The Beauty of Imperfection: Nancy Rexroth’s Dreamlike Camera World

A Cincinnati retrospective brings the photographer’s intimate experiments, soft-focus visions and restless curiosity into view.

An image can be hazy and still feel startlingly close. Nancy Rexroth’s photographs invite that experience: familiar places become difficult to pin down, while an atmosphere seems to linger just beyond the edges of recognition. For anyone who has ever kept a technically imperfect picture because it held a feeling, there is an immediate way into her work.

Nancy Rexroth: Secrets of My Power, now open at the Cincinnati Art Museum, is the photographer’s first career retrospective. Running October 2, 2026, through January 3, 2027, with free admission, it assembles more than 150 photographs, personal effects, tools and other materials. The exhibition reaches from her early practice into the digital era, opening up a career too easily condensed to a single celebrated book.

That book is IOWA, which Rexroth self-published in 1977. The museum’s account of her archive places the project around Athens, Ohio, where she used a low-tech plastic Diana camera to make her distinctive pictures. The geography matters: the title alone should not lead us to treat these photographs as a straightforward visual survey of the state of Iowa. Place, sensation and the image’s emotional charge operate on different levels.

The Diana entered this story during Rexroth’s graduate studies at Ohio University, according to the museum’s retrospective announcement. A device manufactured as a novelty became part of an artist’s developing vocabulary. The museum situates that development amid the experimentation and changing opportunities of the late 1960s and 1970s, when feminism, education and growing institutional interest were reshaping photography’s artistic world.

There is something energizing in that example for image-makers today. Equipment has a character, and a limitation can become a decision. Softness might leave room for recognition to happen slowly. An uncertain edge can keep a viewer searching. These are ways to read the photographs, rather than a recipe for reproducing them. A blurred frame still needs an eye, a relationship to its subject and a reason to exist.

Rexroth’s experiments also extended well beyond one camera. The Nancy Rexroth Collection includes platinum prints, SX-70 transfers and later digital work, alongside other processes. The museum records her return to photographic exploration in the 1990s and two series made with low-resolution digital cameras between 2000 and 2004. That trajectory makes the retrospective particularly intriguing: it lets viewers follow an artist carrying her curiosity into another set of tools.

For Cyclolore readers moving between photography, fashion and visual culture, the invitation is to spend more time with what a picture makes possible. What does a room suggest when its details refuse to settle? How does an ordinary gesture become strange? What happens when an image gives us enough information to feel present, while leaving its meaning open? Those questions can travel back into our own practice without turning Rexroth into a preset.

The museum’s online exhibition gallery introduces works including A Woman’s Bed, Logan, Ohio, from 1970, and Trees Crossing, New Lexington, Ohio, from 1974. Its website also offers documentary films and an accessible audio tour, giving readers beyond Cincinnati a starting point. Begin with one photograph and give it a second look. The most useful lesson here may be patience with an image that does not reveal everything at once.

Explore more in the museum’s Nancy Rexroth exhibition film series.

The Mind of Iowa and The Nancy Rexroth Collection (2021), an archival documentary from the Cincinnati Art Museum.

 
 

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