There is a small number of essential photobooks that explore the concept of artistic process/practice and performance. Most recently, I have found myself thumbing through Joseph Beuys: Coyote, by Caroline Tisdall (Schirmer/Mosel, 1976), which features photographs of Beuys’ legendary 1974 performance, I Like America and America Likes Me. The performance, arguably Beuys’ most well-known, next to How to Explain Pictures to a Dead Hare (1965), is regarded as a masterpiece of transgressive performance. The artist, locked and caged, spent three consecutive 8-hour days with a coyote in the René Block Gallery in New York. The performance signaled, as was the case with much of Beuys’ work, a ritualized use of his body and conveyed a message about indigenous knowledge and European systems of thought. Much of the work is self-mythologizing, and while that irritates me in many forms, the piece can also be seen as a post-war symbol of resistance against the constant clamor of forever wars, filtered through the lens and dissatisfaction of the Vietnam War.
Krieg ist Fett, Krieg ist Tod, Schmalz über alles
Krieg ist… Transzendenz. Compulsion. Regulation, Lack thereof. Never Ambivalence. Never Regret. The missing smelling salts of a generation or six, six, six.
Several other bodies of work come to mind that relate to an obtuse form of performance and artmaking, which I might align with my understanding of Mari Katayama’s vital new book, Synthesis (2025), published by the hybrid team of MACK/SPBH. It would be remiss not to draw some parallels with other artists, particularly in terms of performance. In 2016, Tate Modern exhibited “Performing for the Camera,“ which explored the performative aspects of the medium and its use to document performance itself. These two sentiments are distinct, though not mutually exclusive, layers of the camera’s role in relation to performance. When considering performance and the camera, the question arises as to what degree or level of involvement the camera itself has in the performance. Intentions are a considerable portion of how we understand the dynamic.
In Mari’s case, the camera is not a silent partner simply bearing witness to her movements, poses, or her desire to transform her studio interior into a gossamer-like fantasy plateau, filled with lace and mirrors. Instead, the camera is an active participant. Her shutter release cable leads into the frame, back toward the viewer, and punctures the fourth wall that the camera and the page represent. We become involved. We are asked to peek our heads through the mirror, not look behind its silver flaking when examined from the verso. The only opt-in is through the glass. Our entanglement is secure and exists between the prism of the camera and the imaginary mirror of our viewing. She creates a world in her studio where the girlbody anxiety of Hans Bellmer’s dolls meets the charisma of Yayoi Kusama’s mirror play, further enabled toward agalmatophilia through organic nylon limbs, ala Louise Bourgeiouse and, by extension, Sarah Lucas. This, by extension, and native to her homeland, can be seen in the book Pygmalionism by Kishin Shinoyama, amongst several other Japanese artists from the 80s and 90s who used dolls and automatons in their work, some fascinating, others bordering on the problematic.
What comes across brilliantly in Synthesis is Mari’s playfulness, but also her commitment to her studio environment. It turns the studio into something of a lair. Here, Mari, a casual spider to her performative surroundings, with all manner of webbing, silk, and nylon holding the place together for the naked consumption of the viewer peering through the eaves, as she spins her web. Her work has evolved from a conversation about her prosthetics to something less indebted to those specifics, which is ultimately incredibly refreshing. I believe the power of her work lies in its holistic approach to her performance, not in her audience’s desire to focus solely on her legs. Her frames are becoming increasingly complicated, and in this, they ask the viewer to transcend the obvious. A sincere hat tip goes out to SPBH and MACK for bringing back some energy into the glacier push for mediocrity on contemporary photobook making. Synthesis is a standout title from a standout artist entering into her prime capacity for artmaking. I can imagine that it will only get more exciting in the future. Highly recommended.
Mari Katayama
Synthesis
SPBH/MACK