Lara Shipley - Desire Lines

Lara Shipley’s latest book Desire Lines is one of those books that genuinely does manage to tackle a lot and do it justice. Desire Lines is an examination of the desert of the Southwest of the USA. It draws a parallel between the fraught migration of white settlers during periods of manifest destiny and the fraught migration of people from Latin America into the USA in the present day.

Within that framework, though, the images and text presented refer explicitly to a huge number of histories and issues. From referencing internment camps during WW2, to mining history, to the struggles of traversing the area, to militarisation of the space all the way to the legacy of death that exists in both eras, Shipley (and Tiffany Jones, the editor and designer) have produced a book that covers a lot of ground without ever feeling bloated or didactic.

In part, this is because of the images. From the opening image – an archival photograph of a man atop a horse in uniform – Shipley enables viewers to see this work as contextualised in the past. The next few images are of strip mines, car tracks and another archival image titled ‘An Indian watching the arrival of Emigrants’. These first four spreads establish themes of politics, commerce, military and immigration as central to this work.

Shipley has explored a wide array of visual languages in Desire Lines: there are black and white photographs, colour photographs, archival photographs, collages, a variety of maps and even negatives.

The photographs continue to be key to building such a nimble and dense book. Shipley has explored a wide array of visual languages in Desire Lines: there are black and white photographs, colour photographs, archival photographs, collages, a variety of maps and even negatives. There are long exposure photographs, portraits, landscapes and images overlaid on top of one another. It may sound like a whirlwind of variety but, in my view, the work never felt jarring, despite how different it all is. It is difficult to understate the way in which the images manage to feel both coherent and confusing – collectively, they feel like one work, yet a reader definitely does not know quite what to expect.

So many of the images are attentive to the harshness of the desert light and life. This is not always an easy place to photograph, and Shipley’s images seem true to the intensity of the sun. In my view, this is something critical to maintain: deserts are beautiful because they are dry and harsh, not in spite of that.

Text is another crucial element in handling the variety and scope of this work. Texts are often presented as small paragraphs, overlaid on top of larger images. They may be extracts from conversations Shipley had, longer reflections written by Shipley herself, or even handwritten titles of archival images.

So many of the images are attentive to the harshness of the desert light and life. This is not always an easy place to photograph, and Shipley’s images seem true to the intensity of the sun. In my view, this is something critical to maintain: deserts are beautiful because they are dry and harsh, not in spite of that.

One of the first pieces of text is a quote that says ‘You develop this story about a place before you go there. Without fail, that story is going to change.’ This fragment is essential in unpacking Shipley’s approach to representing the desert. We – you, me or her – may have conceptions about what a desert is, but in exploring it further, inevitably, so much is revealed and learned. In that spirit, the different forms of image making, and the variety of text, begin to feel essential – not just in exploring the political dimension of the work, but in showing that this desert is a vast space with an equally vast story.

As stated earlier, I read a lot of this work as being a comparison between the period of manifest destiny – where huge numbers of white settlers launched themselves into the Southwestern desert – and the more recent time where Latin American immigrants cross the desert to get into the USA. The parallels Shipley explores are clear: a dangerous journey in search of something better.

Yet she also is not shy to point out the differences. The nineteenth century’s movement displaced and exterminated Indigenous peoples as settlers, military men and prospectors moved through this desert. More recently, this same area is dominated by a border wall, helicopters, law enforcement agencies, unmarked graves, debris, desperation and suffering. The vast enterprise that supports such suffering is photographed over and over again, suggesting just how spiteful all this attempt at control is.

We – you, me or her – may have conceptions about what a desert is, but in exploring it further, inevitably, so much is revealed and learned.

The book’s design is also crucial in holding so much so well. Like the photography, the sheer number of design elements in the work can read as overwhelming but comes together subtly. There’s a variety of colour treatments (maps in brown and gold), lots of overlaid images, half tone and dot matrix treatments, text and even times images are deliberately less opaque on the page. It may sound odd to say, with the heaviness of the themes in the work, but I found the design really delightful. The experience of looking through this book was exciting as the design treatments were so surprising: there was often something new to see. Given that the book is long, and contains so many photographs, themes and ideas the design being so varied means that it continues to engage and challenge the reader throughout the book.

By the end of the book the harshness of the environment seems almost trivial compared with the harshness that is enforced on others. So much concrete, so many bullets, vitriol and death just to prevent people from walking across a desert. The book shows this as both saddening and maddening.

So much concrete, so many bullets, vitriol and death just to prevent people from walking across a desert. The book shows this as both saddening and maddening.

Shipley manages to say something new in an area that has long held photographic interest. Building on the legacy of Mark Klett, Richard Miscrach, Mike Lundgren and even a little bit of Richard Laugharn, Desire Lines is something new. As a long time observer of photographic representations of the desert, this is a welcome addition that adds political and historical elements that feel relevant, urgent and misunderstood. The desert is open, yes, but it isn’t empty – with all that space one doesn’t have to look hard to see all the mess.