I was intrigued by the title of Absalon Kirkeby’s book, Palm (2012). When I first saw the large yellow cover and the title I was immediately transported to a non-specific North African location, imagining I was looking at a majestic palm tree. When looking through the images in this oversized publication, I was presented with a very different landscape. The first double-page spread does indeed feature a close-up of a palm tree’s crown. But as I continued leafing though, I was confronted by details of geological formations, dimly-lit patches of grass, objects and architectural elements, as well as urban street scenes taken in a cold light that could not be further removed from the promise of the bright cover.

Kirkeby’s approach seems, at times, forensic. He concentrates on material evidence in the manner of a botanist, a geologist or an archaeologist. However, rather than offering a clear or comprehensive view, his images focus on the limits of visible form. We plunge deep into the images on a macroscopic level, yet we are left unable to fathom the object or the subject. Close-Up detail of a sculpture could be a geological formation. A white rectangle within a rocky landscape offers no clues as to its form or purpose. Another image taken through an aeroplane window leaves us frustrated by not being able to gain an expansive view of the vista.

Moreover, unlike forensic photography, scale is subverted in the images. The prints are often enlarged to oversized proportions with no clue as to the true dimensions or distances in the original. A rocky, snowy landscape receding into the white void could just as well be a series of snow-capped rocks or a mountain range caught in a snowstorm. Working within a long tradition of photographers who have engaged with the subject, the question of the camera’s objectivity is unpicked in Kirkeby’s images.

Kirkeby’s disruption of photographic traditions is also seen in his minimalist approach to the subject, most often verging on the abstract. Modernist lines are emphasised in his images of architectural details. Other times, his references are painterly – especially in his emphasis on colour, or when he captures strong contrasts such as the red and black in what could be an image of a rooftop at night. The richness of the colours in the works are complemented and emphasised by the size at which they are printed.

Human presence is hinted at in Kirkeby’s landscapes through the remains of strange man-made contraptions. On the other hand, when capturing urban scenes, these products of human design sometimes appear as pale imitations of nature, whether it is a ridged piece of cardboard that looks like a rock face or a close-up view of a sculpture that looks like the wet walls of a cave. In Kirkeby’s work, nature is seen to resist order, whilst in his images of the constructed environment, the separation between nature and culture appears to dissolve.

By playing with our expectations of focus, scale and colour Absalon Kirkeby reconsiders our relationship with photographic representations of the natural and built environment. By playing with subject and object, what seems to interest him is the relationship between matter and essence, which he expands upon through his own photographic vocabulary. Perhaps the key is in the palm of his hand, as the title suggests. His game is subtle, but if you give it time, his language starts to unfold, image after image.