In 1975, the New Topographics: Photographs of a Man-Altered Landscape exhibition, organized by William Jenkins, at George Eastman House, changed the scope and aesthetics of American landscape photography. Ostensibly pared-back and banal, these black-and-white images formally presented the United States as a series of streets, suburban new builds, industrial sites and warehouses. None bigger than eleven inches by four or thirteen by thirteen, the photographs were also small and unassuming, refusing the grandness and potential sublimity of previous evocations of the US landscape. Rather than present the United States as a series of locations marked by regional and economic differences, photographers such as Robert Adams, Frank Gohlke, Lewis Baltz and Bernd and Hilla Becher now focussed on an increasing homogeneity across terrains, terrains often indeterminable in terms of actual locations, and, more often than not, eerily devoid of human presence. In Neil Campbell's words, the images were “unemotional, flat and appeared everyday, aspiring to ‘neutrality’ with a ‘disembodied eye.’” The New Topographics – according to such readings – differed from earlier depictions of the United States, moving away from the documentary focus on agrarian poverty and urban slums as seen during the Depression, as well as the humanist vision of postwar photographers such as Robert Frank. As William Jenkins put it in the original introduction to the exhibition, New Topographics was a study more “anthropological than critical,” one that would recentre everyday lived experience – not as a collection of individualized narratives, but as a cultural landscape marked by commercial interests above all.

Ed Ruscha's photobooks create a deliberate type of low-key provocation the artist has referred to as a type of “Huh?” – a presentation of the American landscape in a book format that makes it very difficult to locate unambiguous cues for meaning or clear affect in the photographs. This essay lays out an extended reading of the notion of “distance” as uniting these photobooks in their physicality, in the ways in which the postwar industrial landscape of Los Angeles is presented to the viewer obliquely, and in the cooled manner of affect that was so influential for later artists.

In his photobook American Night (2003), the photographer Paul Graham evokes the passage of a walker who draws the outline of a composite and dialectic map of the American city. This article will examine how the book's structure and its division into zones is symptomatic of the explosion of the city and of its spatial, social and racial inequalities. These zones are also spaces of invisibility and visibility, of over-/perfect/under-exposure, illuminating the social/racial contrasts that underpin the urban environment and the mechanisms of their perpetuation. In this sense, American Night ultimately exposes the biopolitical struggle that underscores the American city.

In this essay, I explore how the contemporary black female artists Carrie Mae Weems and Claudia Rankine work with photography and text to develop what I call, after the famous 1975 American landscape photography exhibition, a new, anticolonial, topographics. Connecting the geographical and anatomical meanings of the word “topography,” I approach their works via the phenomenology of Sara Ahmed and Frantz Fanon, tracing how the two artists decentre and throw into relief what Ahmed terms “whiteness as orientation.” Enacting an affective, visual politics of discomfort and disorientation, Weems and Rankine, this essay contends, open new terrain from which to encounter the American landscape in visual, corporeal, and phenomenological terms.

This article argues that Nina Berman's Homeland (2008) is a rearticulation of the US domestic landscape following 9/11. The book excavates and shapes cultural memory through image and text by examining how parts of the country responded to the 2001 events. Considering how Homeland captures what I call queer topographics of US culture, I suggest that the spaces of the everyday are mediated by Berman's framing and use of “narrative” essays, disrupting the heteronormativity of a populist rhetoric that seeks to exclude difference. Homeland ultimately offers viewers the opportunity to further redefine the US landscape through queerness.

This article explores Sally Mann's memoir Hold Still (2015) as a complex photo-text that excavates, mediates and shapes memories, both of her family and of the US South more broadly. Theorizing photo-text topographics, the article argues that various landscapes (regional, memorative, aesthetic) are mediated by the interrelation between word and image. Mann's depictions of her children, southern location, and – most explicitly – black–white relations in the United States will be shown to reveal how the past can never be “held still.”

This article looks at the landscape photographer Richard Misrach's collaboration with the architect Kate Orff in Petrochemical America (2012), a prizewinning examination of the effects of the oil industry in the Mississippi delta. Whilst situating its critique of the oil industry in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, Petrochemical America nonetheless uses a variety of aesthetic devices from previous centuries and traditions, in particular the use of the picturesque in landscapes of the nineteenth century. Through this and other mechanisms, the images in Petrochemical America become potential allegories for the paradoxical coexistence of a picturesque nature visibly affected by industrial transformation.

Something about the way the South looks has long fascinated outsiders and southerners alike. It seems to invite the stunning cover of William Eggleston's The Beautiful Mysterious, which is a blue-tinged, illuminated, nearly empty, parking lot. Another example: the “rust aesthetic” associated with the banged-up signs so common in William Christenberry's photographs seems like an authentic southern thing. In fact, a certain orange-brown, rustlike color permeates many of the photographs in The Beautiful Mysterious. A more shocking visual signifier of southernness has historically been the lynched black body, as, for example, that of Emmett Till in 1955. As it turns out, Eggleston (b. 1939) grew up in Sumner, MS where the murderers of the Chicago teenager were put on trial – and acquitted.