Sometimes it’s OK to judge a book by its cover. That’s certainly the case with Greg Johnson’s 2012 photography collection.
Johnson himself squints at readers from the oversized cover. In the background dark clouds loom overhead, ominous and foreboding. There’s some serious wind being kicked up; you can tell by the way Johnson’s face is contorted, his lips forced open in a grimace, his cheeks plastered against his skull as if he’s an astronaut taking major G’s.