During a convalescence that forced him into a long period of isolation, James Andrew Rosen re-evaluated his own photographic archives. He recontextualized them around the notion of repair and a “slow return to the outside world,” writes Louis Perreault, leading to the book Aphasia. Linked to the “transformative power of photography,” the body of work offers a meditation on impermanence. Enthralled, the critic praises Rosen for capturing the elusive, “this moment in suspension, which would be dissipated by a single movement.”