Adam Schreiber’s photographs take the viewer on a roller-coaster of emotion. His quiet, unassuming views of suburban Orange County are at once familiar in appearance yet haunt the spectator with a sense of estrangement and isolation. Comprising three photographs taken at dawn, Schreiber’s images illustrate a community of which we are all aware, a fixture of all metropolitan cities. This neighborhood is not extravagant in appearance and made up of small cookie-cutter like homes— a distinctively middle-class environment. These photographs speak to a common visual language and experience. Yet, under the guise of an ordinary urban landscape they force the viewer to question what lies beneath the comfortable façade.

Schreiber’s images are far from ordinary. Elements such as the abandoned sofa teetering atop a curb in his Orange County #1 as well as the eeriness associated with the lack of human presence promotes a “ghosttown” atmosphere in the work. Whereas the viewer recognizes and accepts the suburban vista, there remains a sense of mystery in the surroundings. Something in this neighborhood is, like the sofa, askew— walking the fine line between the safety of the curb and the danger of the street. Schreiber even refers to the couch as having a “haunted quality.” His images reflect a suburban dystopia, comforting the viewer with their accessible elements and jarring them with what is unknown.

Essential to Schreiber’s photographs is the fear and exploration of what we cannot see—who lives in these houses, what is going on behind closed doors, what is lurking underneath the surface of this quiet neighborhood. In some ways the uncomfortable nature of these suburban surroundings, magnified by the discarded couch and the slightly tilted parking job in Orange County #2, provide a discomfort reminiscent of the suburban dysfunction apparent in movies such as Todd Solondz’s Happiness or Sam Mendes’ American Beauty. Fundamental to Schreiber’s work, like these filmmakers, is the mantra look closer and seek to unmask the hidden truths in the image. The viewer finds that the answer lurks somewhere beyond the trimmed hedges and finely manicured lawns, somewhere deeper and obscured by the light of commonality and normalcy.

Furthermore, the emphasis on the hazy, early dawn light seems to further this notion of the unknown. As with the houses that you cannot see through, the atmosphere is foggy, providing another protective layer to the secrets lurking within this neighborhood. This element of uncertainty is what makes Schreiber’s work so compelling.

Although not appearing in this show, his photographs concerning elements of an industrial, clean room provide the viewer with the same isolation. In these instances the objects photographed are not as familiar, and instead they promote a sterile environment and technological severity. In these works Schreiber plays with notions of science and technology, again emphasizing what is underneath the surface. His focus on clean rooms stems from an interest in the hidden and specifically invisible information that is imbedded on a silicon wafer. Through this emphasis on the manufacturing of silicon discs, he highlights the invisible components needed in the dissemination of information—again what lies beneath, the unknown. Moreover, Schreiber agrees that the goal of his recent photographs is to explore aspects of a “mundane, banal reality” but simultaneously juxtapose this normalcy and cleanliness with “something you cannot see.”

This juxtaposition is what makes Schreiber’s photographs so relatable and comprehensible, at least initially. This accessibility sucks the viewer into a world where answers, like the hazy atmosphere, are not clear. This realization forces them to look closer, not only at Schreiber’s photographs but at the society around them. The everyday objects we take for granted posess a new meaning upon deeper inspection, a new essence. This ability to provide introspection is why these quiet images provide such a convincing and compelling shock to the senses.