Jungjin Lee treats the camera as an instrument of inward attention. Unnamed Road, published by MACK in 2014, carries that disposition into the landscape of Israel and the West Bank — ground already thick with argument, memory and grief, where a photograph can hardly arrive innocent.

The pictures are black-and-white and slow to give themselves up, built as self-contained worlds of stillness. Lee has described her photographic state as meditative, and the act of photography as emotional and experiential. Neutrality proved hard to find in a charged place; she has called the territory uncomfortable, and it was only on final trips to sites in 2011 that she found enough distance to let the work signify beyond Israel and its conflict. What remains is a search for what holds constant: the ocean’s surface shifts without pause, its depths less so.

Material decisions matter here. For two decades Lee has brushed a liquid light-sensitive emulsion onto handmade rice paper, a process closer to painting than to conventional printing. Unnamed Road is where digital methods enter her practice for the first time, and yet nothing becomes slick; the images stay open to chance and imperfection. The book is issued in hardcover with an accordion fold, 106 pages at 26 x 22.6 cm — a structure that lets the sequence unfold continuously rather than submit to the turn of a page.

Seen against her earlier work, this is a hinge: an artist whose medium has been emulsion and paper testing what a different process does to her vision of landscape. For collectors drawn to books where form carries as much as image, and to a photographer who has thought seriously about surface, patience and restraint, Unnamed Road rewards close and repeated looking.