entertainment and for reality in fiction. But hardcore appropriation wasn't challenging enough, partly because I was too introverted and longed to leave the safety of the library to make my own images. Clichés? I don't know anymore. I am attracted to pictures that aren't appreciated in contemporary art, but only if they have what you could call mythical potential. A cliché is only interesting if it contains a hidden truth.

SL: I agree. I look at photography not as an end but a means. This is especially so with work like yours, where I could likely spend an hour with an image and still not quite "get it" but always have a visceral response that takes me someplace new.

TR: One hour? That I can like. I never hope for more than one minute.

SL: The first time I saw your photographs was when I picked up a copy of your earliest book, White Planet Black Heart (steidlMACK, 2006). Tell me about that project. How did the book come together?

TR: I was completely bored with thematic photography books. They place too much focus on motifs. Ed Ruscha knew that the concept of Twentysix Gasoline Stations was ridiculous — that was part of the rebellion, what made it so good — but I find intuitive coherency much more interesting than seriality now. So I wanted to break with the "100-Somethings" or "Pictures-from-Somewhere" type of book. I wanted to make a book that continues to challenge as you go through it. I wanted the logic of the book to be perforated — and therefore erotic.