Wasting Away, Again
Installation view of Floridas: Anastasia Samoylova and Walker Evans, on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art from October 14, 2024 – May 11, 2025. Photo courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Inside a blistering, vegetative paradise is the tumultuous underbelly of real estate, politics, and climate disaster. Of course, Florida is more than just the leathery skin of a white supremacist amidst a breezy sand dune (Beachgoer, Naples, 2021), a baby alligator rinsing atop stained porcelain tiles (Gatorama, 2020) or a hypnotizing mirrored photo collage at an outdoor shopping mall (Venus Mirror, Miami, 2020). These photographs together assemble a roadmap for discovering what is perhaps America’s most elusive state. With a rampant reputation for corruption and insanity, it still impressively maintains itself as a major tourist destination and the home of some twenty-two million people. Perhaps Florida’s story is of resilience in the face of a poor reputation, or simply proving that nowhere else is any different.
In a new exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Floridas: Anastasia Samoylova and Walker Evans, these themes are explored through the documentary photography of both artists across generations. Inspired by Samoylova’s book of the same name, it is a journey through postcards, photographs, and oil paintings that illustrate the nuanced feelings both artists share for their controversial subject. Samoylova joined me in conversation to discuss our shared identity as Floridians and her journey to capture these moments around the peninsula.
Sterling Corum: You're originally from Russia, and then you moved to Illinois before coming to Miami. Is there a city where you feel most at home?
Anastasia Samoylova: Oddly, it's been Miami. I’m still this transplant, but so are most people I know here. In that sense, there's kinship among all the transplants. It’s been eight years, and I can count on my two hands the number of people I met who are from actually Miami.
SC: In Florida, one in five residents is an immigrant, which is such a polarizing statistic for a state that is so divisive on immigration. What was your perception of Florida and Miami like before you moved there?
AS: Even deeper was my perception of America. There's this construct, the Hollywood America. That was the America we perceived over there in my generation. You have this vision of America comprised mainly out of mainstream media snippets. I visited Florida very briefly as a tourist, and it was just a typical blur of visual stimuli. We went to very touristy locations, like the Art Deco District in Miami Beach and Little Havana. It felt like paradise. A little bit of glitz and glamour. I didn't really see much of a nightlife at the time. It was definitely the perception of a tourist, but I had a sense that I would be back to see it again and gain a deeper perspective. Somehow, it was just this feeling of connection that I had instantly. And I can't say I have fully connected, but I have seen the other side of Miami and of Florida.
Installation view of Floridas: Anastasia Samoylova and Walker Evans, on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art from October 14, 2024 – May 11, 2025. Photo courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
SC: Trump's first presidency is when a lot of these photos are being taken. Are there any patterns or themes that you're intentionally seeking when those kinds of political moments are happening? In places like Florida, people are passionate on either side of the aisle.
AS: Honestly, I have to be careful. And I hate to even say that I have to be careful. Also, I can't believe this is happening. It feels like déjà vu. I turned 40 last year, and in the first 20 years of my life, I lived in Russia. Most of my adult life, I actually spent in America, but I remember that time in my late teens and early 20s—you're this idealist. I caught the best time in Russia. I left in 2008.
I was in the bubble in Moscow. There was no real censorship, you know. Art had a place. There were all kinds of experiments being done in film and literature, and we read everything and traveled everywhere. We could afford it because it was still just the early years of capitalism over there. My grandparents' generation were the socialists. Then, there was the decline, but I caught this transition of the very tangible economic despair that was present due to the mismanagement of that system. Then, there was all the corruption and the oligarchy that replaced real government.
You question whether real government ever existed, or was it all just a facade? All my work is personal on that level. There are certain universal things that transfer. I remember that feeling from the early 2000s, like a total overhaul of all the structures that used to be in place. In terms of Florida politics, you try to be rational, and I try to be objective. I’m a documentary photographer, so in my art, it's a detached perspective. I can't have my own personal politics dictate how I present things.
Maybe that's why I've gained access to the subjects I otherwise wouldn't have been able to talk to. I'm not showing everything I've seen, but ultimately, the biggest motivation was this effort to understand. Empathy is critical in art, certainly in photography, because of this power imbalance. The power is always in the hands of the photographer, so there's a dynamic where you can easily make caricatures of people. Many photographers have done that, and I don't respond to that kind of photography well.
I'm trying to leave it open. Then, it finds its audience, and then people respond, extracting their own meaning. It's a reflection on complex issues and a questioning of: how do you photograph politics without going to photograph political protests?
SC: This reminds me of the photo of the midriff of a man with the guns tattooed at his waist and the Confederate flag. Approaching a subject like that and getting their consent to be photographed is already tricky to navigate. It's impressive that you could have such an objective lens.
AS: It becomes a condensed metaphor on a deeply psychological level, too. It's conflicting things within us: the beauty, the ugliness, the affection, the aggression, the care for land and the resources. At the same time, it’s this borderline hedonistic idea that we only live once, and I want to occupy my place on this planet, so I'm going to use the resources. All these contradictions are present in most people. Then you're like, get out of your own city for a minute and see America for yourself. That's why I'm grateful I started in the Midwest and then in New York, and now, with the new project on the Atlantic Coast, I'm determined to show that Florida is everywhere.
When I’ve done tours at the Met, I ask people, “What do you associate with Florida?” and answers are like: nature, weather, retirees, “crazy man,” “Florida man,” corruption, politicians, pedophiles, and all that applies. Just a list of things to consider that are contradictory. But Florida is everywhere. By Florida, we mean this set of contradictions that could be so beautiful and so destructive, right?
I'm a documentary photographer, yet essentially my profession is to road trip. I'm mostly on the road in the car by myself. Sometimes I'm in weird situations. There was a recent case of rape in Miami Beach on the boardwalk where I live. And then I looked it up, just out of curiosity, like, how many are there? And it's like 100 cases of rape a year in Miami Beach. It hardly gets any coverage. My friends from the Miami Herald shared that there was a fake doctor who was hiding these two underage girls in his closet, and the information was completely suppressed because it's bad for the reputation of a place that's still being sold to tourists and real estate developers. So as a woman alone driving, I can get raped, and then I can't get an abortion. But this is part of my consideration in my work. I'm like, should I get a fake gun? Should I get a real gun? I've never held a gun, but I probably should have one.
It feels like an episode from The Simpsons, but these are real things one must consider. I remember myself back in Russia, watching The Simpsons dubbed in Russian. It was still funny; they did a good job translating. I grew up with Beavis and Butthead, South Park, and Sex and the City, the most delusional of all. The Simpsons was the most real one in terms of culture. You would think this is satire, but this is the reality we live in.
Anastasia Samoylova (American. b. Russia, 1984), New Condominiums, Bonita Springs. 2021. Inkjet print, 40 x 60 in. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Diana Barrett and Bob Vila Gift, 2024 (2024.326) © Anastasia Samoylova
SC: There's a photograph, Chain Link Fence, Miami, of a woman putting on a diamond necklace through a chain link fence; it’s an advertisement. It captures this cultural divide and the idea that construction workers are taking on the brunt of the physicality of Florida's environment while profits are soaring by building things for tourists. What does the imagery of the fence mean to you?
AS: It's one of my favorites. Physically, the frame of the image is divided. The fence is like a cage on a formal level. It's a division, and it's a containing element. You can see through it, but you can't penetrate it. You can't access the space. You're separate from what’s going up, and this is on Biscayne Boulevard in downtown Miami. There used to be middle-class homes around, but no longer because apartments like this one start in the millions. It’s a Hadid project, one of the many luxury construction towers.
I’ve always been proudly middle class, but in Miami, every year gets tougher and tougher. You see this influx of wild money buying everything. I'm in Miami Beach, but we're stuck in the apartment where we are, even though there will be construction on both ends. That’s another problem; there are always fences here, and it’s a class divide, too. It's a metaphor for this class divide.
SC: Thinking about the project you're working on now, there have been a lot of unprecedented climate disasters on the East Coast. How has climate change affected the things you're photographing?
AS: I'm being careful not to repeat the same tropes. I didn't seek them out in FLOODZONE; they just happened. I would go and document my neighborhood. The same thing with the Atlantic coast. I was in North Carolina, and it was a week or two after that big hurricane, Helene. Some trees fell over, there’s another flood, and there will be one flood picture in the project because, again, I'm trying to be careful not to repeat myself.
In Los Angeles, I applied for several grants in 2019 but didn’t get them. I was figuring out how to move forward. I'm going to rephotograph the same places I photographed in 2019 that were being rebuilt, and they just got burned down again. It’s kind of stupid, but also like the human condition to keep making the same mistakes and rebuilding in the same places.
Walker Evans (American, 1903–1975). Resort Photographer at Work. 1941, printed later. Gelatin silver print. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Gift of Christie McDonald and Joan McD Miller, 2005 (2005.455.20) © Walker Evans Archive, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
SC: What does it mean to you to share your book Floridas and then the MET exhibit with Evans, a giant in documentary photography? How is your perspective on Florida different from his photography from the mid-20th century, when so much, but so little, has changed?
AS: It's an incredible honor. I put that book together in 2022, and they offered me a show based on it. I initially wanted to see a place throughout time and draw some parallels—to see how certain things have not changed, and then others have mutated.
Wherever the evolution was, he predicted things that are now quadrupled in their scale. Climate was not an issue of that time. But certain areas were just ranches, this wealth divide, the touristification of everything, real estate development, and sort of these vulnerable areas. He stayed away from Miami, interestingly, but he borrowed money from Hemingway, apparently in Cuba.
He's been this monolithic figure. I've learned so much from his way of composing things. There’s a certain kind of artlessness; it's all about the subject. It's all about finding the right subject and then framing the subject very carefully. That’s what I’ve been trying to do.
SC: Having lived in Miami for so long, do you consider yourself a Floridian? What do you think it means to be one?
AS: I’d like to think so. I love the sort of fluid identity. There're a lot of things I love, and there are a lot of things I disagree with or outright hate. I would not be a documentary photographer if it wasn't for America, if it wasn't for Miami, because it was that's what it was for me, that was the transition. With documentary photography, there's this incredible advantage of actually recording a moment in time. It kind of fell out of favor in the grand scheme of the art world just because the price point is lower. I firmly believe that's the sole reason. Of course, with the proliferation of smartphones, everybody's a photographer.
There's certain things that photography was able to accomplish, in terms of it being this record of time, like from George Floyd to a range of things. I want to actively continue to subvert a lot of stereotypes. On a personal level, being Russian or Floridian, I don't want to put this umbrella statement over anything.
Floridas: Anastasia Samoylova and Walker Evans is on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art until May 11, 2025.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
