This is a fascinating and unexpected title. I suspect that some people might consider it a repeat of images that circulate through Larry Clark’s opus Tulsa, and that is not a wrong way to feel about it, but what is important is how we see the periphery of images from that incredible body of work through Stanley/Barker’s excellent publication in its iterative viewing. The photos are not the same but are within proximity of the images in Tulsa. It is also worth noting that many of the images in the new volume are from the era of Tulsa, but some are also from his earliest work in his archive, stretching back to 1962. This is important as it, and the tile, suggest a full circle overview of the early work from the point of view of the artist’s august years. That is not to suggest that it is caught in the saccharine disposition of former glory days, but rather, it is used to fill in gaps and gives his fan base (of which I am included) more fodder for how we understand the arrival of Tulsa in 1971, a book that, even when I found it after seeing his film Kids from 1995, challenged my perception of photography. I bought Tulsa and Nan Goldin’s Ballad of Sexual Dependency around the same time, and both remain important titles for me.

One of the great discoveries of Return is the use of frames that must have existed very close to the original images used in Tulsa, as they are within moments of the ones chosen for the 1971 title. It is exciting to see what happens on each side of the iconic photos found in Tulsa. Adding contact sheets to this volume would have been fantastic without knowing if it was possible. This stated artists are often quite protective of showing those in the context of a book as not everything on the contact sheet adds gravitas to the career. Still, when I see the comparative images in Return, I lust for more sidelined images, as seeing the photos in this volume makes one wonder what else Clark was up to if these images have been waiting to be seen for half a century.

This book has a surprising amount of integrity to it. It works when you are aware of Larry Clark and Tulsa and some of the recognizable players. It offers an alternate reading of images from the original 1971 book. I believe David Roper and Billy Mann make appearances, as do other individuals from the original book, but they become slightly more passive players in the new book, which significantly restrains the reading from the bellicosity of the original volume of pictures. What Return does in considerable measure, from my angle as a fan of the original book, is to strip away a little bit of the drama of the 1971 volume. It does not flinch or take away any of the heaviness associated with the speed kings and queens of Oklahoma, but it does pace the context of their camaraderie and Clark’s pictures in a slightly more naturalistic way.

Instead of the clamor associated with the heavy punctuating images of dead children, pregnant intravenous drug use, gunshots, and violence, it instead shows the speed and heroin epidemic of the 1960s and 70s in a way in which you can see the addiction in a more human capacity. Instead of a nearly cinematic disposition found in the original, here, you have something more empathetic, showing the players as less fringe, less anarchic, suggesting that, as we know in our contemporary moment, heroin and addiction are not marginal, and many people operate/function under the struggle of addiction. When we see use in its extreme form, we associate it with prostitution, homelessness, and decay. We do not see the wide range of dependency that is more of a realistic middle ground for addiction. Not everything is Trainspotting or Tulsa in reality. There are many functioning addicts, and this comes at a time when America is facing a severe opioid and fentanyl crisis, which makes the undertaking of Return all that more urgent.

As a fan of Clark’s early and mid-period photobooks, I have not been overly inspired to track down more recent volumes. Tulsa (1971/2001), The Perfect Childhood (1993, The Groninger Museum Catalog (1999), and Punk Picasso (2003) are all titles that I hold in enormous regard, particularly The Perfect Childhood. I do not have Teenage Lust (1983), though I have been tempted by the Japanese Edition (1997) previously, I find it difficult to situate on the shelf. Some of that comes from moralizing over some of its content. The last Clark book I bought was Los Angeles from 2007, and I am still trying to determine where that has escaped. What I am getting at here is that the earlier books, morality aside, were very considered photobooks. Even the Groninger catalog has its own weight, and it reads more like an intentioned book than a catalog of pieces. Return feels like a great continuation of that practice and, in design, editing, and sequence, suggests a medium of itself, which the photobook is (for me, at least). Pun aside, is it a return to form? Sure thing.

This book makes perfect sense in their catalog for people paying attention to Stanley/Barker’s publication. The publisher gravitates toward a humanistic approach to publishing, working over years to secure archive treasures like this one and, in doing so, often brings material to light that would have otherwise been left unseen. There is also an element of design to some of their books, which has a slight punk rock feel. I am thinking directly of Cop by Christopher Anderson, which feels like an oddly paired volume with Return, but it works in format particularly. Return carries that same quality and is destined to sell out and also, like Cop before it, complement the artist’s career. I hope it is successful enough to liberate some more mid-period Clark work. I would love to see a disturbingly thick book of his TV screenshots or some continuity material from Kids. I believe there is a specific but dedicated market for future projects. This has my highest recommendation. I am biased af, but it is a significant title.

Larry Clark

Return 1962-1971

Stanley/Barker