An-My Lê
Just off the main road, a blue pickup truck kicks up dust from behind a cluster of shrubs, momentarily perfectly camouflaged. The car is in Ojinaga, Mexico, and on its way to the banks of the Rio Grande, where people are standing around their parked cars and either looking across to the United States, waiting, or simply passing the time. Consider a different view. Twenty-three years earlier in But Thap, Vietnam, several men in straw hats carry bricks across a landscape of tripod tomato stands, dried-out berms, and crumbled edifices. Sunlight dapples piles of bricks and earth, and the moment is lucid and still.
