I find Alex Matzke’s photographs visually striking and emotive. Her images of the Dawson County, Nebraska landscape illustrate the desolation that exists alongside the fascinating, unique beauty of the Midwest. Matzke is originally from Nebraska, currently lives in Virginia, where she is pursuing her photography studies, and spent some time in New Mexico for her undergraduate degree. Moving from my native Colorado to Baltimore for college and now living in Kansas, I see a bit of my own experience living in three very different regions reflected in Matzke’s photography, even in just her study of her home state. There is such a palpable essence to place, to the outdoors, even if they aren’t “outdoorsy.” The Midwest is a peculiar place; even when it looks and seems like there’s nothing at all happening, there’s probably something strange and noteworthy happening everywhere you go around here. I love that this is subtly captured in Matzke’s photos.

Visit artist's site: alexmatzke.com

I precisely remember the moment I found out about Corey Arnold’s photography. I was looking through the BLINK Magazine I had work featured in, and when I got to Arnold’s interview and images at the end, I was stunned. I think I immediately went to my computer to find his website and see more. I made two posts about his work then (before I started writing much or at all in posts) and when I heard about his recent solo exhibition at Charles A. Hartman Fine Art in Portland, Oregon, I was reminded of his incredible photography.

Visiting Arnold’s site now, every image in each gallery is sublime; so crisp, perfectly lit, smartly composed, and with rich colors. Arnold has a remarkable eye and seems to always capture the perfect moment. Of his breathtaking landscapes; dramatic frames of crashing waves taken while working on fishing boats; beautiful, funny portraits of humans and animals, the word “epic” comes to mind. Again, I really couldn’t choose a favorite series, so below are a few images included in Arnold’s exhibition, Wildlife, and various others that I couldn’t stop looking at.

Visit artist's site: coreyfishes.com

The work of Tasha Lewis stands out from any other photography, fiber, and “taxidermy” art you may have seen before. Lewis patches cyanotype-coated fabric together to construct sculptures of animals arrested during a surge of forward momentum. When exhibited, the work incorporates high-powered magnets to create the illusion that the animals are breaking through the glass cases and domes that encase them. I truly admire Lewis’s practice. There’s virtue in the amount of labor that goes into creating each piece, and in the artist’s shrugging the anatomically correct. There are few naturally blue things found on the earth, and while the cyanotype’s inherent blue tone does refer broadly to the elemental sea and sky, it also makes the animals appear frozen literally as well as figuratively. I enjoy the combination of kitschiness (see plush/knitted taxidermy mounts available for sale today), one of the earliest photography processes, and age-old handwork.

While at the same time incredibly unique, I think Lewis’s pieces reference much of the art that came before them. These pictures have me thinking about some qualities of the work of other artists I’ve featured–the momentum and intensity of Cai Guo-Qiang’s taxidermy art installations; the mass of the creatures, sometimes warranting a piecework effect, depicted in Carrie Witherell’s cyanotypes, and the laborious, hand-stitched aspect of Mister Finch‘s animal creations. Lewis’s work also brings to mind pieces by Mia Mulvey, and of course Maurizio Cattelan.

From the artist’s statement: My current work is focused on re-imagining taxidermy and other methods of preserving life. My interest in preservation stems from my fascination with the re-presentational powers of photography. I am fascinated with how we as viewers relate to a leaf that has been mechanically produced to look and feel very similar to a real leaf. I have been scaling up that idea to make animal bodies, tree limbs, and I hope to eventually create whole environments. I am in dialogue with moments from the nineteenth century: the popularization of the photograph, the creschendo for big game hunting, and a certain nostalgia and interest in cataloging (Cabinet of curiosities, Wunderkammer etc.) Although I tap into these older sources for my work, the actual execution is dependent on today’s technologies.

Visit artist's site: tashalewis.info

I’m thinking about these pictures with Birdman on the brain. I saw it last weekend, and on the way home from the theater, I made the regrettable decision to read reviews about the film online. Without going into detail about the masses of negative reviews, I’ll say the consensus is that the movie essentially made people think about things they otherwise wouldn’t have thought about or were uncomfortable thinking about. I kept thinking, isn’t that the point of art; to make us question our world and experience things we aren’t often subjected to? To me, art that succeeds in doing those things warrants a positive review.

Like Birdman did for movie-goers who feel compelled to post reviews online, the photographs in Barbara Bosworth’s One Star and a Dark Voyage stir something in me. They give me a chill, make me feel on-edge. And I think it’s fantastic. The pictures are haunting, in the most literal/least cliche way. Maybe it’s the wolf, whose blurred face and tense posture cause me to recall the Antichrist “chaos reigns” fox that’s never left my memory, or the ghostly dogs barking up a tree; they instantly remind me of the remains of Sally Mann’s dog. The bear paws, which look so much like human hands, certainly put knots in my stomach. (I wonder if Cig Harvey has seen the Swan image, made in 1995, and if The Funeral, Goose River is her response. I truly love connections like these in photography.)

In Natural Histories, the pictures are affecting to the same degree. Some keep me staring. With a removed reference to water, the fish looks like it is floating, hovering in a jar of air. The bird is photographed from just the right perspective, in just the right position to insinuate flight. Each image makes me think about time; at a standstill, or passing, quickly or slowly.

Visit artist's site: barbarabosworth.com

Amanda Tinker’s series in progress, Small Animal, is an examination of one particular way we experience nature: intimately and up-close, yet obscured and with intangibility. The black and white images, made as palladium prints, are composed on the ground glass of an 8×10 view camera. The resulting pictures incite the feeling of looking through a window to a place unknown, or of making shadow puppets against fogged glass. These pictures continue to recall to me Natural Findings by Cheryle St. Onge. Both projects feature a dark tone and the repeated image of a hand reaching for or grasping the simple but marvelous creations of nature.

From the artist’s statement: This new work, still in progress, looks at the natural world as if it were held just for our observation, suspended far from any recognizable landscape. Nature’s small beauties, such as birds, butterflies, flowers, and flecks of dirt, become objects of contemplation. The [ground glass] of the 8×10″ view camera, on which these studies are composed, factors greatly into the work. It is a projection screen for my interest in the early history of photography, particularly as a tool for studying nature. One can imagine an era just before the dawn of photography where views of nature stirred on the glass of a camera obscura. Nature had been transformed through optical devices giving way to a diminutive view; the landscape on a smaller, more intimate scale. This project, situated in the 21st century, reflects a more ambivalent, if not estranged, experience of the natural world.

Visit artist's site: amandatinker.com