Review by Alex Prior / Photobook Reviewer

A place, a destination where cherished memories were had, perhaps year after year and even shared between generations, can root itself deep into our consciousness finding links with the present at unexpected junctures in our life.

How then do we process the feelings that arrive when this place that existed so perfectly in memory has succumbed to the harsh realities of time, neglect and being usurped by the new? A place steeped in warming memories, like a protective blanket, now void of that comforting familiarity and spiked with a coldness and emptiness that renders the once familiar now an alien concept.

Verna Kovanen visits, documents and in a way relives places that were once part of her childhood and that now dwell in memory only, like books that once contained fantastical tales now gathering dust. In the majority, these fragmentary visual documents are presented as panoramas, both as separate viewpoints and occasionally, and more interestingly, linked to others creating a certain poetic resonance.

The book itself is a near six meter double sided leporello. This format lends itself to the concept of flowing interconnected memory that can be read and processed in singular glances or as a grand uninterrupted sweep. It also signals toward the vastness of these places, constructed to accommodate and bring pleasure to thousands.

Yet, like all things, there is an end point whereby use and function have been exhausted and notions of connection and longing have been placed aside. This is illustrated in photographs that eschew the easy and obvious path of focusing solely on dereliction and decay, although that is still present here in places. Instead, surreality tinged with a certain poignancy manifests itself as the overriding, yet not overbearing, visual theme throughout.

Brightly coloured abstract print chairs sit idle and empty with only the nearby expanse of sea for company, waiting for visitors who will never come. Water slides shot face on and from underneath exposing the inherent oddness of these industrial looking attractions meant to evoke fun and adventure. A hose unsheathed looping and snaking across the surface of a silent and serene pool, like the uninhibited lines of a Cy Twombly painting. Windows covered up with photographs of tropical beaches, crystal clear seas and sparing cocktails, a view of a place more beautiful and fulfilling than the one it is being viewed from.

A great pile of dead palm leaves, the ultimate symbol of the death of paradise?