Christian Lesemann had to unlearn a certain kind of photography in order to take the pictures of parked cars in this book—to unlearn how to compose his shots, to unlearn how to find the right light, to unlearn how to select and edit. “It took me a year to find the randomness I was looking for,” Lesemann explains. It took another four or five years for him to build a body of work large enough to achieve his desired effect.

This sensation is one of being overwhelmed by the banality of his chosen subject, created by the sheer volume of photos rather than the distinction of any individual image. The more we look, the more bored we become; the more bored we become, the greater our chances of breaking through to discover what lies on the other side. For Lesemann, casting aside his training and intuition required a leap of faith. As viewers, confronted with photos lacking any traditional “merit,” take a similar leap. The outcome might be an existential insight, a heightened awareness or a new sense wonderment, but there’s no guarantee. In the end, all we have for certain is a book of photos of parked cars—and really, can we even be sure of that?