I will be living in my small room inside of my even smaller town for an unanticipated extra year. I can't find new things here anymore, so I'm beginning to lose my mind. My daily motions blur together, every experience seeming muted and unconscious as I form suitable responses to questions and complete daily tasks. This work embodies all of the simple and quiet ways that this town has been crawling under my skin. This is my White Line Fever.
— Michelle Norris
Caught in brilliant flash after flash — the 1978-80's hedonistic decadence of the rich, beautiful and glamorous posers and actors who claimed this famed nightclub as their playground and parade ground.
How much visual information do we really need to see a picture and understand it? How do photographs define our memories, and what would happen if the photos started to lose their details?