Chad Moore’s June, is a selection of photographs, arranged by color and filled with New York’s downtown art kids. On the surface, these images are just another documentation of youth, whose subjects are nearly all white and female. But at best, June is far more than aesthetics. Though clearly in conversation with Ryan McGinley’s work (they also happen to be friends), Moore’s scene takes place ten years later and is definitively more self-conscious. At a moment when Instagram records every appearance at a dingy bar or friend’s apartment, Moore’s photographs are refreshingly void of context. Saturated in reds, yellows and blues, his subjects are frequently in motion and only partially visible. Unlike McGinley’s subjects who shared their emotions and bodies (sometimes bloody) with unguarded abandon, Moore subjects wear casts and seem acutely aware of their looks. Yet, his photographs are wildly redemptive; the most viral kids of New York are suspended in a state of transcendent nothingness. They float not in particular locations, but a month––June. This printed book is the tender remains of everything left unshared: color, light leaks, names, and dates; a visual love letter “for Tilda” whispered in the grainy dark.

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