The first volume of the new collection Soleil mineur [Minor Sun] is published on the occasion of the exhibition The Shudder Palace. 

It explores how we are shaped, often unconsciously, by the images that surround us and those we inherit. Unravelling like a fictional architecture, part archive, part theatre, part ruin, The Shudder Palace is inhabited by images that feel equally familiar and strangely displaced, as though remembered from dreams or recovered from incomplete histories. Throughout the exhibition, bodies appear in states of performance, ritual, stillness, resistance, intimacy, and transformation. Identity and photography alike emerge not as something fixed, but as unstable matter, continuously rehearsed, inherited, undone and remade. Photography is approached less as evidence than as a haunted material, capable of preserving traces while also revealing loss, distance, and disappearance. The participating artists work through processes of fragmentation, repetition, reenactment, layering, and reconstruction, reclaiming and reopening images to new meanings and narratives.

The publication features an original essay by Danaé Panchaud and Paloma Jones Revaud, alongside a presentation of the 16 international artists participating in the project, reproductions of artworks and exhibition views, an A2 poster and some graphic objects. 

Mixedness is my Mythology, the first monograph by South African–Dutch photographer Farren van Wyk, explores themes of identity, representation and personal agency.

Juxtaposing the artist’s lived experience in the Netherlands with her inherited history as a native of post-apartheid South Africa, van Wyk navigates the space where personal narratives intersect with broader histories of representation, colonialism and power, ultimately producing a body of work that is both deeply intimate and widely resonant.

Along with photographs of her family tending to their land or engaged in tender acts of care, van Wyk develops her own idiosyncratic iconography, examining the construction of a hybrid identity shaped by migration, diaspora and cultural intersectionality. Bringing together South African, Dutch, African American, and classical European cultural references, multiple lineages coexist within her images, resisting fixed definitions and singular origins. By building this personal mythology, rooted in family history, iconic imagery, and reappropriated cultural symbols, van Wyk asserts her visual sovereignty, embracing complexity and nuance while reclaiming the right to self-definition.

The project is on view in the exhibition Minor Tides from 2 July to 10 October at Centre de la photographie Genève (Espace Ami-Lullin). 

At the root of 36 Potplants lie 36 original artworks by Magdalena Wysocka and Claudio Pogo. Each original piece is composed from two separate risograph prints of pot plants: the prints are made on canvas, then cut apart and hand-stitched together. The source material for these prints comes from a modest booklet titled Topfpflanzen 1 [Potplants 1] published in 1977 by ZBE – Berlin Flowers.

There is, perhaps, a grammar to life that no organism escapes. Each being, from the smallest spore to the grandest mammal, carries within itself a syntax — a structure of reaction and resistance. The world, then, becomes a text of affinities and aversions, written not in words but in molecules. When sunlight strikes a leaf, or pheromones cross a room, there is no dialogue, yet there is meaning. One might say that all living things read each other chemically. They decipher: too much salt, too much light, too much proximity. The plant withers beside another not because it hates, but because its alphabet collides. The body of one utters what the other cannot digest. In this way, coexistence is not harmony but translation. Sometimes we translate well — roots intertwine, species align, ecosystems balance on an invisible syntax. And sometimes the translation fails — a misreading of light, a misunderstanding of air, and what once grew together turns toxic. Barthes might have said that love and aversion are the same semiotic act — both are readings of the other. To “hate” is to acknowledge the other’s grammar but to refuse its resonance. To “love” is to dissolve boundaries until meanings blur. Thus, the garden and the body share a secret: they are both texts of negotiation. Every organism is a reader and a sentence simultaneously — rewriting itself in reaction to heat, pressure, and proximity. The soil, the cell, the skin: each a paragraph in the endless discourse of being.

The Palace by Swedish artist and photographer Mårten Lange is a body of work that explores the role of architecture as a repository for history, memories and emotions. Over the course of three years, Lange has photographed at historical and archaeological sites around Europe, mostly in Italy, Greece and France. He focused on the basic elements of architecture, such as doors, windows and stairs. These architectural archetypes do not tell a clear story about any certain place. Instead, inspired by the ancient concept of the memory palace – a mnemonic technique where spaces are used to structure thought – they allow the viewer to construct their own labyrinth, a suggestive visual world of secret passages and hiding places. Underlining the psychological charges that architecture can contain, the work is a meditation on the enduring presence of the past.

Tim Bruggeman’s practice begins with images already circulating in the world, often in very specific contexts: superseded educational slideshows, institutional collections, magazine archives, auction catalogues. Through acts of collecting, rearranging, and reframing, he uncovers the strange emotional and political charge hidden within systems of classification and storage.

This publication shows the content of the folder Narcissus. Looking into an (artificial) well of fountain. This folder is one of the 18.000 subject folders that are kept in the photographic collection at the Warburg Institute in London. This iconographically organized archive contains reproductions of sculptures, paintings, drawings, prints, tapestries, and other forms of imagery, ranging in date from classical antiquity to circa 1800. All the photographs in this publication were taken by Tim Bruggeman on 2 July 2023.

La Nonpareille expands on Batia Suter’s site-specific installation at TU Delft, in which she engaged with an archive of glass slides from its library. Originally used between 1900 and 1960 for lectures in Mechanical Technology, these visibly worn plates document machines, industrial materials, and production processes during a period of increasing mechanisation. Suter reworks the material into a visual reflection on the entanglement of humans and machines – and how technology reshapes perception, labour, and everyday life. Many compositions in the book consist of layered montages, where multiple images are overlaid to create new, morphed forms and associations.

Crest is set in a remote and enclosed Alpine valley, nestled on the Swiss-Italian border. By using the geography of this landscape, the book explores notions of isolation, belonging and home. Surrounded by steep mountains, the passing of time and a state of solitude combine deep within the high mountain walls, to create a portrait of a secluded landscape and an exploration of one’s place.

With La Levée des corps, Swiss artist Virginie Rebetez continues her exploration of disappearance, memory and archives. Commissioned by the Valais State Archives in 2021, she took on the role of an archivist and spent two years examining the files of people who took their own lives between 1910 and 1960. These stories are often hidden, or that we have forced ourselves to forget – and yet, paradoxically, can be found in the Cantonal Archives in the form of written records of post-mortem examinations carried out by forensic pathologists, police investigations or reports from families. The artist immersed herself in these non-public documents, which she cleaned, photographed and digitised with the help of a conservator. With this project, Virginie Rebetez brings these stories out of silence and brings them to light through various media: photographs, reproductions of archive material, videos, a sculpture, as well as various sound recordings played throughout the space or to be listened to via headphones. – Anne Jean-Richard Largey, Director, La Ferme-Asile

The over-representation of vulnerable people in the Swiss prison system is glaring. Through in-depth discussions with incarcerated people, as well as contributions from academics, the project by Swiss artist Laurence Rasti seeks to make visible the underlying reasons for this reality, which appears to be a deliberate punishment of the poor. The project is a collaborative effort in which the people in detention create pinhole and cyanotype images of the inside of the walls, allowing them a space to express themselves and becoming co-authors and experts of their own situation. At the same time, excerpts from their testimonies were engraved in concrete, confronting the silence of the prison walls in the echoes of prison graffiti. The project aims to provoke critical reflection on the prison system and its inherent deficiencies, challenging societal norms and policies that criminalize poverty and migration.

The project was undertaken as part of the Neuchâtel Photographic Survey 2024, exhibited at the Museum of Fine Arts Le Locle (MBAL) in 2024-2025. The publication is accompagned by a contribution of Luca Gnaedinger, "Who Are Prisons Made For?", and a conversation with Federica Martini and Laurence Rasti: "Speaking Out".

On February 9, 2020 in Mexico City, a 25-year-old woman named Ingrid E. V. was murdered by her companion. Grisly photographs of this femicide committed by Erik Francisco Robledo Rosas, taken at the scene of the crime by the authorities, were avidly circulated by Mexican tabloids, which had no qualms in plastering the young woman’s dismembered body across their front pages. This opportunistic move by the gutter press, and the complicity of the police in making it possible, sparked a wave of protests. Spurred by a tweet to do their part in ridding the internet of these gruesome images, social media users around the world posted numerous photos of peaceful lakes, sunsets, fields of flowers and other scenes of natural beauty under the hashtag #IngridEscamillaVargas. In close collaboration with Delia who initiated this collective online response and with the Mexican independent publishing house Gato Negro Ediciones, Zoé Aubry, who has been working on the systemic and structural phenomenon of femicides and the issues raised by their media coverage since 2017, produced a book that pays homage to the memory of Ingrid Escamilla Vargas, denounces violence against womxn, and assails the voyeurism of a certain segment of the press.

These images are not addressed to us, but are present and diffused to make others disappear. For her installation, Zoé Aubry has gathered the images that were posted during the weeks that followed the murder as part of this collective movement aimed at producing invisibility by exploiting algorithms. She places them all in the foreground of her installation in such a way as to cover up a pixelated cyanotype of one of the crime-scene images that were published in the tabloids. To extend this work of struggle and demand into the public space, she invites everyone to make these images visible throughout the city in a participatory postering campaign. This continuous flow of photographs — with subtle variations, repetitions, and quotations inherent to the #Ingrid movement itself — refuses the voyeurism incited by images of violence and exemplifies the use of the image as a weapon against mediatization and government as well as police corruption.

A wandering soul is a raw and intimate selection of poems and photographs. Inspired by nature, human behaviour, personal storytelling, existential worries, pain, love and fantasy. An intuitive dialogue of a poet with two outstanding contemporary photographers, all three artists share a tender appreciation of beauty and fleeting mementos reflecting a universe that is exquisite, yet contradictory and pierced with conflict and uncertainty.

Poems by Sandra Nedvetskaia & photographs by Awoiska van der Molen and Peter Hauser

On 20 February 1980, Jaime Tovar was abducted by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC) and forced to wander for months through the tropical rainforest of the Colombian Amazonia. His son Luis Carlos, the author of this book, was just a few months old at the time. The guerilla fighters sent a Polaroid snapshot of their captive to his family as proof that he was still alive. This project starts from the search for that uncertain photograph, but it reflects a process of rediscovery that transcends the event itself. It is a poetic exercise that speaks of our finitude and contingent nature, that explores the legacy of the past as our only mode of survival. The absence of this fetish photograph activates a performative visual essay which resorts to the mechanisms of appropriation and collage in order to remove autobiographical and documentary photography from their conventional frameworks.

The book Jardín de mi padre [Garden of my Father] draws on the idea of post-memory as an exercise in the imaginative reconstruction of experience, as a therapy spanning generations that gives voice to the marginalised and produces new empathy with the past.

“I’ve never seen a tree make so much medicine. Maybe it weeps so much for all the poison here.”

The above quote, relayed to Lucas Olivet by Prince George resident Randy Dakota, was the inspiration for the title of this book which is centered around the capital of northern BC: the title a testimony, a tribute, a prayer. Featuring an essay by Lauren Haddad, Medicine Tree offers a lyrical and tense reflection on a region at once wild and poisoned by industry, unknown to the majority of Vancouverites, by passed by tourists, silently servicing the country’s (Canada, the US, China, pick one) pulp and paper needs. Dakota, standing in the gravel next to his trailer, was referring to a black spruce sticky with resin.