
© Thomas Joshua Cooper. Photo courtesy Pace Wildenstein
Thomas Joshua Cooper, "The South Atlantic Ocean and Bowl Bay" (2006)

© Thomas Joshua Cooper. Photo courtesy Pace Wildenstein
Thomas Joshua Cooper, "The South Atlantic Ocean" (2006)
NEW YORK—The hugely respected photographer Thomas Joshua Cooper is about midway through a vast project titled “The World’s Edge,” which he embarked upon in 1990. This project aims to amass what Cooper calls “An Atlas of Emptiness and Extremity” that includes images made at all the major cardinal terrestrial points of the five continental landmasses surrounding the Atlantic Basin.
To date, he has completed three phases of the project: “Away from Home,” which was made in the British Isles; “Point of No Return,” made around the coasts of Europe and Africa; and now “Ojo de Agua (Eye of the Water),” which was made around the South American coast.
Adopting the techniques of the pioneer landscape photographers, Cooper locates his sites with only the aid of an atlas. He then uses a single vintage plate camera, with a single lens, to produce a striking and uniquely personal image.
The American-born, U.K.-based artist spoke to ArtInfo from the galleries at Pace Wildenstein in New York City, where his remarkable “Ojo de Agua” photographs are currently on show.
Thomas, how would you introduce this project to somebody who was coming to it for the same time?
What I set out to do—and I only understand this by accident and after the fact—was to try and measure the space that culture came through from the old world to the new world: the imaginary space between the continents that in old days was called “terra incognita.” No geologist, no hydrographer, no geographer, no sailor, nobody in the world has done this.
When you first conceived the project did you think it would turn out like this?
No, it’s turned out much bigger, much longer than I imagined. I’ve worked for 17 years on this goddamned project. I dreamed of the project a long time ago, but I never spoke about it, because I didn’t think it was doable, and certainly not by me. If I’d thought it was going to be like this, I would have been too chicken to do it.
The places you’ve visited, especially in the latest phase of the project in South America, “Ojo de Agua,” often turn out to be pretty inaccessible.
I don’t go to tourist places, so there’s no way to get to these places other than by trekking or by expeditionary means. I would prefer to be able to say, “Beam me down, Scottie …” And helicopters are a great idea, but they’ve never been available to me, so it’s boats and then hiking and climbing. It’s exceedingly fraught, and I’m not a mountaineer. It makes me really nervous most of the time.
You’re not too happy at sea either, are you?
I’m not a sailor. I hate being on a boat. It scares the hell out of me.
But your projects aren’t about physical danger, are they? They don’t require it.
Well, they don’t require it, but it’s often the case that it happens, because there’s no other way to get to the places. Getting to Cape Horn took me six days in a 12-meter boat in an Antarctic cyclone. When we finally got off after I made the pictures, the boat capsized and I thought we were all dead. So it’s surrounded by danger. There’s no escape.
When I made this picture [The Caribbean Sea – Iguana Point, #2, St. John, The Island of Tobago – Very near the North-most point of the Island], the boatman left my guide and myself near the north-most point of Tobago. Well the tide rose, and we were steadily required to retreat from the beach to the rock. Finally we had to consider what we would do if the tide rose high enough, because there were vertical cliffs and it was 10 miles to the nearest beach. So the only way that I could stay calm was to work. I made this photograph as the tide was rising, and fortunately, as the tide got nearly to the top of the rock the boatman came back.
What would you say to the suggestion that you seek out these dangerous places so that the serenity you find in making the work is that much more marked?
Yes, of course. And also—although it’s slightly embarrassing to admit this—it’s a test: Am I up to it? Can I do this? Can I realize this strange thing that’s been compelling me for almost 17 years? But all the time it gets harder. So it’s crucial that that moment of clarity occurs, because otherwise, it’s just sweat and fear. I would be a complete basket case. I’ve been exceedingly lucky [so far], but it’s as likely as anything that I’ll be killed in the field—and it’s not a happy thought.