Editors note: This article grew out of a collaboration between artist and critic, but also between brother and brother. It started during the artist's graduate studies when, forced with the task of building a logical and in-depth critical framework for his photography, he asked his brother the writer and critic for help. What the critic Mike Smolinsky can offer in this case, and what makes this piece rather unique in its field, is an intimate knowledge of the artist going all the way back to his birth. Despite this unlimited background information, however, the essay is not a biographical piece about an artist. This is an essay about the process of making art, about "the act of looking," and specifically about whether or not the documentary mode of making art—the primary act of Matt Smolinsky for the past 15 years—has any relevance at all in today's post-postmodern world.

A great number of Miranda Lichtenstein's photographs seem to document a dark and chaotic wilderness, occupied by more shadows than people. Undoubtedly drawn to forests and their boundaries, Lichtenstein uses these physical lands as stand-ins for subconscious landscapes. The subjects of her images are quite familiar and ordinary, but they are transformed by her lens into something far greater, and less sure. Through her images we are introduced to a world of tremendous beauty and equally powerful darkness. It is a delicate, and expertly crafted, balance.