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A career spent negating the photographic window, pressuring the viewer out, left at surface, like looking out a window and seeing only glass. Early on Deschenes made landscape photographs of a spa town whose steam was eventually traded for silver, smoke for mirrors. And then there was also salt flats so grey and irregular they appear as mere noise, and the Moire patterns short circuiting your eyes and viewing, or the green screen years photographing what was intended to be digitally removed. The photograms now are the result of a photograph without a lens, no focus but collecting all the light it touches into its photo-sensitive halides fixed as silver, photographs that feel like the information paradox of black holes: does the light that falls into the traps retain any of its information? Could you put back anything of the time or place? Maybe it doesn't matter, the point is to accumulate light for the gleaming of pressed diamonds.
