Marina Sersale came to photography twice. She grew up in Rome, trained toward the camera, then spent years as a documentary filmmaker and, later, as a creator of fragrances; only in 2012 did she return to still images with any seriousness. Liminal Space gathers more than a decade of what followed: black-and-white photographs made while wandering Rome, her native city, and carried into Positano, Venice, New York, and elsewhere. The chance beginning the publisher describes is not incidental to the book. It explains its temperament — a practice organized around receptivity rather than assignment, in which lovers, children, and passers-by surface briefly against urban and coastal settings that seem to hold them at a remove.

The subject is the threshold itself: the interval between light and shadow, the seen and the imagined, the moment when a familiar street turns uncertain. Sersale works in high contrast, letting dark and bright passages isolate figures and sever them from the flow of the everyday. What results is not documentary reportage but something closer to suspended time, in which connection and distance coexist and intimacy arrives without being claimed. The title is precise. These are photographs of in-between states, and the sequencing, drawn from years of accumulation rather than a single campaign, lets that preoccupation surface as a sustained enquiry rather than a theme applied after the fact.

GOST Books issues the collection in 2026 as a clothbound hardback of 96 pages, with the cover foil-debossed. For a collector, the appeal lies in watching a photographer’s second discipline inform her first: the perfumer’s attention to nuance and memory is legible in the way these pictures handle atmosphere and restraint. It is a considered gathering of a body of work still in progress, and it rewards the patience its title asks for.