. The image is surreal and dreamlike; one thinks of the odd juxtapositions in the art of Surrealists Max Ernst and Rene Magritte.

By the '80s, Casebere slightly increased the size of his photographs but continued to work from tabletop-sized constructions made from Styrofoam, paper and plaster. Works from this period, Boats, 1980, and Library I, 1980, have a decided abstract quality to them. The blocky shapes, which are read as abstractions of shadow and light, recall the work of Modernists such as Ralston Crawford and Charles Sheeler.

The work from the '90s took another jump in size and in complexity (early works were 8 x 10 inches; Vaulted Corridor #2, 2001-2002, for instance is 48 x 48 inches). Casebere uses both existing architectural structures and imagined buildings as sources for his work. The austere beauty of asylums, prisons and monasteries draws him, not only for their simplicity of form but because they exist as visual metaphors for confinement and isolation. These exteriors are often stark meditations of light and dark. They are clearly meant to be read as models and offer no allusion to reality. Conversely, many of the interiors, such as Vaulted Corridor #2, 2001-2002, are strikingly realistic.

"The stage designer is trying to do the same thing I am," observed Casebere, "in trying to create a sense of place simply, with as few elements as possible....The idea was always to get the viewer to enter the image, somehow, to be the actor. In order to do that I reduce the image to its basics, to generic forms, or archetypal forms. In some respects Beckett was the model for this kind of anonymity. His characters were the stripped down "everyman" that I sought to build contemporary images around." (7)

• Swiss artist Christoph Draeger explores the paradox of "constructing destruction" and his work, either film or video, often involves a meticulous reconstruction or reinterpretation of a disaster site.(8) Draeger's interest in disasters—both manmade and naturally occurring—led him to investigate many sites around the world including Mount St. Helens, Three Mile Island, Nagasaki and Alamogordo, New Mexico, the site of the first atomic bomb explosion.

A photograph Draeger saw of Hurricane Andrew in Paris Match, for instance, loosely inspired Catastrophe #1, 1993-1994. Draeger recreated a sculptural model of the destruction, using the photograph as initial inspiration but eventually going on to construct his own image. The model, which took 1 1/2 years to complete, measures about 1,000 square feet and is made from toy cars, paint, rubble and other found objects. Draeger had the model photographed (just days before the building that housed it was destroyed) and then transferred it to PVC using a special photographic process involving acrylic paint and ink jets. Even under close examination and with the foreknowledge that the scene is constructed, the overall image depicted appears shockingly realistic.

Catastrophe #2 is an imagined disaster and extends the notion of constructing destruction as a way of building an image. Again, the image, assembled from rubble and found objects, contains many objects with recognizable fragments—tubes, signs, the back of a television—that somehow transform themselves into other objects—a disemboweled building, a factory, a collapsed tunnel—true to the scale of the overall picture. (This one measures closer to 1,200 square feet.) Smoke, blown across the back of the scene, adds to the atmospheric mystery of the picture. It is interesting that Draeger worked on both these sets while living in Brussels, for Catastrophe #2, particularly resembles a Hieronymous Bosch or Pieter Brueghel landscape, in its bird's-eye-view vantage point, luscious coloration and almost apocalyptic impression.

TWA 800 #4, 1993, also merges a compelling constructed image of the TWA airplane crash  with a conceptual foundation. In this instance, Draeger procured a film of the reconstructed plane from CNN. (The plane had been reconstructed from fragments to help determine a cause for the crash.) Using the video, he "reconstructed" an image of the plane by piecing together video fragments. The image was then printed on a large 8,000-piece puzzle, which is the framework for the piece. The image, then, is a video reconstruction of a reconstructed plane that had crashed, fused onto a puzzle-piece background, again indicating the many layers of Draeger's work, both conceptually and physically.

Draeger's interest in disasters came about by accident but then, as he notes, it "slipped into an obsession." He remembers his dense nightmares from childhood but at the same time observes that the public perception of disasters is often shaped by the media.

• Born in 1965, Oliver Boberg lives and works in Herten, Germany. Like Draeger, Boberg creates work that is simultaneously hyper-real and yet completely made-up. His work occupies that place where reality and fantasy collide. But unlike Draeger, who usually chooses images that are historically based, Boberg selects urban sites that are mundane or minimal. In a sense, his work comes full circle. He begins by taking photographs of urban environments, usually inhospitable or uninhabited scenes that speak to city life at its worst. Using these photographs as inspiration, he builds tiny, tabletop models made from paper, paint and glue and then photographs them. Boberg specifically chooses subjects that are commonplace—building sites, ramps, simple houses, loading docks, a bush, mountains of rubble or a series of clouds—but through an obsessive attention to detail manages to transform the object into something that reads as real.

The photographs are striking in their simplicity and ordinariness. Upon close inspection, one can see there are no shadows and the images have a flatness to them that becomes almost abstract. A recent series of clouds, made from cotton balls, paint and Plexiglas, documents slowly moving and morphing clouds. For the artist, the photographs "tell the same stories of the everyday and the unobserved." (9)

• Like a number of artists of his generation, Gregory Crewdson draws inspiration from a variety of sources. He is as influenced by film as he is by contemporary photography. And yet, if he counts Stephen Spielberg—particularly his film Close Encounters of the Third Kind—as a primary influence, he also relates to the isolation in the paintings of Edward Hopper and finds inspiration in the incongruity of contemporary suburban life. Crewdson, who describes himself as "an American realist landscape photographer," is interested in paradox.(10) Much of his work, as he explains it, explores the tension between domesticity and nature, artifice and reality, the familiar and the mysterious. He has been called both a sculptor and photographer because most of his complex sets take as long as a month to construct. Many of these set-ups are as elaborate as film sets and indeed, many of his photographs have been compared to single-scene movies. There is clearly a narrative going on, but we as the viewer must fill in the before-and-after action.

"I'm drawn to photography by some irrational desire to create an image of a perfect world," Crewdson says. "I strive to create that perfection through obsessive detailing, through a weird kind of realist vision. When the mystery of the photograph emerges, my irrational need to create a perfect world meets up with some sort of failure to do so. This collision between failure and compulsion to make something perfect creates an anxiety that interests me." (11)

The photographs in this exhibition are from Crewdson's most recent exhibition titled Twilight. Each photograph captures a dramatic moment in which the viewer becomes a voyeur. In Untitled (beanstalk), 2002, the viewer stands inside a house, looking through the frame of a window to the front yard. A beanstalk seems to have erupted from the ground and a man, in his underwear, has begun his ascent. His car is in the background, the front door open and clothes strewn about; clearly he is acting spontaneously. The modest homes in the background set the stage of a working-class neighborhood. The photograph is at once absurd, humorous and fantastic. Of course a beanstalk would never present itself in a nondescript, contemporary neighborhood. On the other hand, what would you do if it did? The artist presents a single scene, but opens up a myriad of scenarios as a result.

In Untitled (house in the road), 2002, the scene appears ordinary but reveals its complexity upon examination. The viewer appears at the particular moment when transgression is discovered. A man has built his house in the middle of the road. He stands, bewildered, a hammer in his hand, as a policeman confronts him. Neighbors watch from a distance as two firemen move closer. Simple at first, the scene becomes richer and more layered the longer you look. Is it just now the man realizes he cannot build his house in the road? And how has he gotten so far without being stopped? Again, one is both struck by the inherent humor and fascinated by the implied narrative; we have a good idea of what happened before but must imagine the aftermath. Beyond the story line, the house can be seen as a metaphor for displacement in contemporary society.

• A student of Gregory Crewdson at Yale University, Anna Gaskell graduated with an MFA in 1995. In the ensuing years Gaskell has created a body of work, which, like Crewdson's photographs, finds inspiration in film. However, if Crewdson deals with notions of suburban life, regeneration and displacement, much of Gaskell's work takes its inspiration from literary works (Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland or Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca are two) into which she subtly weaves a subtext dealing with the concerns of adolescent girls. The young girls are perfect in dress, demeanor and appearance. And yet, there is always something just "off" that slightly disturbs the perfection of the piece. The scenes are elaborately staged with dramatic lighting and odd-angle perspectives; one thinks of the lighting and cropping style of Alfred Hitchcock. There is a cinematic quality to her work and within a series an elliptical narrative joins the photographs.

The works in this exhibition are from the series resemblance, loosely inspired by Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, Villiers de l'lsle Tomorrow's Eve and E.T.A. Hoffmann's The Sandman, all stories that deal with the creation of man or the perfect woman. Most of the work for this series was done during a stint as an artist-in-residence at the Addison Gallery of American Art at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, where Gaskell cast the female students in various roles. Like the works of fiction that inspired her, the premise is the creation of the perfect being. Each photograph adds a bit of information to the story—whether it is Untitled #84, in which the central character is given eyes; Untitled #77 where the entire body is shrouded; or the triumphant (or menacing?) first sight of the newly created woman in Untitled #75, where the viewer sees through her eyes a blurred grouping of women in lab coats advancing toward her.

• Of all the artists in this exhibition, Meghan Boody most closely engages in narrative. Her hybrid photographs blend, via digital manipulation, staged photography, found printed matter and images shot on location. Boody begins with a specific narrative and then creates the scenes that inform the story. She casts the actors in their roles and styles the costumes. The settings and spaces into which she inserts her real actors are often phantasmagoric. They are photographs of actual sites and often also incorporate photographs taken from art, architecture, science and historical books. The elaborate costuming speaks to a time either in the remote past or not-too-distant future. The richness of color and otherworldliness of subject matter has brought comparisons with medieval manuscripts but the continuous narrative has a filmic quality as well.

The works in this exhibition are part of a recent series of 13 constructed photographs titled Psyche and Smut. The story relates the journey of two young girls to an underground city ruled by frogs and their concubines. (Boody shot on location in Turkey.) According to the artist, Psyche is "prim and pinafored" and Smut is "naughty and deviant." A metamorphosis occurs during the journey; the two come closer together until they merge into one. Psyche Supernova, 2000, the last image of the series, illustrates this moment, perhaps indicating the union of the conscious and unconscious mind. Cameo appearances by other creatures that inhabit this underworld indicate the many levels of life.

The small vignettes at the bottom of each photograph tell the story of Morphia and Blue, a dark pair of twins who mirror in reverse the activities of their lighter sisters. These identical twins grow apart as the story develops, the antithesis to the journey of Psyche and Smut.

Sarah Charlesworth was central in the evolution of lens-based art. As early as the late '70s, her work, as Lisa Phillips observes, provided "a passage from capturing the objective and a sense of the real to an emphasis on the fictions created in the process.” (12) Charlesworth came to photography through a conceptual back door; her first series titled Modern History, 1977-1979, used the camera to document and compare "found images" from newspapers all around the world. Charlesworth excised the print but kept the masthead and images, and by showing the different ways the same stories were covered in various newspapers revealed the manipulation and control of the media. Her next series, Objects of Desire, which Charlesworth worked on for most of the '80s, marked the move into her mature style, the isolation of a simple object against a lush and saturated background which emulated the rich surfaces of painting. The images, though straightforward, are loaded with meaning: an S&M harness, a bridal gown, a golden bowl or a Buddha.

Photographs from the Natural Magic series, 1992-1993, are included in this exhibition. This series marked another important development in the artist's work in which she used objects, not found printed images. In this series, the artist functions as both magician and photographer; it is her hands in flames behind a curtain in Trial by Fire, 1992-93, and she has thrown the cards in the air in Control and Abandon, 1993. (Charlesworth ordered the cards from Tiffany's, but instead of being printed with a moniker, they are inscribed with the words "control" and "abandon." The actual taking of the picture was executed remotely by Charlesworth.) Charlesworth's interest in making a series about magic lasted for a number of years. She felt the play of illusion in magic provided the perfect vehicle to test the "truth-bearing capacity of photography.” (13) Indeed, it is this tug-of-war between the artist's ability to create an illusion and the camera's ability to record reality that is at the heart of this exhibition. "I don't think of myself as a photographer," Charlesworth once said. "I've engaged questions regarding photography's role in culture ... but it is an engagement with a problem rather than a medium. The creative part of the work is just as much like painting or design as it is like photography. I'm not using a camera and it's not based on recording a given world but on creating or structuring a given world." (14)

-Sue Scott

Adjunct Curator of Contemporary American Art

 

1. Catherine Morris, The Essential Cindy Sherman. (New York: The Wonderland Press and Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1999), p. 69.

2. Sue Scott, "Anneè Olofsson," inside Anneè Olofsson, (New York: Marianne Boesky Gallery, 2002), p. 25.

3. "Japan's Man of Many Faces," Newsweek (August 5, 2001), p. 5.

4. Jan Howard, "Picturing Memories," Laurie Simmons: The Music of Regret (Baltimore: The Baltimore Museum of Art. 1997), p. 19.

5. Miriam Horn , "Dark Stirring in Toyland: David Levinthal's Disturbing Art Turns the Familiar Strange," U.S. News and World Report (February 3, 1997), n.p.

6. Conversation between David Haxton and Sue Scott, February 19, 2003.

7. Douglas Bohr. "Picture Show, an interview with James Casebere," Arquitecturas Ficticias/Fictitious Architecture, Exit, No.5 (2002), p. 83.

8. Conversation between Christoph Draeger and Sue Scott, January 21, 2003.

9. Andrea Brandl, "Realities," Oliver Boberg Wirklichkeiten (Schweinfurt: Galerie-Studio Alte Reichsvogtei, 2001), p. 38.

10. Bradford Morrow, interview with Gregory Crewdson, Bomb (Fall, 1997), p. 2.

11. Ibid, p. 1.

12. Lisa Phillips, "Sarah Charlesworth: Rite of Passage," Sarah Charlesworth: A Retrospective (Santa Fe: Site Santa Fe, 1997), p. 39.

13. Susan Fisher Sterling, "In-Photography: The Art of Sarah Charlesworth," Sarah Charlesworth: A Retrospective (Santa Fe: Site Santa Fe, 1997), p. 84.

14. Betsy Sussler, interview with Sarah Charlesworth, Bomb (Winter, 1989-90), pp. 32-33.

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