The photographs lay somewhere between Gonzalez-Torres takeaways and George W. Bush’s paintings. There’s a displacement of meaning, take significance from elsewhere. They’re meditative and reflective of the person who took them, while giving little insight. Nostalgic snapshots whose beautiful lighting ingrains a profound foreboding loss. Like Bush’s painting of him nude in the shower’s mirror, there is sense of a man reflective of the world around him, self-aware in time past. Like Atget whose photos pre-predict the loss inherent in empty Paris.