In presenting something of a fragmented story, Marc Rogoff doesn’t just offer up a photoshoot but rather scatters a handful of puzzle pieces at our feet and tells us to make what we will of them. A lingerie-clad beauty in what looks to be a mid-century modern home, listlessly floating from scene to scene: she might be a housewife cleaning up life’s broken moments and messes, or – with clothes burned in the back yard – cleaning up the evidence of a crime. The phone is off the hook, a man’s clothes lie strewn about but the man is no-where to be seen. Finally a car pulls into the driveway, lights glowing in the night like wild eyes about to become a spectator to this strange scene; about to see through the beauty on the surface to the cracks beneath.
But what will become of the literal axe on the wall?
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