Kevin Landers may be the best artist you’ve never heard of. For 17 years, the New York photographer has been scouring the Lower East Side, locating beauty and humor in the humblest spots—a curbside trophy collection, hand-scrawled bodega signs, the Pollock-like cheesescape on top of a slice. His portraits, found on the street—and in its moral equivalents the Laundromat and deli—are mostly character studies of crusty old men or erotic glimpses of extroverted young women (the latter suggest unmediated versions of Richard Prince’s “Girlfriends”). The big question posed by this beautifully edited midcareer survey of 69 color photographs is: Why isn’t Landers a star?
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