I’ve been working on the layout for our ZINE, moving the same photographs around again and again.
At first, I was simply changing their positions, thinking, “Maybe this looks better here.” But at some point, I noticed something a little strange.
The photographs themselves hadn’t changed at all. Yet simply changing the photograph placed next to them could make them feel completely different.
A photograph of a train station could look like just a station, or it could suddenly feel like a place where someone comes home. A photograph of a building could look like part of a cityscape, or like a glimpse into the lives of the people who live there.
Nothing about the photographs had changed. Only the order in which they were seen, and what was placed beside them.
Maybe that is a little like the way we see a city.
Walking down the same street, one person might notice a sign, while another notices the architecture. Someone else might be drawn to the flow of people, or the shadows falling across the pavement.
Even when we are standing in the same place, I think each of us takes home a different version of the city.
Perhaps that means there are already countless magazines within a single city, waiting to be discovered.
What kind of city will emerge when I place the Linz I discover next to the Linz someone else discovers?
How many different magazines can one city become?
I want to find out.
