New York

Wolfgang Tillmans

Andrea Rosen Gallery

“Will you miss me when I burn?” The Palace Brothers sing this question—pure acetylene. Will Oldham’s voice is torch possessed, soldering the hellishness of the lonesome to that of the famous, a steadfast seam. In the end, denial may be the surest way to fuse something to something else.

Most discussions of Wolfgang Tillmans’ work have been quick to distance it from the context of fashion photography, as if it were something that could maim him—or his career. Beholden as Tillmans is to fashion photography (whatever that might be), often first publishing his work in fashion mags (he has supported himself, in part, by doing such editorial work), to sever his liaison with fashion would be to deny his affinity to techno, to club culture, to the bump and grind of now, which leaves you wet. What if his work were only really great fashion shots? Would it make it any less interesting, any less

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