When I saw this photograph on the front and back cover of About the Philosophy of Photography book, something in it pulled me inward. The charm of the image was not merely due to the simplicity and intimacy of its subject, the solidity of its composition or the harmony of its colors. In this photograph the orderly stack of books gives it a ritualistic quality and the “book” itself—placed at the center of the frame—appears as a precious, even sacred object. But in the upper part of the image the bright surfaces and horizontal lines of the books begin below the midpoint, and since no table line or supporting surface is visible, the books seem to be sinking into darkness, as if being swallowed by it. Even the white, glowing rectangle of the top book, like a candle flame on the verge of going out, points to the “ending” of the subject. Behind the books, a gradation of light and shadow on the wall is split directly down the middle by a soft vertical edge, dividing light from darkness. Only these shadows reveal the presence of a wall against which the books are pressed. The cross-like order—the horizontal rhythm of the books and the vertical rhythm of light and shadow—is disrupted only by the slanted line of the books’ shadow. The lack of any reference or information about the books or the room pushes the image toward an abstract, even minimal form, which, while depicting the simplicity and monotony of everyday life, carries a mournful and tragic tone.

Is this image a sign of the end of the book?

^*This text was previously published in issue no. 32 of Herfeh: Honarmand magazine.