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Miroslav Tichý, untitled, n.d., black- and-white photograph, cardboard, 13 x 8 1/2".

Miroslav Tichý

Sean Horton (presents)

Miroslav Tichý, untitled, n.d., black- and-white photograph, cardboard, 13 x 8 1/2".

Last April, photographer Miroslav Tichý died at age eighty-four in Kyjov, the same small Czech Republic town where he was born. Despite recent solo exhibitions of his work––at Kunsthaus Zürich in 2005 and at New York’s International Center of Photography in 2010––Tichý is still relatively unknown. The residents of Kyjov largely regarded him as a disheveled eccentric who, for nearly thirty years, could be found lurking around the local pool with his makeshift cameras. More often than not, the subjects of Tichý’s pictures were bikini-clad women, snapped as they lolled in the sun, completely unaware that they were being photographed. Indeed, most of the townsfolk assumed there wasn’t any film in his grimy, decrepit contraptions, with their priapic telescopic lenses. And yet we are left with a vast oeuvre––purportedly thousands of hazy black-and-white images of women––that has spawned

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