Volume 196 IRINA ZHANADOVA . SINEAD FINEGAN

Irina Zhdanova takes over a Los Angeles apartment where every wall has an opinion: a flamingo print, a sunflower still life, a long necked woman in a green dress who has watched the kitchen longer than anyone. A striped surfboard hangs above the pink cabinets and two paper lanterns glow over the counter. Jessee B stays back in the doorway and at the far end of the room, so Irina reads as one more portrait on the wall, until she moves. She perches on a metal stool with a glass of water, sulks over the counter, turns her back to study a painting like any other visitor, and finally gives in and laughs. Playful, domestic, and the only thing in the room without a frame.

Sinead Finegan debuts in Mallorca, and Oscar Bueno keeps the lens close enough to count the drops. One deep red runs the length of the story, against pale rock and shallows clear enough that every ripple throws its own shadow. She lets a stream of water fall over her from above, settles onto weathered stone steps with scrub growing through them, and wears a straw cowboy hat for exactly one frame, bent over the stones like she has dropped something. Then she turns and looks straight down the lens as if she has been doing this for years.