Welcome to this edition of [book spotlight]. Today, we uncover the layers of 'No Fences,' by Mark McLennan (published by STANLEY/BARKER). We'd love to read your comments below about these insights and ideas behind the artist's work.

No myth lasts forever. What happens when legend outlives reality?

The American West has always been shaped by stories—of freedom, vast landscapes, and endless possibility. But when you travel through the region today, what you see doesn’t always match the myth. Small towns are disappearing, ranchers are leaving, and the land itself is changing. The world once romanticized in books and movies is fading, and that contrast is impossible to ignore.

The camera doesn’t lie. What’s left of the West tells a different story. The old ways are slipping away, and even those who’ve built their lives here wonder how much longer it can last. These images capture that tension—the space between nostalgia and reality, between myth and what remains.

That’s exactly what Mark McLennan set out to explore in No Fences, a project that documents a disappearing world with striking honesty.

The Book

No Fences is a photographic exploration of the American West as it stands today—where the myth lingers, but the reality tells a different story. Shot between 2020 and 2023, McLennan’s black-and-white large-format images move beyond nostalgia, capturing a landscape in transition and a way of life on the verge of disappearance. From fading ghost towns to the last cowboys still holding on, the project reveals the tension between the romanticized past and the uncertain future. Published by Stanley/Barker, No Fences is both a love letter and an elegy to a region shaped by legend but challenged by modernity. (STANLEY/BARKER, Amazon)

Overview of the project: What inspired you to create No Fences, and what aspects of the American West did you seek to capture that contrast with or reinforce its enduring myths?

As many have said before me, the American West is a complicated place. It stands almost alone in North America as a site known for a sense of freedom, expanse and endless resources. Some go as far as to say that that the experience of the frontier set the course for much of the defining characteristics of American culture and identity. At the same time, it’s been the site of constant extraction and the destruction of the natural beauty that defines it. I find it hard to reconcile the region’s role in popular culture with the experiences you might have if you travel to some of the fading ghost towns dotted around the interstates. That said, it is impossible not to be seduced by the myth. As you travel, you can almost project the image of the myth onto the endless horizon or empty plains. And so I thought that I ought to try to capture that contrast.

The mythology of the West: You mention that the West’s myths become more visible as the light fades. How do you use light and shadow in your work to evoke these mythic qualities?

I find there’s a turning point every evening when the sun begins to fall on the horizon. Immediately the shadows of the mountains are cast long on the plains and a new mood takes over. My aim for the project was to keep many images as dark as possible to really emphasize the sense that much of this culture is past an inflection point. That those who continue to live this way are making a deliberate choice, and know full well that there is a sense of an uncertain future. There is really a feeling of loneliness and despair among many of those that sat for portraits. It’s unclear when it will no longer be economically viable to continue their lifestyle, and many lament the loss of tradition as the generations move on. Emphasizing the shadows felt like the right choice.

Did the people you photographed also feel like they were living in a fading story, or was that something you only noticed later in the images?

Yes, this was a theme that kept emerging. Often those photographed would tell me about how they lost the lease to the land they worked on, or the family had to sell and move away because the economics just didn’t work out anymore. Even some of the rodeo athletes were winding down their careers and wondering what would come next. So much of that world is being broken down into ever smaller portions, and what is left feels more and more like a memory or a collective hallucination as its presented in popular media. To spend meaningful time among these people and places, is to being to feel a deep sense of encroaching loss.

Balancing nostalgia and realism: Your book is both a love letter and an elegy to the landscapes and communities of the West. How did you balance romanticism with a more unvarnished, documentary approach?

This was one of the hardest parts of the project. And I credit the Stanley Barker team for helping with the edit and layout to make sure that this avoided falling into cliché. My hope is that the kind of depressing landscapes contrast with the humanity in portraits. There’s already so much symbolic resonance in any cowboy picture, so I thought that mine needed to come up against the deeper themes communicated in the other pictures. At the same time, I was born and raised in the region and so feel a deep connection to it. It’s probably unavoidable for me to make this type of work without some sort of romanticism creeping in.

Was there an image that felt too romanticized—something you had to step back from and rethink?

There are a few images left on the cutting room floor, certainly. Black and white helps keep the mood a little more abstract too. In the end, it’s the relationships between the sequence of images which does a lot of work in this regard. Like I said, if it were just a collection of the portraits I’m not sure it would function the way I wanted it too. So I wouldn’t say I rethought any of the work. I was guided by instinct—and in fact, I came to realize that a large portion editing takes place while you shoot. There are many landscapes that would have made beautiful pictures, but that wouldn’t have helped the project. Same with people—several others that I could have worked with, but that just didn’t feel right in the moment.

Technical choices and aesthetic impact: What cameras, film, or digital techniques did you use to achieve the distinctive mood of No Fences, and how did those choices influence the final images?

The work was made entirely on 4X5 and Ilford B&W film. I very deliberately limited myself to this setup to work towards a certain consistency in the work. In fact, I am pretty sure that all but one or two of the pictures were taken with the same lens. And I used the same aperture setting for every portrait. Working like this helps to limit thinking about anything but what to take a picture of. This resulted in a lot of missed opportunities, but in the end I would rather fewer but better and more consistent pictures. Beyond that, the optical qualities on large format are unmatched. I find I still get better detail in the shadows than on digital. The darkness made for difficult printing, but again I think the Stanley Barker team did an incredible job translating the pictures into print.

Portraying landscapes and people: Your images range from vast open plains to intimate portraits. How do you approach photographing both environments and individuals in a way that connects them to the larger themes of the book?

As I touched on above, the challenge was to find landscape images that said something different from the portraits. On their own, the portraits could feel like a completely different body of work. And for a while, I had many more portraits than I did landscapes. It was often easier to find compelling people than it was to find the right supporting images. So I went out and tried to find examples of extraction, burnt out forests, empty plains and dead animals. From the side of the highway, this isn’t always immediately apparent. But if you push past the barbed wire, you can get there. To me, the book is about the region before it’s about the people. The two cannot be separated of course—but I hope there is a sense that things are not as beautiful as it seems from a far.

Challenges and discoveries on the road: Traveling across such a vast region, what were some of the most unexpected moments or challenges you encountered while shooting this project?

Probably the most unexpected thing was the graciousness of strangers. I expected much of the work to be shot at gas stations, or on the side of the road. But once you prove to people that you are genuine, doors seem to just open up.

The greatest challenge was time initially. I would book a trip, fly and then drive hours into the middle of nowhere, and only have a few days to make meaningful work. The first few trips resulted in exactly zero usable pictures, and it was a real stressful experience not knowing whether I would be able to make anything in the time I had to do so. That and initial skepticism from people who didn’t really know what I was doing. Once I had a series of portraits to show people, they were more receptive. The other challenge is reflected in the title. So much of the interesting parts of the region are just walled off by endless barbed wire. I was so frustrated that everything was seemingly off limits. But eventually I got comfortable figuring out a way to get where I wanted to go.

Did that frustration push you to find new ways of photographing the landscape?

Absolutely. It necessitated making deeper relationships to gain access to private land. And in certain circumstances, leaving the car running.

Influence of 19th-century frontier poetry: You’ve mentioned that your work is inspired by frontier poetry. How did these literary influences shape your visual storytelling?

First hand accounts of the early cattle trade are not what I expected. Much of it recounts a certain monotonous loneliness; and even then a sense that the best had already passed. Particularly with the invention of barbed wire and the transition to private inaccessible land, early literary accounts are pretty despondent. And I think that sense can still be felt today. All we really have is the national parks—which are incredible—but even they are often so busy that it is difficult to experience the grandeur. I fear too that more and more land will be developed and before we know it, too much will be lost.

The disappearing West: Having returned after a decade abroad, what struck you the most about how the American West is changing, and how do you see photography’s role in preserving or interpreting these transformations?

For whatever reason, the saddest thing for me is to see endless suburbs takeover what was once empty prairie land. Those Robert Adams photos of tract houses are so beautiful but also such a damning depiction of modernity. I suppose the best that we can do is to preserve the tradition of documenting the region without being too seduced by its beauty. Representations of the American West have long been used to communicate certain aspirational ideas about North America to itself and to those abroad. I’m thinking about early railway ads used to convince people to move to the region. Suggesting that it was a place of empty land, full of promise; but failing to account for the harshness of the actual lived experience for example. We’ve come a long way from that. But I think those who are interested in making meaningful work now have to contend with this history, and ask questions about what we’ve done? What’s left? and what will remain. How long can the myth survive as modernity and decay continues to encroach.

Advice for photographers documenting cultural landscapes: For photographers looking to explore landscapes and communities in transition, what key lessons from No Fences would you share to help them create meaningful long-term projects?

I always found that the best picture was always just a bit further down the road than I may have been initially been comfortable with. So, and especially if you are working with large format, make it easy as possible to set up the camera. Otherwise, it’s too easy to talk yourself out of stopping the car and making better work.

We’d love to hear your thoughts on these insights and the ideas behind the artist’s work. Don't forget to subscribe to receive news about latest posts and giveaway winners.

We’d love to hear your thoughts on these insights and the ideas behind the artist’s work.

Don't forget to subscribe to receive news about latest posts and giveaway winners.

To discover more about this intriguing body of work and how you can acquire your own copy, you can find and purchase the book here. (STANLEY/BARKER, Amazon)

Mark McLennan

Mark McLennan is a Canadian photographer based in Calgary, Alberta. His work focuses on the evolving landscapes and communities of the American West, blending portraiture and documentary photography. His photographs have been widely recognized for their depth and cinematic quality. (Website, Instagram)

About STANLEY/BARKER

STANLEY/BARKER is an independent publishing house renowned for its meticulously curated selection of photobooks that showcase the work of contemporary photographers and artists. Founded by Rachel and Gregory Barker in 2014, STANLEY/BARKER has quickly established itself as a leading publisher in the world of fine art photography. With a focus on high-quality design and production, their publications often feature limited editions, beautiful prints, and thoughtful presentations that highlight the unique vision of each photographer. Their catalog includes works by both established and emerging talents, reflecting a commitment to pushing the boundaries of photographic art and storytelling. (Website, Instagram)

Published by STANLEY/BARKER

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