One of the reasons why a photobook has the potential to be more than a collection of photographs is the possibility of the creation of a new world, in which the pictures play a subordinate role. For anyone familiar with the photobook, this is a truism, possibly a trite one at that. And yet, when encountering a book that succeeds particularly well at this game I still find myself marveling at it.
I couldn’t even say exactly what kind of world is presented in Maria Siorba‘s Blank Verse, and to be honest, I’m not particular eager to find out. Or rather, I’m not particular eager to find ways to put it into words, because I don’t want to lose being enthralled by the book’s magic. Of course, this approach will not help you, the reader. But maybe in what follows I can still use words to bring you closer to understanding the book and to you wanting to buy your own copy.
I’ve often been puzzled by the question whether it is possible to mix black-and-white and colour photographs. As far as I know, no country has passed a law prohibiting the intermingling of such photographs. And yet, many photographers are hesitant to do it because black-and-white and colour photographs look different.
The problem here is that if as a photographer you only focus on what your pictures look like, you will not get far. You will remain at the base level of what the medium has to offer, and there can be many good applications for that. However, if you consider what photographs make you feel or what they allude to, then suddenly the question stops making sense.
Blank Verse contains mostly black-and-white photographs that are printed on a matte paper that draws in the inks, resulting in shadows that dissolve what might be hidden inside them. For a lot of work, that would be a real disaster. Here, however, it works really well, and it’s used to great effect.
In addition, there are a few colour photographs, and they’re printed on an extremely glossy and lightweight paper stock. This could easily go awry, but, again, it works incredibly well. In fact, the viewer encounters the black-and-white photograph on the book’s cover as the first colour image after the title page.
The use of different papers adds another important aspect to the book. Handling any book requires a form of intervention that we are all used to. It’s just that we ordinarily don’t think much about it, because most book makers do not want to draw attention to it. To look at a book, you have to turn the pages, and you do so by touching them.
Here, though, given the difference between the papers, the experience of looking through the book is interrupted by the pages that carry the colour photographs. The paper feels light and fragile, whereas the photographs themselves mostly feel somewhat bolder than the others (but not because they’re in colour). This is an incredible device that I don’t remember from another book.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not asking for any of the devices described above to be used. All I’m asking for is a book that makes me experience something that I am unfamiliar with, a book that opens up a world to me in a fashion that moves me (anything goes).
Good photobook making is not focused on the devices it uses (even as, alas, too many people focus on those, whether as book makers or viewers). Instead, it is based on creating a unique whole that communicates what it needs to communicate.
While preparing for the task of writing this piece, I looked at the photographer’s website to see how the work is presented there. There’s a statement, the kind of statement contemporary art schools and curators appear to prefer. The statement does little justice to the work (which isn’t necessarily a bad problem to have). And there are the pictures, which operate and communicate in a very different fashion.
It’s astounding to me how much the work opens up inside the context of this book. Whoever put the book together in this fashion — I am unable to tell from the book itself, but I’d like to think that it was a collaboration between the photographer and the publisher — did an amazing job.
I have previously written about books produced by Départ Pour l’Image, a relatively young publisher based in Milan, Italy. On their website, they describe their work as focusing “on the possibilities of seeing by means of the image, on the border between photography and contemporary art”. In light of the books I have seen, this strikes me as an apt description.
But the possibilities of seeing by means of the image — isn’t that a wonderful way to escape the often narrow confines of a world of photography that still is too centered on, well, rather limited/limiting and often outdated ways of thinking around its pictures?
After all, the possibilities of seeing by means of the image states explicitly that there can be more than what photographs show, and you can pull that out by putting them together in a smart fashion. Furthermore, there are ways of seeing that extent beyond those that focus on form and content (or on that ghastly restriction of facts).
If anything, Blank Verse demonstrates not only the potential of the photobook. It also showcases an artist that I hope to see more of in the coming years.
But the book also tells this aging grouch who spends too much time holed up in a small room right underneath a mountain that while of late, the photobook medium has become a bit stale, there still are those who aspire to offer more and who show the way forward.
Highly recommended.
Blank Verse; photographs by Maria Siorba; 56 pages; Départ Pour l’Image; 2025
If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing to my Patreon. There, you will find exclusive articles, videos, and audio guides about the world of the photobook and more. For those curious, there now is the possibility of a trial membership for seven days.
Much like journalism, photography criticism involves a huge investment of time and resources. When you become a subscriber, you not only get access to more of my work. You will also help me produce it (including the free content on this site).
There also is a Mailing List, which I use to send out supplementary materials — anything that has me inspired or that somehow seemed worth noting. Some of it is serious, some is not. You can sign up for free here.
Thank you for your support!