Michael Lundgren’s Matter gathers nine years of picture-making into a tightly woven sequence that leaves descriptive landscape behind. A metaphoric trope runs through the photographs, which treat cultural and natural transformations with the same level of attention. The world they describe resists ordinary account: water seeps red, cement cubes fall from the sky, green foxes are unearthed. The publisher quotes Lundgren: “Nature is not always the nice redemptive thing we have assumed.” The sentence sets the book’s temperature, and the pictures sustain it without illustration.

Radius Books issued the volume in hardcover at 14 by 11 inches, with 80 pages and 44 images. Its most unusual physical fact is the publisher-documented 40 x 50-inch fold-out pocketed insert, a sheet whose scale sits at odds with the book’s page size. Christian Widmer contributes text, while Lundgren is the sole credited photographer; the volume does not divide the images among multiple contributors.

The subject is matter in both senses: physical substance and the question of what matters. The supernatural enters not as motif but as a condition of the visible world, so a landscape photograph can be documentary and unearthly at once. No single plate carries the burden; the sequence does. Lundgren’s departures from description are cumulative, and the book’s coherence comes from how one image pressures the next.

For a collector, the interest lies in that combination: nine years of work compressed into a deliberate sequence, an insert that is part of the book’s physical form, and a structure built to hold uncertainty rather than resolve it. Matter treats landscape as a place where description gives out. The volume is made to keep that condition visible.