There are certain photographic journeys that burrow deep into your consciousness, reshaping how you see the very ground beneath your feet. Victoria Sambunaris’s “Transformation of a Landscape” from Radius Books is precisely one such odyssey. It is not merely a collection of stunning photographs, it is a profound and deeply personal excavation of the American terrain, uncovering the intricate layers of human ambition, industrial might, and nature’s enduring power. For me, someone who has often contemplated the silent stories held within the land, whether it is the ancient, weathered peaks visible from my own home in the North East of Aberdeen, Scotland, or the vast, untamed expanse of the American West that has always held a particular fascination, Sambunaris’s work resonates on a visceral level, speaking directly to the “social geography” she so eloquently describes.

Her method, built around solitary, months long road trips across the United States, driving alone with her 5×7 inch field camera, film, and a trunk full of research materials, is nothing short of extraordinary. It is a commitment that at once commands respect and understanding. I have often found myself drawn to the quiet contemplation that comes with extended periods of solitude, the way it strips away the noise and allows for a deeper connection with your surroundings. Sambunaris’s practice, as she recounts, began out of necessity, a way to make work during her three month summer breaks after graduate school. What a revelation it must have been, discovering that living life on the road was essential to unpicking the complex questions she had about history, culture, and their indelible mark on the landscape. Her move from motels to camping, particularly after meeting an older woman solo camping across Canada, speaks to a spirit of adaptability and courage that is truly inspiring. The raw honesty of her experiences, pitching a tent with an axe nearby, the chance encounters that lead to pivotal moments, like finding her gold mine contact through a wandering dog, illuminates the unpredictable yet deeply rewarding nature of such an immersive artistic life. This is not photography from a comfortable studio, this is art forged in the dust and solitude of the open road, a testament to unwavering dedication.

The sheer scale of Sambunaris’s endeavour, a twenty-five-year long project she calls “Taxonomy of a Landscape,” becomes overwhelmingly clear throughout the book. She is not chasing busy streets or famous landmarks. Instead, she seeks out the spaces in between, where the colossal forces of industry, the deep currents of history, and the relentless beauty of nature collide. Her painstaking research, clear in every meticulous frame, unveils the political, economic, and human forces that have perpetually reshaped the land. As she explains, her first engagement with the American landscape, unfamiliar and anomalous at first, compelled her to delve into the histories and politics of each place. The example of the Salton Sea, initially perceived as a “toxic wasteland,” transformed into a layered study of “sedimented time”, from its ancient origins as an inland sea to its current, tragic state due to “engineering hubris” and real estate schemes.

This profound understanding of a landscape as a palimpsest of geological and human narratives is something I deeply admire and strive for in my own contemplations of place.

Her technical choice of a 5×7 inch field camera, with its slow and deliberate pace, feels entirely congruent with her profound approach. This is photography as contemplation, requiring meticulous preparation, patience, and a deep engagement with the scene. As someone who appreciates the tangible quality of film and the focused intention it demands, I understand her preference entirely. There is a genuine thrill, as she puts it, in working so hard to find that one view, making one or two exposures, and then the anticipation of seeing the results. This analogue method inherently limits output, forcing a profound connection with each chosen frame, a stark contrast to the endless digital clicks that can, as she sees, “kill creativity.” Her dual life, splitting time between New York for editing and printing, and the vast American West for shooting, allows for a crucial perspective, the distance helps her “see it better,” ensuring she never takes the landscape for granted.

“Transformation of a Landscape” is far more than a collection of images, it is a richly layered experience, augmented by the inclusion of archival materials, road logs, journals, maps, and even collected mineral specimens. These ephemera offer an intimate, behind the scenes glimpse into her process, revealing the painstaking research and lived experience that underpins each photograph. The story of Patricia McCormick, the female bullfighter whose archive Sambunaris discovered while working on the US-Mexico border, is a compelling example of these fortuitous encounters. It is these personal discoveries, these diversions from the planned route, which infuse her already profound work with even deeper human resonance. Her encounters on the road, with people from all walks of life, from motel owners to OHV enthusiasts and unhoused individuals, illustrate her commitment to “witnessing” humanity as she finds it, without judgment, even when faced with starkly conflicting perspectives or a profound sense of alienation.

The images within this book are monumental, each a testament to Sambunaris’s ability to capture the complex narratives etched onto the American land. One photograph that particularly struck me is a scene from Castle Gate, Carbon County in Utah, taken in 2016. It shows an arctic lorry, a colossal machine of commerce, dwarfed as it travels between two incredibly high rocky hill ranges. The sky is a stark white blue, conveying a dry heat, and the sparse grass on the roadside is parched yellow. This image speaks volumes about the sheer scale of these landscapes and the astonishing fact that such immense natural formations are left open, unfenced. Living in Scotland, especially in the North where similar roads might have mesh and netting to prevent debris, it is truly astounding to see this raw, unfiltered interaction between industry and untamed nature. It is a powerful statement on the vastness and the enduring freedom of these American spaces, a scope I have not met in many of the more intimate photographic books I have seen recently.

Then there is a powerful landscape shot from Near East Carbon in Utah, taken in 2018. The image is framed as if perfectly halved by a train track and an incredibly long train. I actually took the time to count them, thirty-six carriages are visible within the frame, with more trailing off beyond. The bottom half of the image is dominated by the dry, green and yellow desert like grass, whilst the top is a beautiful blue sky adorned with clouds. The train itself acts as a stark, almost geometric divider, underscoring the massive infrastructure that stitches this vast country together, yet also creating a beautiful, almost minimalist composition that highlights the raw elements of the landscape.

Another image that at once drew me in is the Dune Buggy in the All American Canal near Yuma, California from 2021. This shot has an almost postcard like quality, stunningly picturesque. The vibrant blue seawater at the bottom and an equally brilliant blue sky at the top sandwich the sand dunes, with a tiny dune buggy courageously climbing its way up the middle. It’s an image that captures a fleeting moment of human recreation against a backdrop of immense natural beauty and engineered waterways, speaking to the different ways we inhabit and interact with these landscapes. The sense of freedom and adventure it conveys is palpable, even as it subtly hints at the scale of human impact and infrastructure in the background.

For me, being from Aberdeen, Scotland, which is so deeply entwined with the oil, gas, and energy industries of Europe, the photograph of the energy windmills from San Gorgonio Wind Park in Palm Springs, California, in 2021 holds a profound personal resonance. Captured from a distance, the image presents a seemingly endless row of perhaps a hundred or more windmills stretching across the middle of the frame. Behind them, a stunning mountain range looms, and the foreground, leading up to the windmills, is filled with rocky terrain. I have a son who has severe low functioning Autism and Tourette’s, and he absolutely loves windmills. We often take our dog for walks around Blackdog, a place on the Aberdeenshire coast right next to a wind farm that is visible from our house, situated in the North Sea. We also travel North to Peterhead and South to Inverbervie to see the other wind farms there. This image, therefore, is not just about renewable energy or engineering marvels, for me, it carries the quiet joy of a father and son, seeing these towering structures that harness the wind’s power, a symbol of both progress and personal connection.

Finally, the photograph of Cathedral Rock at Lee’s Ferry, Marble Canyon, Arizona, from 2023 captivated me with its sheer geological majesty. A prominent rocky hill stands proudly in the middle of the image, crowned by an even larger, colossal rock, almost perfectly centred in the shot, with distant mountains forming the backdrop. This image, like so much of Sambunaris’s work, invites a contemplation of deep time, of geological forces that have shaped the Earth over millions of years. It makes one feel wonderfully small and reminds you of the fleeting nature of human existence against the backdrop of such ancient, enduring formations. It underscores that profound connection to the Earth’s history, a theme that permeates the entire book.

Victoria Sambunaris’s “Transformation of a Landscape” is a masterclass in visual storytelling, one that explores the urgent complexities of our relationship with the environment. Her discussions about the “conflict of belonging” and the shift from “the landscape” to “me in the landscape” in modern tourism truly hit home. The raw truth of environmental crises, like the shrinking water levels at Lake Mead, set against the backdrop of selfie taking crowds, forces a deeply uncomfortable yet vital self-reflection. She doesn’t offer easy answers but instead compels us to “grapple with those feelings” that come from living in a world facing such profound challenges.

The book, as a whole, underscores her belief that the landscape is an “unwitting autobiography,” reflecting our values, aspirations, and even our fears. Her refusal to shy away from uncomfortable truths, whether it is the despondency of unhoused anarchists living off grid or the political polarisation over water rights in the West, reveals her commitment to presenting an unvarnished reality. Sambunaris’s approach is not about creating propaganda, but about bearing witness, allowing the complexities to surface. The enduring power of her film camera, demanding a slower, more deliberate engagement with her subjects, is a direct counterpoint to the frenetic pace of modern life and the ephemeral nature of digital imagery. She speaks of the feeling of disconnection when out in remote areas, the bliss of being without cell service, reinforcing that deliberate choice to fully immerse herself in the land.

Ultimately, “Transformation of a Landscape” is a truly essential work. It is a profound meditation on the American spirit, captured through the lens of an artist whose dedication to her craft and to the stories embedded in the land is absolute. It is a book that demands careful observation, thought, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths, all while offering unparalleled visual beauty. This work does not simply document, it teaches, it questions, and it moves, leaving a lasting impression on how one perceives the intricate dance between humanity and the vast, evolving landscapes we inhabit.

Regards

Alex