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Photographer Eirik Johnson documents the communities and industries, specifically timber and salmon, of the Pacific Northwest. In his most recent book, he reveals the austere, quiet beauty that persists amidst the loss and decline of northwestern landscapes and towns.
From the late 19th century until the 1990s, retratos pintados (“painted portraits”) were common in rural northeastern Brazil: family portraits retouched to improve appearances.
In partnership with local education officials, Transparency International Pakistan asked children across the nation to depict corruption in a drawing competition to show a “Child’s View of Corruption.”
Using a Renaissance practice of wood inlay known as marquetry, Alison Elizabeth Taylor reproduces scenes of foreclosure in Las Vegas.
Like the pensive, cautionary nature-boys in her new paintings, Julie Heffernan cobbles together tokens and symbols to create a natural world as beautiful as it is gentle.
Manuscript archivist Liza Kirwin raked together an exhaustive pile of historically significant notes, grocery lists, and romantic ephemera from some of the 20th century’s greatest artists.
Photographer Timothy Briner spent seven years on “Boonville,” which takes place in six towns in the U.S.—six different towns named Boonville where Briner lived for periods of time and shot portraits of private lives, overpasses, and wrestling squads.
Gallerist and poet Scott Zieher doesn’t have to look hard for art—it has a way of showing up on his doorstep. At least that’s what happened with this photo album he found of snapshots from the gay biker scene of the 1970s.
Paula McCartney’s portraits of fake birds in real landscapes are not digitally enhanced, but they do trick the eye.
Twitter’s not just the next step in online communication or social networking, according to Francesco Masci—it’s the next step in civilization.
French photographer Denis Darzacq’s reminds us of the freedom that escaping materialism brings, even when we are left to wonder: Are these figures floating or falling?
The impish, chaotic boys in Maximilian Toth’s paintings are Maurice Sendak’s Max, the neighborhood playground prince, and your nephew who pretends kitchen utensils are guns.