Containing selections from a project in three parts -- shown concurrently in Los Angeles, New York, and Stockholm -- Nowhere Near exists as a sort of cinema in flux, a photographic investigation into perception and time that resists any will-to-narrate. Presented in mainly in diptychs and triptychs of precisely uniform dimension, every picture here features essentially the same subject -- a large window in the artist's home with a view over looking her yard. Some images focus on the view through the window: into the yard, at a tree, or off into the distance. Others are focused on the window itself or some component thereof: rain streaks, fingerprints, dust. Still others reflect the interior of the space. The sum effect is one of displacement-of the artist/viewer relationship, of the senses, and of subjectivity itself.
The view from the window becomes increasingly blurry. There are no longer any features to describe, any genre, any technique. You are alone with perception itself, recognizing your own mind. It's a kind of time-trap, "when vision partly surrenders its object, and even the most tranquil and intimate vistas begin to ripple and waver like a faraway mirage." What's most interesting about Jan Tumlir's essay is that the photo becomes a kind of "breach," and your consciousness can slips through it, and then slides toward a "climactic reversal" that "spits us back out."