Tag Archives: Personal Collection

Announcing the winners of The 1000 Words Award

1000 Words is proud to announce the results of the inaugural 1000 Words Award for European photographers.

Having attracted considerable interest from a diverse spectrum of committed and passionate photographers, the standard of the open submissions was exceptionally high. And while the deliberations were difficult, the judges selected in their opinion, four photographers who could most benefit from the mentoring and workshop experience and go on to produce interesting and innovative bodies of work from having the time to focus on their practice.

In total, 348 submissions were received from 24 EU member countries.


The winners are: Henrik Malmström (b. 1983, Finland), Lucy Levene (b.1978, United Kingdom), Tereza Zelenkova (b. 1985, Czech Republic) and Virgílio Ferreira (b. 1970, Portugal).


At the core of my practice I seek to destabilise different subjects by reassessing their potential as metaphors for broader questions surrounding photography’s capability for representation and its relationship with the real. My latest work is an installation that comprises of a series of black and white photographs and several objects from my personal collection. This work can be understood as a metaphor for the night as a time associated with both inspiration and imagination, but also melancholia, solitude and isolation. The darkness of the night, like the darkness inside a camera, is a space where images are conjured. Here I am not really interested in the images brought to us by dreams but rather by that point of insomniac vigilance when one can no longer recognise what’s a dream and what’s reality; when familiar objects start to take on shapes of something else, undergoing a sort of metamorphoses. Tereza Zelenkova




A series of un-staged images taken in an Edinburgh nightclub. The title is from the poem by Maya Angelou; Come, And Be My Baby.
Lucy Levene


This series deals with ideas of intangibility related to states of being, by capturing candid moments of anonymous people in the streets of London. In these pictures I attempt to evoke those feelings of vulnerability, bewilderment, impermanence and solitude, which are related to the uncertain times that we live in. They are haunted depictions of our world, and maybe they reflect us.

In these photo-chemical experiments the use of light has a double function: it both records and destroys the information in the picture, denying any secure reality. These manipulations are made on the moment of capture, and all the process of image transformations happens inside the apparatus. Virgílio Ferreira






My work up until now has always been connected to home and identity. I like to challenge myself into finding new perspectives and angles in a search for how things can be represented. Sometimes it can appear as fiction, but still there is always a deeper social aspect to it.
Henrik Malmström  

The 1000 Words Award for European photographers is a major initiative in collaboration with The Other European Travellers, a project co-ordinated by Cobertura Photo and co-organised by Atelier de Visu1000 Words and Festival Voci di Foto in partnership with Magnum Photos. It is part-funded by The Education Audiovisual and Culture Exchange Agency (EACEA) under the auspices of the EU Culture Programme.

Photographers were invited through open submission to apply for an opportunity to realise a new body of work with the supervision of several high-profile photographers and industry experts.
The 1000 Words Award includes:
• £1,000 cash prize
• 18 month mentorship programme
• 3 workshops with Jeffrey Silverthorne, Antoine d’Agata and Patrick Zachmann in London, Marseille and Seville respectively, including financial assistance with accommodation and travel
• Travelling group exhibition through the UK, France, Spain and Italy
• Catalogue and DVD
• Feature in 1000 Words Photography Magazine.
The 1000 Words Award selection panel were:
• Simon Baker, Curator of Photography at Tate
• Brett Rogers, Director of The Photographers’ Gallery, London
• Dewi Lewis, Director at Dewi Lewis Publishing
• Tim Clark and Michael Grieve, Editors at 1000 Words Photography Magazine.

The 1000 Words Award and The Other European Travellers have been supported, in part, by The Education Audiovisual and Culture Exchange Agency (EACEA).

Kristoffer Axén at ICP, Photoville

The Rabbit Hole, At Sea At Night by Kristoffer Axén

Congratulations to Kristoffer Axén, whose images Day Three and The Conversation will join the Photography Collection at the ICP next month. The photographs are part of a new, on-going, series called ‘Events in Nature’ (from which a selection can be viewed at this year’s Tierney Fellowship Exhibition at Photoville, the new Brooklyn-based photo destination).

The Tierney Fellowship was created in 2003 by The Tierney Family Foundation to support emerging artists in the field of photography. Axén will be exhibited among a promising roster of artist, which includes Nicholas Calcott, Luo Dan, Ishaan Dixit, Gabrielle Goliath, Emily Kinni, Bryan Krueger, Carlos Licon, Mack Michael Magagane, Bruno Ruiz, Rubi Rose Siblo-Landsman, Roberto Tondopó, Aubrey Tseleng, and Terttu Uibopuu.

The Tierney Fellowship Exhibition
Opening | Friday June 22, 7 to 10PM, on view through July 1
Brooklyn Bridge Park, New York City

 


›› The successful Fotojatka festival that traveled to cinemas around the Czech Republic – screening specially produced photographic slideshow – is now over. But, you can still view Kristoffer Axén’s contribution online, featured alongside slideshows by more than a dozen contemporary photographers, amongst them Erwin Olaf, Nikos Economopoulos and Reiner Riedler.
›› For those interested in introducing prints from Kristoffer Axén into their personal collection of photography, we recommend The Rabbit Hole from the series At Sea At Night, available via Aperture

Self-Portraits

Self-Portraits

Photographs by Jen Davis, Essay by Hannah Frieser

Flak Photo is proud to feature this gallery in support of Light Work's Looking and Looking, a two-person exhibition featuring photographs from Amy Elkins and Jen Davis. That project explored the dialogue between these artists regarding identity, body image, and the male and female gaze. The following essay accompanies Davis' photos in Contact Sheet 165, a catalog produced for the exhibition. For more information and to order a copy for your personal collection, visit LightWork.org.

 

It is not unusual for artists, including photographers, to turn to self-portraits occasionally. Photographers such as Cindy Sherman have built their career on the practice. When Jen Davis started her photographic series Self-Portraits ten years ago, the images struck a public nerve. The photographs were immediately memorable for their sophisticated style as well as for their distinct subject matter, as Davis bared her struggles with the emotional and physical impact of her weight. Her unusual honesty and vulnerability combined with her understanding for careful composition and delicate lighting invited the viewer into her life beyond normal boundaries of privacy.

One of the most iconic images of her early work is the frequently published photograph Pressure Point, which depicts Davis at the beach looking a little lost in a sea of slimmer bodies. As is common in her images, this photograph communicates a real emotion connected to a place or an action, making it easy to sympathize with her situation. From image to image we see Davis in different scenarios engaging in a world that sets her apart from others.

The title of the series makes it clear that Davis is photographing herself, but the viewer has to discern for themselves the authenticity of the images. These are not documentary images photographed at the actual time a situation originally occurred, but each photograph borrows heavily from real moments and showcases very real feelings. Her earlier images are closer to real moments in their depiction of the awkwardness, shyness, or frustration of a woman with a plus-sized body. They show situations that especially women can easily relate to as universal struggles with body image. Her identity struggles are not so different from many young women who find themselves judged by a male gaze as their bodies blossom into maturity. Yet rather than push back against this gaze, Davis turns to quiet self-examination.

The fact that these images are self-portraits alters the way they should be understood. Davis is not being watched and judged by these images, and instead is shaping each scenario both as the author and the subject. While she has little control on how society sees her in daily life, she has unlimited control of how she decides to photograph and present herself. It is her active choice to use a frank and self-inquisitive style in photography to examine concepts of beauty, desire, and body image. “Photography is the medium that I use to tell my story through life,” Davis writes in her artist statement. It is “an outlet for revealing my thoughts and opinions about the society in which we live. A society that dictates beauty based on one’s physical appearance.”

The level of creative freedom that Davis allows herself has gradually expanded over the years. She began the series trying out familiar scenarios in front of the camera until she could better understand her feelings about them. Since then, self-examination has shifted to self-assertion and finally to self-expression. She is no longer that young student searching to find her place and define her identity, but a woman who claims her right to be included in our understanding of beauty.

In a pivotal moment in 2004, she started manufacturing scenarios for the camera based on situations she could potentially find herself in. This lead to the photograph Fantasy No. 1, and later to other constructed realities, such as Steve and I. From there she has started to work desire and sensuality into more images, leading also to the separate photographic series Webcam and I Ask in Exchange.

Davis still uses the camera as a tool to help her understand the world around her. A decade into this project, she finds that her body is changing. As in the past, she continues to photograph through every new circumstance and allows the camera to make sense of it all.

Lucas Foglia’s Natural Order

Lucas Foglia’s Natural Order

A conversation with Daniel Shea

Editor's Note: An earlier version of this conversation was published on Daniel Shea's blog in January 2011. The photographers have revisited that dialogue and updated their responses in support of Lucas Foglia's forthcoming book from Nazraeli Press. The following interview is a mix of telephone transcription and web-based discussion. For more information about the publication and to order a copy for your personal collection, visit Nazraeli.com.

 

Daniel Shea: So since talking to you last year, it sounds like you’ve been pretty busy. What have you been up to recently?

Lucas Foglia: Since we last talked I made a final trip to the southeastern United States, and revisited many of the people who I have been photographing since 2006. Nazraeli Press is publishing a book of the project, titled A Natural Order, this spring. The book focuses on Americans who responded to environmental concerns and predictions of economic collapse by leaving cities and suburbs to live off the grid. My hope is that the photographs seem both exotic and unnervingly close to home.

Daniel Shea: And since the book is about to be published, are you working on a new series?

Lucas Foglia: Yes, I have been dividing time between San Francisco, mining boom towns and ranching and farming communities in the western United States. The working title of the series is Frontcountry. Many of the people who I have been photographing live on the boundaries between small towns and wild roadless areas. It’s not yet profitable for chain stores to move into the most remote communities. Jobs opportunities there are also limited, and as ranching and farming become less lucrative, many families are struggling to reconcile their fierce loyalty to the land with their growing dependence on industries that extract from and degrade the land.

Daniel Shea: So you’re based in San Francisco, and your van.

Lucas Foglia: Yes, although the photographs I have been making recently are closer to home.

Daniel Shea: What prompted the move to where you are now?

Lucas Foglia: Friends, community and landscape. Some of my closest friends are here in the Bay Area. San Francisco feels like a small town even though it is a big city and there are good photographers here. And it is near the landscape that I’ve been photographing.

Daniel Shea: You said you live with friends in a co-op?

Lucas Foglia: Yes. We grow vegetables, and buy most of our food in bulk and from local farmers. It makes it easy and affordable to live in what would otherwise be a fairly expensive city. As for what allows me to stay here, most of my time goes to my personal projects that I fund through print sales, grants and commissions, but I do some editorial and advertising work as well. I like working with non-profit organizations, so the photographs I make help to promote a cause I believe in. I have also started to teach at the San Francisco Art Institute.

Daniel Shea: The ambiguity in your work is a narrative strategy that you use well. The work you do for magazines and non-profits involves telling a clear story. Are the photographs you make for them are completely non-ambiguous?

Lucas Foglia: I think all the best pictures have some ambiguity. But they have to be accessible: they have to tell a story and make a viewer want to keep looking at them.

[We trail off for a bit, but then Yale comes up…]

Daniel Shea: Yale is frequently mystified and enlarged by the rest of the art/photo world and prospective MFA students. It’s a thing of its own. And the reality might be different than that. How was your experience in the program?

Lucas Foglia: It’s surprising that it is so frequently mystified… I know that it is statistically hard to get into as a graduate student, but anyone can go to any critique and listen. Before I applied, I visited some critiques, so I knew what I was getting into. Different photographers and curators are invited to the critiques but when I was there Tod Papageorge ran the show. And Tod’s photographic references were consistent: John Szarkowski, Walker Evans, Robert Frank, Diane Arbus, Garry Winogrand. Each graduate student showed work every 5 weeks. The panel of critics sat behind a table. The photographs were pinned on the wall, and the graduate student sat in a chair in the middle of the room, facing the panel, with an audience behind him or her. There were some classes each semester, but there were no real obligations besides having to produce work for the critiques.

Daniel Shea: So were you traveling between the critique sessions?

Lucas Foglia: I was traveling a lot. I would extend the school vacations for a week on either end. I drove or flew to photograph and then came back to make up the work and class time. It was a really intense and stressful couple of years.

Daniel Shea: Are you happy you went with that program?

Lucas Foglia: I am. There were times when I was doubtful about it. The critiques were harsh and I was being pushed in ways I wasn’t always comfortable with. But then I realized that even when I was being told to do something, all I had to do was react and make more photographs. I didn’t always agree with the critiques but I had the time and facilities to make new work in response. When artwork gets obliging or defensive in graduate school, it’s a slippery slope. Above all the photographs have to feel personal. What the faculty wanted to see was an effort towards change or experimentation. And if I responded by working my ass off and that showed in the pictures, then it was commended.

Daniel Shea: What’s interesting to me is that, in the context of the rigor you mentioned, practically I imagine that applied to the process of making work. And for your work, the process is so specific. And so I imagine it being tricky to rigorously take apart your process.

Lucas Foglia: It was tricky because of the personal relationships I have with the people I photograph.

Daniel Shea: So what’s the variable that changed in that equation as you went through this process?

Lucas Foglia: What changed at Yale was not the collaborative process of making the pictures, nor was it my personal connection with my subjects. Rather, I tried to make the form, or composition, of my photographs more rigorous. I learned that a great photograph relies on both form and content.

Daniel Shea: So that translated to a working methodology that you have continued to use?

Lucas Foglia: Sure. I think the photographs I make result from my relationships with the people and spaces I photograph, and the narratives of my projects result from my choice and sequence of the best photographs. And I always leave room for surprises. For instance, I went to an area south of Eden, Wyoming, where a rancher was herding his sheep. The railroad company that owned the land nearby had recently sold the mineral rights to a company based in Houston for natural gas drilling and the land was about to be mined. When I arrived the rancher was counting his sheep, thousands of them. It was a long process and I felt stuck, but then I saw two of the sheep dogs away from their herd. The small dog really wanted to mate with the larger dog. He kept mounting her and she fought him off every time. The photograph that resulted from that experience is still about land use and sheep herding, but it is also about dogs mating when they were supposed to be watching sheep. And I like that.

Similarly, someone couldn’t hire me to go to the woods in Virginia to find and photograph a dead bear that looks human. For me, there has to be a discovery.

[We begin talking about the intersection of art and politics]

Lucas Foglia: I want my photographs to be connected to my values. I want my work to be relevant to the viewers. And above all I’m interested in making a great photograph. To quote Taryn Simon, the photograph has to be seductive.

Daniel Shea: I understand.

Lucas Foglia: With your work it’s the same thing. You traced the lines of the coal between mining and electricity generation. If you had just made photographs of the smoke stacks, then who would care? But when you made seductive photographs, people paid attention to the smoke stacks.

Daniel Shea: With a lot of work that is based on these very topical issues, a problem that I have is that the photographer looks at the subject with eyes that are too fresh or too eager. For example, like in Southeast Ohio, these smoke stacks have a very casual presence in the landscape and within the culture. If you grow up in the shadow of towering smoke stacks, they become just another element in the landscape, and you’re used to it, and it’s not this crazy, completely polarizing element that we tend to think of when we read about places online before visiting them. But if you treat the subject in a way that marries both being somewhere new and understanding the reality of wherever you are, that intersection generates interesting pictures, and narratives that open up a lot more for viewers to enter into. And people become more sincerely invested in the emotional and political issues that you are working with. Instead of a very didactic image-making process that people are turned off by.

Lucas Foglia: I think any photograph that is didactic, that tells you what to think, is paradoxically easy to forget. Good photographs rest on an ambiguity that makes you want to keep looking at them to figure them out. And I agree, tourists drive across a landscape, stop at a lookout point, take a picture and leave. The lookout points are obvious, predictable and beautiful. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, but it is a vantage point that I’m not interested in. I am interested when the landscape or the smoke stack is contextualized by everyday life.

Daniel Shea: I was looking at your website the other day and was trying to figure out what made your photographs feel personal, like what made me assume that you knew the people and that you had spent actual time with them, and that it was an investment. A lot of them don’t necessarily say that explicitly, but I always knew that for some reason. How important is the extended experience in these places with your subjects to how you want people to perceive your work?

Lucas Foglia: I like spending time in the places, and with the people, I photograph. I think the time I spend allows me to portray a wider range of events and emotions.

Daniel Shea: What is your relationship to activist circles? If we talk about this work in a more ideological context, larger than art, what is your personal relationship with these movements and these people? Were you ever an activist?

Lucas Foglia: Yes — I try to have the photographs I make point towards things I believe in or topics that I think are relevant. I like the fact that photographs can be used in so many different ways. I exhibit editioned prints in galleries, and publish the images in books and magazines. I give small prints back to the people I photograph, and I give digital copies to local and national organizations to use for advocacy. It might sound like a general statement, but I have seen people and causes benefit from the use of the photographs.

Daniel Shea: No, I totally get it.

[We talk for a while about current work life, how to make ends meet through a variety of work — magazine work, teaching, partnering with non-profits, selling work, but still trying to focus on working for people and companies that you are interested in and can stand behind.]

Daniel Shea: Is there a 5-year plan? Where do you see yourself in 10 years? Teaching?

Lucas Foglia: I’m going to keep on making photographs. Working on the book with Nazraeli Press has been a really energizing experience. And I have new projects that I am excited to start. I really enjoy teaching. Can I imagine myself becoming a professor at some point in the future? Sure, I can imagine really enjoying that. What’s your 5-year plan?

Daniel Shea: I feel ok in terms of a work-life, but I’m completely terrified about what I’m going to do next, because I have no idea. I'm in graduate school now, so I want to do a decent job at that and make better work.

Lucas Foglia: I think the best thing that graduate school can do for students is instill a culture that emphasizes making new work that matches their values and leaves room for discoveries; that cements a work ethic that continues after graduation.

The Mark of Abel

The Mark of Abel

Photographs by Lydia Panas, Essay by George Slade

Editor's Note: Flak Photo is proud to feature this gallery in support of Lydia Panas' The Mark of Abel, a monograph of the photographer's color portraits published by Kehrer Verlag in 2012. For more information about this publication and to order a copy for your personal collection, visit ArtBooksHeidelberg.de.

 

One of this medium’s naïve yet enduring tropes is that the photograph steals souls. That somehow, in the process of securing an image on film or pixels, the lens collects a bit of psychic patina, aural projection, or whatever you believe physically constitutes the soul. Most of us, today, would agree that this is unlikely. Our souls seem relatively safe from photographers. Agnostics, atheists, and avid believers of all stripes are immune from the shutter-snapping tsunami. Unless we determine that society as a whole is increasingly “soul-less” and start searching for causes, photography might actually be implicated — who really knows how we lose our souls, outside of Faustian bargains with Beelzebub at the crossroads.

All of this meandering about souls seems justified in the company of Lydia Panas’ photographs, which seem uncommonly laden with soul, more than their fair share. The striking thing about her work, however, is that she and her subjects seem to have turned the old trope on its head. Looking at these photographs may cause you to lose your soul. The mesmerizing gazes, frank self-presentation, and utter absorption in the photographic exchange propels Panas’ standers (can’t accurately call them sitters, can we?) from within their contained frame and through the fourth wall of spectatorship into a discomfiting engagement within our space of viewing. Another impossibility, of course, but who hasn’t felt the gaze of a portrait subject push through the photographic membrane and grab some part of us?

These are, then, empowered people, a condition Panas has bestowed upon them in the act of photographing. She has ennobled without hyperbole. None of these people are regal, and many seem profoundly self-absorbed. Even in groups, the sense of individuality prevails. But every person is esteemed by Panas’ photography, presented to us as the most exquisite visions of themselves.

It was said of Alfred Stieglitz that he exercised some mesmeric power over his subjects. That, short of hypnotism, there could be no other explanation for why his photographs seemed to reveal invisible truths. To debunk this notion Stieglitz responded by photographing clouds, subject matter over which he could wield no power prior to the exposure. Panas probably hasn’t hypnotized her subjects, either, but she seduces viewers into believing that unseeable things — life stories, emotions, even thoughts — are evident in her photographs.

While there is simplicity in Panas’ project, it has the kind of motive force that sweeps waves of meaning and density with it. Like the best fairy tales, they happen in the woods and are loaded with aspects of myth and dream. As noted earlier, these images have an aura of frieze (or, “freeze,” if you will) about them. They create a dwelling within the photographic frame, in that indeterminate space that is a photograph. It is a space of perception and intuition. It is a space that, instead of affording us the comfort of distance, draws us in to questions of presence — a personal space that enmeshes us in gaze. Having had these encounters, can we say we have learned anything? The lessons may be inchoate, hidden from view, but the experience of meeting Lydia Panas’ photographs is nonetheless vivid.

“State of Nature: Encountering Lydia Panas Deeper in the Woods” essay and excerpt copyright © 2011 George Slade. All rights reserved. Reproduction without permission of the author strictly forbidden.

[hyphen] Americans

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Photographs by Keliy Anderson-Staley, Essay by Geoffrey Batchen

Editor's Note: Flak Photo is proud to feature this gallery in support of Keliy Anderson Staley's current exhibition and solo issue of Contact Sheet, a book of the photographer's tintype portraits published by Light Work in 2011. For more information about this publication and to order a copy for your personal collection, visit LightWork.org.

 

They loom out of the darkness, as if hovering uncertainly between past and present, offering themselves for our scrutiny with an intensity that borders on the confrontational. Part of it is the look these people give us, staring at the camera for as long as sixty seconds and more, resulting in a kind of clenching of the eyes (as a sitter, you become aware of the sheer physicality of looking under these conditions, of the need to fight your eyes’ desire to wander). Part of it is the texture of their skin, turned into rugged planetary surfaces by the tintype’s peculiar response to color and high resolution of detail. And part of it is the differential focus with which the subjects are depicted—sharp in some places and strangely liquid in others—as if their bodies are floating in a primordial wet world with just the faces breaking the surface. For all these reasons, Keliy Anderson-Staley’s tintype portraits are best described as other worldly, rather than antiquarian.

The tintype, an American invention, was introduced in 1855 and continued to be widely used until the 1930s, making it one of the most enduring of photographic processes. The selection reproduced here is part of a collection of hundreds of contemporary examples taken by Anderson-Staley. Among their other attributes, these portraits — each designated only by a first name and the year of exposure — offer us a survey of race, gender, and age that considerably expands the primarily Caucasian version of American society recorded in nineteenth-century tintypes.

As a collodion negative developed on a small sheet of lacquered metal, a tintype has the appearance of a positive print but no possibility of being reproduced in multiple manifestations. Each tintype is, in other words, a unique object. As a mirror image, tintypes also show an inverted version of their subject (what appears to be a right hand is in fact the left, and so on). To make her tintypes, Anderson-Staley uses hand-poured chemistry that she mixes herself according to nineteenth-century recipes, period brass lenses, and wooden view cameras to expose positive images directly onto blackened metal (usually aluminum) and glass plates. Exposure times are long by today’s standards, and many of her sitters have made use of a hidden metal posing stand, its cold extensions holding the head steady as the seconds tick interminably by, counted off by the photographer.

These technical details matter. They help explain how these photographs come to look the way they do (why, for example, nobody smiles). Walter Benjamin evokes this look rather well in his 1931 essay “Little History of Photography,” when he writes, “The first reproduced human beings entered the viewing space of photography with integrity—or rather, without inscription…The human countenance had a silence about it in which the gaze rested….The procedure itself caused the subjects to live their way into, rather than out of, the moment; during the long duration of the exposure, they grew into the picture.”1

Perhaps that is what is most striking about these pictures: The people portrayed still appear to be growing into them, still seem in the process of becoming themselves. In this way, Anderson-Staley’s work transcends the undoubted curiosity value of her chosen medium. Before they are tintypes, these pictures are portraits, portraits of contemporary Americans (perhaps, even, when seen collectively, a portrait of contemporary America). As such, they raise the whole question of photographic portraiture, of what exactly can be deduced about an otherwise unknown person from a mere picture of his or her face.

The pictorial qualities of the tintype, its obvious artifices and self-conscious accentuation of surface appearance, make these questions unavoidable. They remind us of what we already know: that a photograph represents a truth-to-presence (it certifies that a person was once there before the camera, in some past moment in time and space), but not a truth-to-appearance. These tintypes do not look much like the people they represent; the process itself results in visible deformations of form and feature. And yet these same people seem so much more present than the subjects of other kinds of photographs, in part because the passing of time between then and now—a feature of all photographs—seems here to be flowing before our very eyes. In simultaneously drawing attention to both the medium’s pictorial deceptions and its temporal peculiarities, these pictures insist that our relationship to photography hinges, not on truth, but on desire—on our own desire to transcend time and space by means of the magic of the photograph; to, as it were, cheat death. In short, the work of Keliy Anderson-Staley is an open invitation to see much more than meets the eye.

1. Walter Benjamin, ‘Little History of Photography’ (1931), in Michael W. Jennings, Brigid Doherty, and Thomas Y. Levin eds., The Work of Art in the Age of its Technological Reproducibility, and Other Writings on Media (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 279-280.