ZEKE Fall 2019

crux of his argument, is “We aren’t talking
about a faceless disease or an industrial
material—we’re talking about human lives.”
The question I am left with: Does
this book bring more to our understanding
of asbestos and of its victims than a
traditionally-bound photo book with large
photos by the photographer, an essay by a
renowned expert, and a statement by the
photographer?
I think not. I think of another book that
has explored disease of the human body
-— Nick Nixon’s People with Aids (David
R. Godine, 1991) — because in both
cases the subjects are mostly men at late
stages of their lives with loved ones nearby.
Nixon plays no tricks with his book. He is
confident that the stuff within his rectangles
are what matters and that he is a virtuoso
in his compositions. Nixon also has no
qualms understanding that his images are
less important than the people he photographs,
and that the disease is bigger than
both. Palu’s endpoint is the same, but in
A Field Guide to Asbestos, he display less
confidence that his photographs will get
us there. Instead he explores other visual
devices, goes into tangents, and leaves us
with something that has the questionable
authority of a pamphlet, or in this case, a
field guide.
This is not to say the book design is not
important. But as the margins are pushed,
the risks are increased. Few photo books
today are as traditional as Nick Nixon’s
People with Aids, but most skew closer to
thoughtful use of traditional book design
elements of size, scale, paper stock, and
typography. In Palu’s case, he reaches by
re-inventing the concept. This isn’t a book,
it is a field guide. But where are the Jackin-the-Pulpits
and Ruby Throated Sparrows?
There is only one technical illustration
showing how lungs are affected by asbestos
particles credited to Stanford School of
Medicine, and one canned definition of the
type you might find in a field guide titled
“Asbestos-Related Diseases” by the Centers
for Disease Control.
I commend Palu for experimenting with
the boundaries of the photo book and
exploring how to make a photograph more
meaningful and politically affective than
what it usually can do. I am just at a loss
because I know what a good photographer
he is I and I have more faith in the
power of those rectangles than he allows
us with this book.
—Glenn Ruga
CASPIAN: THE ELEMENTS
Photographs by Chloe Dewe
Mathews, Essays by Morad
Montazami, Sean O’Hagan, and
Arnold van Bruggen
Co-published by Aperture and Peabody
Museum Press, 2018
216 pages | $65
In Caspian:
The Elements,
British photographer
Chloe Dewe
Mathews offers her
five-year encounter
with the five countries
bordering the
Caspian Sea: Iran,
Russia, Azerbaijan,
Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan. She
selects her pictures based on the elements:
fire, earth, air, and water. The first
chapter in this systematic approach is
titled “Oil Gas Fire.” Her story begins in
the sanatoriums of Naftalan, Azerbaijan
where individuals are seen resting in tubs
filled with “miracle oil.” Azeris believe
that soaking in this thick crude oil is
medicinal. The abundance of black crude
oil gives the countries of this region their
geopolitical and economic heft.
Mathews moves on from crude oil
therapy to witness Zoroastrian fire rituals in
Iran. Her continuing revelation of Caspian
life and culture loses some momentum
when she focuses on oil production in
Azerbaijan, the industrial component of
her natural elements theme. These images
are not as beguiling as jumping through
fire, yet they express her articulate clarity
of vision. The photographer regains her
storytelling momentum later in the chapter
when she memorably documents Uzbek
cemetery workers in Kazakhstan building
mausoleums for the rich and dying.
In the second chapter, “Rock Salt
Uranium,” she explores underground
mosques in Kazakhstan, travels with
shamans to sacred sites in Azerbaijan and
visits sulfur and salt lakes in Turkmenistan
and Russia respectively. The most incredible
pictures are of radioactive hot springs in
Ramsar, Iran. Mathews could have ended
the book here, where radioactive spas seem
to pulsate on the page, but she has yet to
portray the final element of her story.
“Water,” the closing chapter, is a
bucolic thank you to the Caspian Sea for
all it has revealed to her. The highlight of
this last chapter is her pictures of the Volga
River and Delta where Russians live and
play with a passion best observed when
they are swimming and fishing in icy holes
on great frozen expanses.
Chloe Dewe Mathews’ one hundred
plus visual studies of beauty and grace
amount to a substantial achievement.
Caspian also includes three insightful
essays starting with Sean O’Hagan’s commentary,
which was recently excerpted
in The New Yorker. O’Hagan talks about
Mathews’ “metaphorical documentary
photography” stimulating his childhood
memories. This is a result that many
photographers aspire to. Mathews succeeds
through her desire to search out the
metaphysical as well as the physical in her
Caspian world.
—Frank Ward
58 / ZEKE FALL 2019