Masahisa Fukase
Darwin returns to Masahisa Fukase where autobiography corrodes into evidence. The work folds inward: marriage, exile, birds, repetition as damage. We bias toward books made after collapse, sequences where authorship leaks. Fukase rhymes here with Araki’s compulsions and Scandinavian diarists, but darker—circulation stalled, archive bruised. Images behave like afterimages, insisting on return rather than narrative. Time is looped, authorship injured, intimacy staged against disappearance itself again.
