Max Maslansky is a tricky fellow who seems to believe in longshots. His images caress a romantic past, the voyeuristic present, and a violent future. Each image seems to shake with exerted candor, while holding your hand and telling you things will be okay.
The work of Johan Björkegren feels like a fairy tale, with twists and turns. It’s what I pictured when I was 5 and holding the covers hearing stories. It is decrepid and pronounced, and can, at times, feel like a house that won’t stop squeaking. It feels loved and nurtured, but it doesn’t believe in purity or the idea of white.