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Void

Murmurings of the Skin by Olivia Arthur

Void is continually drawn to stories that begin with the personal—where a single voice becomes the entry point to something vast and collective. Murmurings of the Skin is a good example of this. What begins as Olivia Arthur’s quiet contemplation of her own body during pregnancy gently unfolds into a complex, layered meditation on touch, intimacy, and what it means to be human in an age of machines and distance.

There is something deeply resonant in the way the work moves—from the private space of skin to global stories of contact, care, and disconnection. From Mumbai to Rome, from a ballerina with prosthetic limbs, to machines designed to replicate gestures of love—each element echoes a shared vulnerability. The body becomes not only a subject but a landscape, a threshold, a question.

In shaping the book, we chose to honour that murmur — never overpowering the narrative, but letting it breathe. The design holds the images in quiet rhythm, allowing the reader to move through layers, pauses, and contradictions, much like the body itself navigating time. Small handwriting notes from Olivia adds a further poetic tone to it. The result is a book that invites touch as much as it invites thought; a tactile object that reflects on flesh, memory, technology, and fragility, without offering simple answers.

There is a Big River, in Which There is a Big Island, in Which There is a Lake, in Which There Is an Island, in Which There Is a Small House, Where a Life Is Growing in a Womb by András Ladocsi

The agency over our own body versus government control.

The epic title—There is a Big River, in Which There is a Big Island, in Which There is a Lake, in Which There Is an Island, in Which There Is a Small House, Where a Life Is Growing in a Womb—is both literal and metaphorical. It traces nested geographies and nested selves: homeland, community, body, womb. András emerged from that generational anxiety (common among Hungarian men) towards emotions, towards expression. As he puts it, “I want to change this” by celebrating skin, body, friendship, trust, life—with all its ups and downs.

András builds intimacy through slow encounters. He hunts light, waits in frozen lakes, invites friends and strangers alike into water, into space, into embodied trust. These are not staged performances, but organic connections, vulnerable bodies in relational spaces.

At first glance, the book’s language is simple: about 50 images, no text save the title. But its photographic expression is layered and profound. Each image stands alone and yet resonates with collective memory, song, ritual, and resistance. The design is humble in format (silkscreened softcover, 24×32 cm, 88 pages) but rich in pacing and spread rhythm.

In this context, the body is not just a subject—it’s a geography of freedom, rebellion, and connection. Through these layered photographs, András threads a narrative of personal and political emancipation, reminding us that under control, we can still feel, we can still flow—and find within us, islands of resistance and life.

In sum, the poetic and personal expanding to the universal is what draws most of Void’s interest in the project.

I’ll Be Late by Yoshi Kametani

Void was drawn to I’ll Be Late not only for its diaristic intimacy, but for how it uses the personal as a portal into deeper existential terrain. The project begins in the thick of lived experience—fragments of daily life, banalities, moments of friction and affection—and gradually unfolds into a broader meditation on time, existence, and image-making itself.

At its core, the book is a philosophical gesture masquerading as a visual journal. Kametani’s images—saturated, layered, often elusive—don’t seek resolution. They loop, echo, contradict. Repetition becomes a formal strategy: scenes recur, gestures repeat, ideas drift and resurface in altered states. The design and editing embraced this rhythm, choosing a structure that lets the reader swim in the flux, rather than follow a linear path.

The book plays with redundancy not as a flaw, but as a poetic device. Through it, the act of seeing becomes recursive. One doesn't merely observe time passing, but senses how memory works—circling back, re-editing, overwriting. What may seem random at first begins to feel intentional, almost inevitable. As though the images themselves are trying to tell you they are tired of being just images. This mimics the gesture of the screenprint that Yoshi did to generate the final images for the book.

Void edit the book to hold this contradiction—simple in form, generous in space, yet complex in sequencing. It’s a work that resists certainty and encourages re-reading.

The Color of Money and Trees by Tony Dočekal

Void recognises in Tony Dočekal’s The Color of Money and Trees a quiet, sustained dialogue between photographer and subject that unfolds over years, evolving beyond simple documentation into something more intimate and fluid. The work blurs the line between documentary and diary, capturing not just moments but moods, histories, and shifting relationships.

Tony revisits familiar faces and places again and again, allowing time and memory to soften edges and deepen meaning. The images live somewhere between observation and confession—where distance meets closeness, and truth mingles with interpretation. This balance is at the heart of the project’s compelling tension.

Void’s edit and design reflects this layered process: the book breathes in measured rhythms, folding archival fragments, portraits, and snapshots into a nonlinear narrative that feels both private and universal. Intertwining the texts with grids of US cityscapes. The book invites the reader to experience Tony’s story as a witness and also a colleague.

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