10

Agosto
10 Agosto 2026

FLO­RI­DA BOYS

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5 min

In Flo­ri­da Boys, Josh Aron­son uses sta­ged pho­to­gra­phy to exa­mi­ne how land­sca­pe sha­pes iden­ti­ty, espe­cial­ly ideas of mascu­li­ni­ty, belon­ging, and coming of age in the con­tem­po­ra­ry Ame­ri­can South. Made bet­ween 2020 and 2025, the pro­ject unfolds across Florida’s springs, swamps, forests, bea­ches, and bac­kroads: pla­ces that have long car­ried the weight of Ame­ri­can mytho­lo­gy, from pasto­ral free­dom and boy­hood adven­tu­re to histo­ries of exclu­sion, displa­ce­ment, and envi­ron­men­tal loss. Aron­son trea­ts the­se land­sca­pes not as pas­si­ve set­tings, but as acti­ve for­ces. They sha­pe postu­re, pro­xi­mi­ty, beha­vior, and desi­re. Within them, the body beco­mes a site whe­re inhe­ri­ted nar­ra­ti­ves of the South are both felt and revi­sed. 

The pro­ject cen­ters on groups of young men, many of them fir­st-gene­ra­tion or immi­grant youth from Mia­mi, who­se rela­tion­ship to Flo­ri­da is mar­ked by cul­tu­ral in-bet­ween­ness. Like Aron­son him­self, they do not encoun­ter the Sou­thern land­sca­pe as a spa­ce of auto­ma­tic belon­ging, but as one alrea­dy coded by histo­ries and ima­ges that have often left them out. Throu­gh care­ful sta­ging, Aron­son crea­tes a spa­ce in which tho­se exclu­sions can be rei­ma­gi­ned. His pho­to­gra­phs are plan­ned throu­gh research, scou­ting, casting, and com­po­si­tion, then sha­ped col­la­bo­ra­ti­ve­ly on site, allo­wing gestu­re, mood, and emo­tio­nal tone to emer­ge bet­ween the arti­st, the par­ti­ci­pan­ts, and the land­sca­pe itself. The resul­ting ima­ges sit bet­ween docu­men­ta­ry and fic­tion. They are not records of what sim­ply occur­red, but pro­po­si­tions for what might be pos­si­ble. 

Across the series, fami­liar tro­pes of boy­hood are slo­wed down and made stran­ge. The boys gather, float, climb, rest, touch, and look toward one ano­ther. Mascu­li­ni­ty appears not as domi­nan­ce or cer­tain­ty, but as some­thing ten­ta­ti­ve, porous, and rela­tio­nal. Aronson’s use of film dee­pens this sen­se of dura­tion. The delay bet­ween making and seeing an ima­ge beco­mes part of the work’s emo­tio­nal struc­tu­re, allo­wing memo­ry, per­for­man­ce, and lon­ging to set­tle into the pho­to­gra­ph. In this way, Flo­ri­da Boys does not reject the visual lan­gua­ge of Ame­ri­ca­na so much as resta­ge it from within, repla­cing its inhe­ri­ted heroes with young men who­se pre­sen­ce com­pli­ca­tes the fan­ta­sy of who has been per­mit­ted to inha­bit the South free­ly. 

As the pro­ject has moved throu­gh exhi­bi­tions, public instal­la­tions, and moving-ima­ge pre­sen­ta­tions, its form has con­ti­nued to expand. In con­tex­ts such as Cur­ren­ts at the Ogden Museum of Sou­thern Art, Hori­zons at the Bel­fa­st Pho­to Festi­val, Flo­ri­da Boys at Baker–Hall in 

Mia­mi, and Aronson’s mul­ti-chan­nel video pre­sen­ta­tion at Viz­ca­ya Museum & Gar­dens, Flo­ri­da Boys has taken on new spa­tial and civic dimen­sions. The work shif­ts from the fra­med pho­to­gra­ph to the gar­den, the museum, the histo­ric esta­te, and the public sphe­re, insi­sting that belon­ging is not only an ima­ge to be made, but a spa­ce to be ente­red. The­se exhi­bi­tion momen­ts extend the project’s cen­tral pro­po­si­tion: that pho­to­gra­phy can be a form of world-buil­ding, a way of car­ving out tem­po­ra­ry but vivid spa­ces whe­re ten­der­ness, play, rest, and shared pre­sen­ce beco­me pos­si­ble. 

Ulti­ma­te­ly, Flo­ri­da Boys asks what it means to ima­gi­ne an alter­na­te Sou­thern land­sca­pe from the van­ta­ge point of tho­se who have inhe­ri­ted it une­ven­ly. Flo­ri­da appears here as both real and mythic, beau­ti­ful and unsta­ble, inti­ma­te and unre­sol­ved. It is a pla­ce of springs and swamps, lei­su­re and vio­len­ce, fan­ta­sy and frac­tu­re. Within that ter­rain, Aron­son con­struc­ts a vision of boy­hood that is less about inno­cen­ce than pos­si­bi­li­ty. The pho­to­gra­phs open a spa­ce whe­re fir­st-gene­ra­tion and immi­grant iden­ti­ties can inha­bit the Ame­ri­can South on their own terms, and whe­re mascu­li­ni­ty might be seen not as some­thing fixed, but as some­thing ten­der, col­lec­ti­ve, and still beco­ming. 

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