Young Werbowy is a photographer and he has one eye of hypersensitivity and one eye that is just closed. Growing up in the 21st century he has no nostalgic adhesiveness towards the analogue, he chooses pixels and digital potential for his poetic pictures of somethings and nothings. He might be the new Tillmans but with less assholes (literally) and more color. And what colors! Why bother go outside to catch a lovely sun setting behind the city, when you can have it through soiled, tainted windows? He is using the digital photomedia unlike much seen before, like a polaroid without the nostalgia filter, he uses the frost from the New York city air to create a welcome blur effect that make them look like paintings. This mixed with his ignorance of the pixel count of his random digital cameras, and crap lenses, makes the lines, perspectives and colors melt together into something very rare in this age of digital perfectionism, or “let’s make this picture look coincidental even though we have the skills and equipment to avoid it” tendency.. Photographs where the whole motive is vivid and clear from pixel one to two millions, or three or ten. It doesn’t matter His pictures just are, and for once, it is enough. Or more than enough. Trends don’t matter here, or if they do they are coincidental. And history is irrelevant. He just happens to be our times Eggelston. Just like Eggleston just happened to be his times Eggleston, Werbowy just happens to be his times Werbowy. The Rimbaud of photography. Enough legacy at the age of 23. Just perfect.
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96 pgs, 11.4 × 18.5 cm, Softcover, 2013, 9788299927000