Photos in print are special. Work an artist pours themselves into, that starts as an idea and becomes something to hold gets me pumped. Fruition is such a beautiful thing.
I don’t need to rattle on about the digital age and how it has robbed us of tangible art, and I’m not going to. Fact is, without the digital age, I would have never been exposed to many talented, kind creatives. So, today I’m sharing a special book from photographer and friend, Markus.
Markus Naarttijärvi is a master in quiet storytelling. The sense of places, the moments of life that hit just on the periphery, human touch which lingers in a space void of life... Think of a hard to quantify idea around existence, one that struggles to be illustrated or named. You can just about guarantee Markus has found a way to put the concept to image. His work is visceral, and his book is very tactile. Sunken text on the front, a soft matte cover, gently textured paper, and a spine exposed. The book itself is meant to be felt.
Thankfully, the work within matches this intention. When I first flipped through this book, I experienced a multitude of emotions. The sheer dopamine hit of a new book, because, obviously. Then, the feeling of visual story, each image like a chapter you don’t want to end. Sad at the emptiness, enraptured by the space. Chilled by the darkness, and drawn further into the northern light. A seemingly science-fiction landscape, brought back to earth by stills of a frozen Swedish forest. The collection feels stark, and yet so warm and personal. His images are ones you sit with. Each page, narrative evidence.
The images seem to say, “This is where we lived, this is how we felt, this is what we did. We made choices. We did our best, and at times, our worst. We got through. Then, we died. And in all of it, we had hope.”
This book is such a joy to own. I’ve intentionally not shared too many visuals and hope you grab a copy.
