The realm of art that delights in playing with our very perceptions, our innate sense of what is up or down, right or wrong, real or imaginary is really fascination to me. This perpetual dance between what we think we see and what truly lies beneath is precisely why “Wunderland” by Frank Kunert, published by Hatje Cantz, has proven to be such a captivating experience. From the moment I first opened its pages, I knew I was embarking on a journey into a world where the absurd gently, yet firmly, holds court.

Frank Kunert, a German photographer and meticulous model builder born in 1963, crafts miniature dioramas that have an uncanny ability to blend the humour of a sly chuckle with a haunting undercurrent of melancholy and sharp social commentary. These aren’t photographs in the conventional sense, but rather meticulously constructed, small scale scenes. He then captures these fabricated worlds with a large format analogue camera, producing images that are at once strikingly realistic and utterly disorienting. The true brilliance lies in the immediate impression they create, at first glance, they appear as mundane, everyday environments – a dining room, an office, a simple outdoor space. Yet, as your eyes begin to adjust and your mind catches up, the profound absurdity, the quiet rebellion against expectation, reveals itself with a delightful jolt. As Kunert himself describes it, his work can evoke a “floating state of excited calm,” a feeling I know well from my own experiences of trying to find profound stillness in the heart of chaos.

“Wunderland” stands out for its masterful ability to transform the utterly mundane into the hilariously bizarre, offering a satirical lens through which to view modern life’s peculiar constructs. Kunert possesses an astute awareness of the “grotesque outgrowths of civilised life” and a piercing insight into how, at times, “genuine encounters are often impossible.” This ambivalence, this delicate balance “between tragedy and humour,” truly piques his artistic curiosity time and again, permeating his surreal visual worlds with inexhaustible variety. There is a deep, unsettling truth woven into the fabric of his creations, a reflection of our unfulfilled hopes, our fears, our failures, and our persistent desires. It is a world where melancholy and skewed wit are often indistinguishable, leading to visual narratives that are both surprising and profoundly thought provoking.

If you look at his “Dinner for Two,” a piece, it exemplifies Kunert’s genius. Here, a dining table, meticulously set for two, is built so cleverly around a corner that neither diner could ever truly see the other. Instead, each individual is left to stare into their own private television screen, a stark and rather heartbreaking commentary on the alienation and absurd social dynamics that can creep into contemporary life. It is both humorous in its outlandishness and deeply unsettling in its resonance. Then there is the outdoor toilet, placed not in a convenient backyard, but impossibly on the moon, an immediate gut punch of absurdity that underscores the impracticality and sheer grotesqueness of certain human constructs when pushed to their logical extreme. The titles he gives to his works, as he has explained, often serve to sharpen the absurdity of the situation, adding another layer of wry commentary.

Another instance that truly sticks with me is the miniature Museum of Contemporary Art, ironically titled “At a High Level.” This museum stands precariously on stilts, yet offers no discernible way to reach its steps, making it an impenetrable fortress of culture. This playful yet pointed critique of accessibility and societal exclusivity is pure Kunert. Similarly, the “Office Nap” piece, depicting a desk with a conveniently built in bed, is a wonderfully skewed vision of the modern obsession with productivity and the blurring lines between work and rest. And who could forget the poignant absurdity of “Trip into the Blue,” where a perfectly ordinary street simply comes to an end in a vast, baby blue nowhere land, echoing those dreamlike journeys where reality loses its footing.

A particularly striking aspect of Kunert’s work, and one that resonates deeply with my own photographic philosophy, is the deliberate absence of people in his scenes. While seemingly deserted, these spaces are anything but empty. As Kunert himself states, his worlds “work better as projection screens when there are no actors.” Instead, the faint “traces that they leave behind are visible”, a glass on a table, a discarded piece of rubbish. These subtle hints transform the meticulously crafted scenes into “spaces for fantasy,” inviting the viewer to project their own narratives and contemplate the lives that might inhabit, or have inhabited, these strange dwellings. This choice offers a profound canvas for our own thoughts, much like the process of post-production in my own projects, where the subtle arrangement and sequencing of images can invite the viewer to complete the untold story.

The craftsmanship clear in “Wunderland“. Kunert’s process is painstakingly slow and deeply analogue, which in this fast paced digital age, feels like an intentional act of resistance. He invests weeks, sometimes months, in the painstaking construction of each detailed miniature, lending expression to his ideas through tangible materials. This meticulous approach, combined with his unwavering use of an analogue, large format camera for the final image, gives the photographs a deceptive realism that powerfully amplifies their surreal impact. It is truly fascinating how, through this process, the two dimensional photograph often seems more real than the three dimensional model itself, playing with our perception of scale and detail. He creates his own world, in his own quiet space, by hand, a sentiment that speaks to my own desire for undisturbed focus when deep in a project. This commitment to the analogue method, to the slow, deliberate unfolding of an idea, underscores the authenticity and depth that distinguishes “Wunderland” from digitally manipulated art.

Reviews of “Wunderland” rightly highlight the book’s unparalleled ability to provoke profound thought while simultaneously entertaining. Critics have described Kunert’s scenes as “fantastic” for their unique ability to transform bland spaces into absurd, inescapable scenarios. There is often a whimsical, almost Kafkaesque quality to his work, with The Guardian noting his aesthetics kinship to Wes Anderson’s love of intricate detail, yet infused with a darker, more existential outlook. The book’s predecessor, Verkehrte Welt (Topsy Turvy World), deservedly earned Kunert the 2009 German Photo Book Award in Silver, setting a high standard that “Wunderland” meets with its fresh yet consistent exploration of absurdity and the human condition. Hatje Cantz, the publisher, has presented this conceptual brilliance with their usual high standard, allowing the meticulously produced images to truly shine.

Ultimately, “Wunderland” is a brilliant showcase of Frank Kunert’s extraordinary ability to blend humour, profound melancholy, and incisive social critique through his unique form of surreal miniature photography. It is, without question, a must have for fans of conceptual art, those who cherish the physical form of a photobook, or anyone with an appreciation for absurdist humour that bites with a philosophical edge. For those unfamiliar with Kunert’s work, it serves as an accessible, yet deeply rewarding, entry into his utterly unique world. Its philosophical bent may indeed require a second, third, or even fourth look to fully appreciate its layers, but if you are drawn to art that provokes both a genuine smile and a contemplative pause, “Wunderland” delivers an experience that lingers long after the final page is turned.

Regards

Alex