For his first solo show in 1997, artist Saul Fletcher mounted a now iconic self-portrait. Evenly diffused light covers the artist’s torso, yet a birdlike black mask obscures his face. The image precludes an expansive career of photographic works that are by turns reserved, crafty, and even spectral. Often presented at a small scale, Fletcher’s photographs do not readily offer details or context—delivering instead a poetic simplicity.
A self-taught photographer from the northeastern coast of England, Saul Fletcher has been creating works of stirring melancholia for over two decades. In this monograph over three hundred of his images are spaciously reproduced, honouring the life in each photograph. Fragmented bodies, found object assemblages, and the artist’s own studio wall are rendered like exalted snapshots—personal vignettes of a larger story. Also included in the book are essays by Ralph Rugoff and Kirsty Bell that touch on Fletcher’s haunting captured moments as well as the unexpected pause his images demand in a time of media saturation, impermanence, and the ephemeral.
Essays by Ralph Rugoff and Kirsty Bell
Hardcover, 464 pp