As I stumbled around in Leonard’s dark room, eventually huddling in a corner with my friend, my eyes habituated themselves to the obscurity of the space, and a faint image began to form. Upside-down and precarious--for the day outside was overcast and dim—the image was seen by us projected onto the gallery wall and floor but not by the others we noticed walking into the room, disoriented by the darkness, and quickly making their way back outside. It was uncanny to have an experience you could watch others not having, but we had paid for our precarious image with time, earning it over duration and the slow habituation of our eyes to the cave-like space. The longer you stayed, the stronger the image glowed. Another reading, then, of Leonard’s work further suggested itself: Here was an intensification of the artist’s move from photography (often treated as an object, emphasizing its materiality, and its attachment to objects and materials in the world) to spatial or even sculptural concerns, such as her modular or quasi-serial works made from salvaged suitcases found at flea markets. The move back to the camera obscura opened up the photographer’s concerns to space, to the physical site of the exhibition, to the traditional concerns of sculpture. Hunting back photography to its origins took photography beyond photography, it would seem, to some complex form of medium sharing, or intermedia as it was once called. A spatial extension of photography, from which, nonetheless, the photograph had once set out or begun. An expansion and a return. Photography and sculpture. Architecture too, of course, given the camera’s reliance on the gallery room, and the exterior buildings’ infiltration of the space inside.