Untouched (2025)
A conceptual photography series by Brock Mills
SERIES STATEMENT
UNTOUCHED (2025)
Untouched (2025) is a visual meditation on restraint, stillness, and the quiet weight of what is left as found. Built around a self-imposed rulebook, the series rejects staging, performance, or manipulation. Every photograph honors what was already there — seen, not styled.
The project began with a sealed slice of white bread, packed as a snack for the artist’s son. Once placed down, it stopped being food and became something else — a meditation on care, preservation, and presence. That moment became the first rule: do not move what does not ask to be moved.
Each photograph in the series was made by following eight strict rules. Nothing was touched, nothing arranged. The ordinary becomes monumental only through attention. The result is an archive of found moments that reflect restraint as a form of authorship.
Untouched (2025) is not about what was captured, but what was preserved. The work asks: what do we overlook? What becomes sacred when we choose not to alter it?
THE 8 RULES
UNTOUCHED (2025)
-
I never pose the object.
It must already be in place. I can notice it. I can frame it. But I never move it — not even a little. -
I only photograph what I find.
No arranging, no prepping, no styling the scene. It’s already there. I’m just the one who paid attention. -
The subject must be ordinary.
A cone. A torso. A fly. Something people walk past. Something they forget. It should feel disposable — until it doesn’t. -
The object must be intact.
Sealed. Untouched. Still. Or if not sealed, then clearly undisturbed. -
There must be care.
Even if it looks absurd, there should be something gentle in how it rests. A hint of reverence in how it exists. -
My photographs must preserve, not perform.
This isn’t about being clever. It’s about noticing what might outlive the moment — and honoring it. -
I keep the title format consistent.
Untouched (2025). Untouched No. 2 (2025). Untouched No. 3 (2025). -
I always remember where I was.
Location isn’t required in the footnotes. But I must know it. I must remember it.
THE PHOTOGRAPHS
Untouched — Window First
A single window installed in a bare wooden frame. No walls yet. Just one opening, facing nothing. It’s the first mark of something being built. Or the last piece left behind.
Untouched No. 2 — The Weight of a Slice
A slice of bread. Sealed. Still. Resting in a plastic container on a blue lounge chair at The Peninsula. No plate. No hands. No motion. The scene is ordinary, even forgettable — until it isn’t. Because no one moved it. Not even to make the photograph better. The title refers not only to the physical object, but to the act of seeing. The decision to notice. The moment made real by restraint.
Untouched No. 3 — The Frame Inside the Frame
A portrait inside a portrait. A room filled with memory. You look in, but something inside is also looking back. What hangs on these walls might have been curated. Or it might have simply remained.
Untouched No. 4 — Stillness of a Fly
A fly with a bead of water, balanced on its mouth. It’s still. But not dead. Not yet. The act is instinct. Cooling. Surviving. Most people miss it. But it’s happening anyway.
Untouched No. 5 — In Between
A beetle lies on its back. A spider above it. Both suspended. Neither touching. Something happened. Or is about to. It’s a moment most would never notice. But once seen, it stays.
Untouched No. 6 — Left to Die Again
A bag of raw chicken left on a cart behind a grocery store. Open. Unclaimed. It's hard to tell if it’s been delivered or discarded. What’s clear is the distance — between where it came from and where it’s going.
Untouched No. 7 — What Rests, Rests Again
A small stone rests atop a larger one, surrounded by filtered light in the quiet of Sequoia National Park. The placement feels intentional. But it wasn’t. The photographer passed it only after a long pause — a 56-minute nursing break during a family hike. The photograph was left as found. Rest can be chosen, or given. And sometimes it leads you to what matters.
Untouched No. 8 — Only Time
A mannequin torso rests in the grass. Nearby, a pair of legs stick up near a sunlit house. It looks peaceful. But strange. The light might not be real. The moment is.
Untouched No. 9 — Camellias for the Bin
A green trash bin lies on its side, camellias freshly fallen and resting on and around it. Not discarded. Not crushed. The flowers were not placed there — they fell. Still, something ceremonial lingers.
Untouched No. 10 — At the End
A traffic cone at the edge of a seaside walkway. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud. But it marks something. Maybe a stop. Maybe the edge of what used to be.
ARTIST BIO
Brock Mills, photographed in Brooklyn
Brock Mills is a photographer, father, and artist raised in Brooklyn, New York. He began documenting street life and stillness in his late 20s, teaching himself the discipline of looking by walking the city. His early work was featured in FOR & ABOUT: Art & Reactions to Superstorm Sandy (Brooklyn Arts Council, 2013), where his photograph was selected for the exhibition’s promotional cover.
In Untouched (2025), Mills returns to the practice of quiet witnessing. Each photograph is a record of what was left behind or overlooked. The result is a series that asks for patience, stillness, and the kind of attention most people don’t give to the ordinary.
CONTACT + PRESS DOWNLOAD
For exhibition inquiries, image permissions, or interview requests, please contact:
Brock Mills
brock@brockstockroom.com
www.brockstockroom.com
Download the full Untouched (2025) press folder, including artist bio, series description, select essays, and exhibition-ready materials.