Teiko Dewa’s photographs are closed representations, caught forms that disallow normal logical conjectures: that they developed to their photographic closures. They have an adamant finality, a compositional technical rigidity—abstractions that are sonnets in structural tightness—an inaccessibility to any form of imposed gratuitous inscriptions. They block the past. They were before they were.
　Their inspirational genesis is a non issue, or should be one, for these are abstractions that can not play, “find my origin,” but paradoxically in their confidently framed isolated reference they initiate a temporal dissociation between the viewers’ initial photographic reading and their subsequent need to stabilize their appreciative process--the photos as pseudo corrector to their wrought meshing via a disjunctive variant not available.
　Dewa’s images belie titling; their bravado is a sequent to a shadowed assimilated logic, an unchanged identity, regardless the Dewa photo, almost an ancillary to a literariness, so complicated, not to be found. She shadows her photos by their clear cut walls that economically create a sub-sequence not there, a corroborated mistranslation to a material singularity to pose the rhetorical postponing break.
　Rethinking her images form a further indeterminate rereading, photos to a procreation that doubles for cause and result, not a discrepantly interposed correspondence, but one that actually slips upon its presence: its here, no connections found.