Ugo Rondinone
nuns + monks

Human, City, Pigeon

Public perceptions of the pigeon have shifted drastically over the past centuries. In the 1700s, it was welcomed as a guest who commanded humans’ unfailing solicitude; today, by contrast, it is often perceived as a nuisance. It has become an animal that defaces squares and buildings. Why does the pigeon in the settings of our daily lives prompt feelings of loathing and fascination, but also indifference? Jens Gerber’s photographs undertake an expedition into the city of the pigeons. Rounded out by essays by Marina Rüdiger and Laurens Schlicht, the book illuminates the subject of the city pigeon from the perspectives of photography, science, and literature, and explores the question of how pigeons shape the built environment and how the latter informs their behavior in turn.

For seven years Cara Galowitz (b. 1964, lives and works in New York) walked the streets of Corona, Queens every day during her lunch break from her nearby museum job, where she worked as an art director. These photographs, which she calls “an exercise in seeing”, capture the vivid juxtapositions of one of the most ethnically diverse neighborhoods in the world.

Through layers of irony, humor, and visual sophistication, these photographs evoke a place that is a continual work-in-progress, where the past, be it faded lettering or crumbling architecture, collides with the present in the form of spontaneous street decorations, signage, graffiti, and religious iconography. The images evoke the struggle and resilience of the people of Corona, as well as capturing the quirky beauty of the streets.

Cara Galowitz is a graduate of the Cooper Union School of Art where she focused on graphic design, photography, and fine art. She has pursued a long career as a museum art director and has shown work at the Newark Museum, the Museum of the City of New York, and the Grey Art Gallery.

The Mülheim-Kärlich Nuclear Power Station, 1975–2019

In 1975, construction began in Mülheim-Kärlich on what was to be the only nuclear power plant in the state of Rhineland-Palatinate. After numerous court battles and only two years of trial and regular operation, the plant was decommissioned in 1988 and dismantled starting in 2001. The 530-foot cooling tower, taller than Cologne Cathedral, was the point of reference, landmark, and eyesore of an entire region; its time-consuming demolition became a symbol of the perennial political polarization over the decision to phase out nuclear power.

Michael Bertram (b. Mendig, 1968; lives and works in Mayen) took photographs of the reactor looming between homes and factories in order to record the future past in pictures. The plant cost seven billion deutschmarks to build and one billion euros to take back down: vast resources expended on a temporary installation that lasted forty years and left a lasting mark on the landscape, the surrounding communities, and the people who lived in its shadow. Starting with the demolition, the book presents an inverted timeline in eighty-one black-and-white photographs. The object seems to rise before our eyes until, at the end of the series, five color photographs conjure up a past that was very much present only a moment ago—a singular document of Germany’s industrial heritage.