Vincenzo Latronico's Perfection was a proper mindfuck to read. It's set in Berlin at the exact time I was living there, and more than once I had to stop and wonder whether someone had secretly been taking notes on me and my then girlfriend (now my wife). I swallowed the whole thing in a couple of sittings. This photo is the book in my backyard, in a life that couldn't be more different. Fewer gallery openings, more lawn to mow. Fewer late nights, more early mornings. It's still perfection, just a different flavour of it. Every phase has its own.

Not currently available as a print.
Enquiries welcome.