EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)
This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.
Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.
Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.
Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 
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EILEEN QUINLAN (American, b. 1972)

This excellent introduction to the work and person of Eileen Quinlan is by Steel Stillman and appears in his interview with the photographer, published in Art in America (8 March 2011).

Eileen Quinlan describes herself as a still-life photographer. Born in 1972, she has become well known in recent years as one of a cohort of photographers—Walead Beshty and Liz Deschenes are notable others—who, following in the footsteps of practitioners from Moholy-Nagy to James Welling, have been disassembling the layered apparatus of photography (light, subject, optics, chemistry, bytes, the material image) and finding new means of expression.

Often stunningly beautiful, Quinlan’s work is surprisingly straightforward. She uses medium- and large-format cameras and studio strobes to shoot tabletop, house-of-cardlike worlds—angular constructions, staged for the camera’s lens, in which propped mirrors reflect intensely colored light, deep shadows, bits of fabric, reflective Mylar, wisps of smoke, photographs, and, especially, each other. The resulting images offer kaleidoscopic views into indefinite and often infinite spaces. Little is seen of the studio where they were taken or of the photographer who made them, though sometimes she leaves clues: specks of dust, a fingerprint, a crumpled paper towel, or the edge of a can of beans used to buttress a mirrored tile.

Quinlan shoots on film and avoids Photoshop for reasons more practical than nostalgic—she was professionally trained in the analog world and still knows where to find film.

Overall, there is an unexpected sincerity to her process. Everything you see happened just the way it appears. The wizardry is all in the setup. Quinlan plays hide-and-seek with the camera (I’ve never seen it, but I know the camera is there, deep in some reflected shadow) and invites us to play along. To look at her pictures is to parse their construction—a game for puzzlers yielding endless pleasure.

Quinlan grew up in Boston and in southern New Hampshire. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/Tufts University, graduating with a BFA in 1996. After moving to New York in 1999, she worked in advertising and fashion—and as an assistant to commercial photographers—before earning an MFA from Columbia University in 2005. In the last six years, she has had eight solo exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe, including her first museum solo, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston in 2009. Her work has appeared in dozens of group shows and is currently on view in “All of this and nothing” at the Hammer Museum in L.A. Quinlan was recently appointed co-chair of the photography department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of the Arts. She is married to the artist Cheyney Thompson, with whom she has a three-year-old son, and lives and works in Brooklyn. 

See also Maika Pollack, “‘What Is a Photograph?’ at the International Center of Photography,” Gallerist, February 12, 2014. 

6eileen quinlan, american photography - 21st c.,

HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST
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HEATWAVE: ART FOR AUGUST

POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES
The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.
The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.
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POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES
The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.
The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.
ZoomInfo
POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES
The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.
The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.
ZoomInfo
POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES
The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.
The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.
ZoomInfo
POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES
The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.
The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.
ZoomInfo
POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES
The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.
The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.
ZoomInfo

POP ART AND THE COLD WAR IV: ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG’S SOVIET/AMERICAN ARRAY SERIES

The Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange (R.O.C.I.) was a nonprofit project conceived by Robert Rauschenberg (American, 1925 - 2008) in the early 1980’s to promote communication and cultural exchange among nations using the language of art. From 1984 - 1991, Rauschenberg visited 22 countries, worked in each with local artists, and returned a year later to exhibit the work done there in a major museum. ”He is trying to introduce the world to itself,” said Dr. Donald Saff, artistic director of R.O.C.I. in a 1987 interview given to The New York Times. His Soviet/American Array I-VI series (1988) documents the Russian segment of the project. The works combine images found by the artist on location with his own photographs of New York and Moscow.

The Arrays were completed in the wake of Mikhail Gorbachev’ s glasnost (“openness”) policy and just before the breaching of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the ending with the dissolution of the Soviet Union 1991 brought the Cold War to an end. Throughout his career, Rauschenberg’s guiding aesthetic principle had been openness, so his inclusive, non-discriminatory collage technique was perfectly suited to his self-appointed diplomatic mission.

6communism, american art - 20thc., cold war, marxism, robert rauschenberg, Rauschenberg Overseas Culture Interchange,

LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo
LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.
By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.
The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.
Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.
ZoomInfo

LAURA STEVENS: ANOTHER NOVEMBER (2012)

Following the ending of a significant relationship in my life, an undoing began. Whilst adjusting to being a single woman, I started to create a photographic narrative based on the experience of losing love; directing other women to portray the gradual emotional and circumstantial stages, along the well-trodden track of the broken-hearted.

By constructing images of the evolving chapters, I was allowed a vantage point from which to view the changes occurring in me, from feelings of pain, confusion and loneliness towards the reconstruction of my identity as an individual.

The series of staged performances by different women, of whom are friends or those I had been drawn to from the street, are enacted to show an intimate moment of adjustment. They are seen isolated, surrounded by textures, colour and empty spaces in a room of their home in Paris.

Another November is situated in a deliberately nostalgic present where memories are constructed and irrevocably discolour, looking back to a past not yet acquainted with loss. Yet, it is a reminder that time, the arranger of all things, moves only in one direction.

Laura Stevens is an English photographer based in Paris. She contributes regularly to TIME, The Washington Post, Le Monde and Forbes.

6laura stevens, lensculture, another november,

THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN
Peter Paul Rubens
1611/12
Windsor Castle, Royal Collection

KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo
KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION
Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 
In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.
— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.
After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.
When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,
While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general. 
In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.
ZoomInfo

KAZIMIR MALEVICH: THE IDEOLOGY OF ABSTRACTION

Kazimir Malevich (Russian, 1879 - 1935) was one of the first artists to paint in a purely abstract mode. He called his new artform Suprematism and theorized it in the manifesto, From Cubism to Suprematism, which appeared in 1915, the same year he exhibited his Black Square at the Last Futurist Exhibition in St Petersburg. While his radical works made him a hero of the avant-garde, they were also criticized for being a negation of life. His chilly retort, "art does not need us, and it never did," summed up his belief that art progressed according to its own inner logic, and could only develop with reference to itself. 

In the early years of the Bolshevik Revolution, Malevich fared well. He was appointed to the Commission for the Protection of Monuments and the Museums in 1918 and taught at the Vitebsk Practical Art School (1919–1922) and the Leningrad Academy of Arts (1922–1927). He wrote the book, The World as Non-Objectivity, which was published in Munich in 1926. In 1927, he traveled to Warsaw, Berlin and Munich, where a retrospective of his work brought him international recognition.

I have transformed myself into the zero of form and dragged myself out of the rubbish-filled pool of Academic Art. I have destroyed the ring of the horizon and escaped from the circle of things, from the horizon-ring which confines the artist and the forms of nature.

— Kazimir Malevich, The World as Non-Objectivity

However, with the death of Lenin and the fall of Trotsky, the Soviet regime turned against modernism, favoring Social Realist art that conveyed clear ideological directives. In 1927, Stalin declared abstract art to be “bourgeois” and banned it. Despite Malevich’s dogged support of Marxism and the Communist Revolution, Stalin ordered his paintings to be confiscated and forbade the artist to create anymore in that style.

After spending his adult life repudiating representational art, in the late 1920s, Malevich avoided the gulag by returning to figural painting, rendering peasants, harvests, factories and other state approved imagery in a semi-abstract style that was tolerated by the government, but of no artistic significance. Art was no longer developing according to its own internal logic, it was being forced to regress.

When Malevich died of cancer in 1935, his small group of adherents, including his two most gifted students, Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnik, had to obtain permission to violate the ban on abstract art in order to display the Black Square at his funeral (Suetin also painted a black square on Malevich’s coffin). After his death, Malevich was then excised from the historical record in Russia. His grave monument was destroyed during World War II and never restored. In 2013, an apartment building was raised on top of his grave,

While Russians may not have prized Malevich much until very recently, In the west, however, Malevich was taken very seriously. Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum owns 24 Malevich paintings, the largest collection outside of Russia. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (which began life as the Museum of Non-Objective Art) has always been a strong supporter of Malevich and their 1973 retrospective exhibition devoted   to Malevich greatly increased interest in the Malevich and the Russian avant-garde in general.

In 2008, Malevich’s Suprematist Composition of 1916 was purchased at a Sotheby’s New York auction for $60 million by the Art Institute of Chicago, setting a new record for the artist. Malevich may have been right about art not needing us, but we certainly seem to need him.

6kazimir malevich, suprematism, soviet art, october revolution, stalinism, abstract art, modernism, russian painting - 20thc.,

The Difficult Task of Erasing Oneself: Non-Composition in Twentieth-Century Art f

Public Lecture by Yves-Alain Bois

Institute for Advanced Studies, Princeton, New Jersey

7 March 2007

Yve-Alain Bois (Professor, School of Historical Studies, Institute for Advanced Studies examines how, rather than always leading to the myth of the death of painting (or sculpture), as Alexandr Rodchenko had it, the idea that the artist should erase all traces of him- or herself was a dictum that helped sustain many different artistic practices during the past century, from Kasimir Malevich`s Black Square of 1915, Jean Arp`s collages “according to the laws of chance” of 1916-18, and Piet Mondrian`s modular grids of 1918-19, to Pop Art, Minimalism, Process art, Conceptual art, and beyond.

6yves-alain bois, kazimir malevich, institute for advanced studies, jean arp, suprematism, modernism,

AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX
In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 
Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.
The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.
Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.
Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few  professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.
The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).
ZoomInfo

AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ART XIX: ROLL AND CODEX

In the 5th century, the papyrus scroll, the standard medium/format for recording and preserving written information for over a millennium, was replaced by a new technology, the parchment codex. Calfskin parchment was far more durable than papyrus, which dried and became brittle with age, making it vulnerable to disasters like the fire that consumed the Alexandrian library in the 1st century BC. Furthermore, the roll format was well-suited for philosopher-scholars reading discursive texts in their studies; in the harsher world of the late Roman Empire, the codex format allowed for random access, non-linear reading, quick consultation and portability. The codex enabled new types of reference works like the Justinianic Code. 

Among the earliest Latin codices to survive are two illustrated copies of the works of Virgil, both dating from the turn of the 5th century. Although Virgil had been dead for over 400 years at this point, these luxury manuscripts are the oldest extant copies of his poetry, the papyrus precursors having all disappeared.

The establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire coincided with the rise of the codex. The earliest surviving Christian codices were redactions of individual books of the Old and New Testaments, occasionally accompanied by painted illustrations. The Cotton Genesis, a 5th century Greek copy of the Book of Genesis, was originally decorated with over 400 illuminations. Most of the volume was destroyed in a library fire of 1731, but 18 charred fragments survive solely because they were at the center of a tightly bound codex.

Rolls continued to be made after the advent of the codex. When the the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus commissioned a roll depicting the story of Joshua in the 10th century, he meant to associate himself with the emperors of the past through the self-conscious use of an extinct, classical genre. In southern Italy, illustrated “Exultet” scrolls, originally used in the Byzantine rite, were still produced for the Easter liturgy as late the 11th-century, but apart from these specialized, limited uses, the roll was never seen again, having been completely supplanted by the codex.

Within the next 100 years, the codex will be replaced by a new technology, suited to the exigencies of the time. The advent of reliable voice recognition will eventually obviate the need to write by hand. Keyboard literacy is replacing handwriting in elementary schools at this moment. These glimpses into the near future has also brought us full circle: in antiquity, writing was a specialized skill, practiced only by a few professional scribes who had need of it. Everyone else was happy to have the job done for them.

The classic study of the transition from the scroll to the book is Kurt Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex; A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration (Princeton, 1947).

6roll and codex, papyrus scroll, early christian art, vatican virgil, late antiquity, history of the book, codicology,

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