If ever the premise of a body of work was betrayed by its execution, this is that work. I should clarify that this statement is not intended as a pejorative, but rather to note that the simplicity of the means in Shea’s initial premise is a bit of a false lead. It starts with a simple idea, and the book is far from simple. The premise is this…how does one photograph a forest? It sounds easy enough, and anyone who has ever been in a forest, trying to photograph the hyperobject that it represents, understands that it is impossible in its entirety. In this, we can assume that there is, at play, a condition of metaphor, which makes complete sense if you have followed Daniel’s work over the past two books in particular.

My reading of the forest proposition, despite the book’s pictures of trees, is that Daniel, embedded in the title, is interested in discussing late-stage capitalism through the metaphor of a forest with too many trees to describe their volume adequately. This suggests what we are living through at present: a system of deregulated madness with no clear outcome in sight, only a palpable feeling of destruction. Destruction of class, ecosystems, worlds. And in understanding Daniel’s concerns regarding cities in particular, the trees could be an effigy for people, buildings, or both. As above, so below. Distribution suggests authority and opinion, and hints at a reshuffling of the current system toward something that inherently considers distribution as a concept to be scrutinized or fairly enabled. It does not say equality; therefore, the book may resonate more as a critique of the current distribution system when it feels pertinent, particularly in American terms, the questions of scarcity, the overtaxation of basic conditions, and the need for this discussion.

Throughout the book, several undergirdings address these concerns. Foremost is the architectural work Shea has undertaken since the publication of his book, 43-35 10th Street, by Kodoji in 2018. He is a wanderer in the vein of Lewis Mumford, walking the streets of New York, taking notes and documenting the city’s vast and constant architectural changes, particularly those associated with hyper-capitalism. Shea’s previous book could be viewed as a battle between architecture, capital, and the natural world, with an emphasis on construction sites, sites of “progress”. With a similar structure in mind, Distribution continues to think about architecture and its role within megacities, not just New York. I believe there are buildings within Distribution from China and other locations as well. I am confident that he and Mårten Lange have photographed some of the same buildings. I think it is vital to mention Lange when discussing both artists’ work, who are the same age and share similar critical concerns. However, Shea’s work feels like a more concrete discussion of capital, and Lange’s is something arguably embedded in mythology and metaphorical narrative.

In thinking about other resonances to Distribution, I believe Aglaia Konrad’s work is also worth mentioning, as both artists are interested in monochrome images or architecture in volume. Konrad’s work in Tokyo, particularly her book Works, published by Roma feel, is in kinship with Distribution. I also had some flashes to John Gossage’s There and Gone, though loosely, or perhaps The Romance Industry.  It concerns the image format and the layout of several pictures on the pages, which we will discuss further momentarily. Regarding the Romance Industry, the volume of images and their focus (though undeclared by John) about industry and labor are also similar to Shea’s interests. I also think it is worth mentioning the use of source material from Allan Sekula, pages that were photographed and included in the book. This is not a novel technique for including photographed pages, and artists from Richard Prince to several remarkable books on scrapbooks by Dennis Cooper to Pedro Costa have used printed pages, rephotographed to suggest layers in their work. I am thinking mainly of Prince, though here.

On the note of Sekula’s use, this is a clear indicator of the discussion of class and disproportion in Shea’s work. By invoking Sekula, no matter how subtle the sequence in Distribution is, it essentially discusses class and inequality, as well as labor, from a less-than-central political position. It is a signal from the left, which is absolutely timely and in need, particularly in America, where the blatant racism towards Mamdani and any fanciful flights of a more fair system of living standard provokes a knee-jerk reaction about communist jihadism. I mean, the levels of ideological misunderstanding are appalling. In mentioning this, I can certainly, even emphatically, agree to Shea’s subtle provocation of these discussions. This is also reflected in the significant number of images in the book that are not given a monolithic size. In fact, the debate among the pictures and what is present in the concept suggests giving the conversation more emphasis than the images themselves. This is not to say the photos are always small or multiple on the page, but rather that the majority are, and that distracts the viewer from the inherent discussion. This also creates a strange yet effective-looking game, as it forces the viewer to spend time with each diminutive image. You have to desire to look at them, and there are many.

Where Distribution becomes an opus is in the object itself, regarding its editing, sequence, layout, and use of varnish. The book opens with color images of a woman observed. These images do not convey the book’s concept, but invite the viewer to enter the forest of images with a warm invitation. After this, the book grows cold and necrotic, and though I cannot say it is sparse or minimal, it feels, in its sequential precision, very much like it avoids the feeling of abusive overflow. There is a stark minimalism in the images themselves that probably offsets their volume throughout, allowing a large volume of pages to carry the conceptual load and discussion of labor, architecture, and capital. In places, I am reminded of Richter’s Atlas sheets. This, in honesty, also comes from a comment on my post from Daniel on IG, in which he alludes to having that very book in his grasp. It is a book (actually, several versions exist) that addresses photographic layout in a significant and strategic way, which Daniel has clearly used as a template for thinking about the many images in his book. This is not to say pastiche, copy, or emulation even, but rather that he is probably aware of how essential Richter is with Atlas and how it translates in its many images to a book, which he has used to his own specific interests along with, and very vital to point out a nearly cinematic employ of…wait for it…spot varnish. Yes, spot varnish.

With the smaller images leading the charge throughout the book in sheer volume, Shea has smartly arranged them in two lines, one at the top and one at the bottom. On the open page, this seems like a strategy to incorporate more images. Still, when looking at the process in aggregate, it is clear that they run like a film reel, perhaps two film reels even, with gaps between images that suggest missing information or slippage. This continues throughout the book, with casual pace-snapping when he shifts from monochrome to black-and-white and when the photos are larger on the page. I mention varnish because, towards the end of the book, the smaller architectural images fade out, and their haunted presence continues with spot varnish used to carry the “reel” forward on the page over the text images. You see this not in pictures but in their spot-varnish residue atop the pages. This is important because it asks the viewer to understand the continuation of the cinematic line. It also asks the viewer to acknowledge that Shea is speaking to book lovers in the same way that Christian Patterson does in his triumphant book, Gong Co. (TBW, 2024), particularly in the latter’s use of marginalia. In Distribution, Shea leverages his interest in the book form and continues to make allegories to the exhibition medium of the wall by including his frames, matting, and other techniques that speak to installation.

On a personal note, as someone with some pretty deep insight into the world of bookmaking, I find Shea’s book refreshing. It manages to avoid being overly pretentious; instead, his book practice is becoming more hermetic, or perhaps esoteric, while still aligning with the theme of capitalism and architecture. It is a risky book to make, but I feel that it is vital as it moves the book form forward and, as with Patterson, opens up a younger generation of artists to take their book work and selves more seriously. In summation, I might suggest that I probably missed quite a bit of what Shea wants to offer, and that conceptual overload can sometimes lead people to miss things. For example, I believe a book begins to fall apart after the fourth element is added to the sequence or undergirding. I think the volume of pages excludes Shea from this issue, but undoubtedly, there is more going on in the book than I can pick up on in this review.

This book will be hard for people. This is a great thing. If you want to elevate your understanding of photobooks, which frankly, we emphatically need in 2025 and from now on, pick this up. It will be revealed to you over time. If you are interested, even tangentially, in Richter, José Pedro Cortes (A Necessary Realism), Mårten Lange (Ghost Witness), Richard Serra, James Welling (Light Sources) Banks Violette, Aglaia Konrad, Koudelka (Chaos), Erich Mendelsohn (Amerika), Bernice Abbott, or perhaps Matt Mullican (Photography Catalog) this will be of interest to you, but in no ways do you need to unlock the forest from those trees—highest Recommendation. Kudos to MACK for returning full force to photography and taking a chance at what must have been a relatively serious investment. It crosses over into the publisher’s world between social issues, architecture, and photography, and, in doing so, escapes the insular world of photography we have all poorly created.

Daniel Shea

Distribution

MACK