Rafaela Pandolfini

When I look at her photographs, there's something about them that's hard to name. They're lucid moments, which go in through the eyes and dribble into the scenery of the mind to percolate - always magnetic, often illicit. It's as if her protagonists are watching you, watching them, just being.

This ritual of existence is performed through explicit arrangements of Pandolfini code - an alien bush moon or a scene of young contemporaries arched languorously within their natural habitats as the set. Sometimes naked and often adorned in tribal paint, headdresses or street garb, her displays of the human form and its function imitate reality - be they staged or candid. We play witness to private ceremonies of abject loneliness, audacity and group harmony as intimate segments of our contemporary autodidactic religion. Her vernacular is surprising, at ease and casual despite its oblique narrative tendency.

It is only by removing herself from the moment that she is able to recreate one for us - microcosms of private lingering. They're expressions of contemporary ritualism via film and medium format. And it's her abstract documentary dialect that makes you think about life and the courageousness of just being, without needing to act.

- Lisa Lerkenfeldt