FRANCISCO CANTON, Offset

Athens Design Forum presents Argentinian photographer and director Francisco Canton’s series, Offset, a penetrative entry into the forensic rhythm between frames. "The choreography of these images arises from a limit I impose on myself," Canton notes, "using timing and sequence to create a rhythm and sense of continuity in the work." Repetition reveals rupture and familiarity becomes estrangement, evolving forward in the innocuous presence of a metronome.

Offset identifies the perils of time and unfinished, continuous gestures—translating the language of cinema into spatial narration. Sequencing, editing, and rhythm become tools of perception: the sculpted city folds into itself, infrastructure begins to weather at the seams, and architectural totems—such as the Kavanagh residential building in Buenos Aires—are reconfigured to obscure sight rather than orient it. What emerges is a sense of movement between frames, a breath that stretches the image beyond singularity and into a system of accumulated impressions. The frame becomes ideology, a method of locating the natural order within the constructed one. “What’s gained is the feeling of movement…what’s lost is the power of the singular image—but that’s part of the point.”

Shot on half-frame film, each pair of images is captured moments apart, drawing attention to barely perceptible shifts: a laborer steps into view, the sheen of plastic wrap softens a crumbling wall. In Canton’s hands, repetition becomes a form of revelation. There is a lucid patience in these compositions—moments where the city reveals its own contradictions. "I roam until these moments appear," he exclaims, "without forcing a particular juxtaposition."

Bricks, fences, expanses of cacti, and telephone poles are no longer mundane—they reverberate, doubled and multiplied, gaining momentum through their repetition. Canton’s compositions collapse structure into gesture: a spiderweb rests against diamond chain fencing—nature inscribing itself on imposed industry. "Disheveled order really resonates with me," Canton reflects. "It’s something I’m exploring in the sequencing of these images—trying to find that balance between disorder and subtle structure."

ATHENS DESIGN FORUM, KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: On recognizing the sculpted city, how do you seek out parallels, contradictions, or entries of parallel rhythms?

FRANCISCO CANTON: I started this series because I was interested in putting sequencing and repetition to the test—by always photographing twice in the same place, one image directly after the other. Parallels and contradictions inevitably arise when you view two images side by side. That’s present in almost every photograph in the series, though it may be more apparent in some than others. I tend to look for contrast or tension between the frames, to keep it visually engaging.

“Reflective surfaces allow you to distort, overlap, or soften what’s there. They open up a space for something more abstract or dreamlike within a concrete environment.”

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: Urban crossroads and facades play a key role in the lucidity of your images. How are reflective surfaces a counterweight to such representations?

FRANCISCO CANTON: That’s an interesting observation. I think reflections offer an opportunity to access a different approximation of reality—especially when placed beside more ‘fixed’ structures. I really enjoy how reflective surfaces allow you to distort, overlap, or soften what’s there. They open up a space for something more abstract or dreamlike within a concrete environment.

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: In a particular image, the natural order of cacti meets the radical grid of a metal fence, caving in on itself. This sourcing of man-made radicality against the earth’s form—what was your core impetus to depict this interaction?

FRANCISCO CANTON: What caught my attention was how the metal fence had bent and curved over time, almost taking on an organic quality. In contrast, the cacti felt more rigid and structured—as if they were extending the form of the street lamp. That juxtaposition, the way those roles are reversed, continues to appear throughout the series.

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: Your film background is visible in how the protagonists enter and leave the frame—like the laborer stepping into view. When you wait for these moments, what is the impulse? How does labor function as a social or symbolic element in your work?

FRANCISCO CANTON: Labor isn’t a central theme in the work, but I am drawn to the mechanical, repetitive nature of the tasks that laborers perform. Repetition is something I always look for. Whenever I can, I try to build a dialogue between the two images—emphasizing continuity. In images like this, the effect becomes more evident because the framing stays almost the same while someone enters. It feels a bit like editing film—pulling two frames from a moving sequence.

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: Bottles wrapped in plastic—presented in repetition—almost merge with the texture of the wall behind them. What led you to frame this scene?

FRANCISCO CANTON: I was struck by how carefully it was all arranged. It felt unusually tidy, clean, and intentionally wrapped. There was something almost sculptural about it.

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: There’s a subtle momentum in your vertical pairings—a clock and a stone, echoing the same shift as in the image with the laborer. This recalls how we visually scan or recognize something in motion. When did this approach to time and space become method for you? How does choreography emerge in your process?

FRANCISCO CANTON: This whole series follows the rule of capturing a second image moments after the first. That self-imposed limit becomes the core of the rhythm. In cases like this, the brief pause between frames becomes the focus. In other instances, I stretch the time a bit, which alters the dynamic entirely. That choreography—timing and sequencing—is what creates the continuity. It's how rhythm emerges.

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: A spider web stretched across a diamond chain fence—one image in particular shows nature imposed on structure. How does your process respond to this tension between natural and constructed orders?

FRANCISCO CANTON: Much of the process is about roaming, letting moments present themselves without forcing juxtaposition. But yes, there's a recurring relationship between the man-made and the natural. Time plays a key role—it forges that link between the two. That’s where the interest lies for me.

“Much of the process is about roaming, letting moments present themselves without forcing juxtaposition.”

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: How do modes of infrastructure—like bricks—gain momentum when repeated?

FRANCISCO CANTON: This idea of "disheveled order" really resonates with me. I’m trying to find that balance between disorder and subtle structure. In this image, the sense of momentum comes from the varying shapes and sizes of the bricks, and the perspective that creates an illusion of endless repetition. It’s similar to the wrapped bottles earlier—things that usually feel chaotic become almost installation-like when multiplied.

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: In one sequence, telephone poles stretch into the landscape—isolated, almost cosmic. The horizon is transfixed as your diptych shifts perspective. How does your background in film inform this system of dual imagery? What is gained, and what is lost?

FRANCISCO CANTON: There’s only a minimal shift in time between those two frames, but that small difference adds a sense of movement. It’s a bit like editing film—cutting from one frame to the next, stretching or collapsing time. What’s gained is a feeling of tension and motion that a single image might not offer. What’s lost is the power of the singular photograph—but that’s part of the point.

“While photographing it, I noticed the tip of a vent cutting into the image, and decided to give it equal weight. That act of interruption became part of the image’s story.”

KATERÍNA PAPANIKOLOPOULOS: Totems of residential architecture—such as the Kavanagh skyscraper in Retiro, Buenos Aires—become something else entirely in your framing. What’s the history of your engagement with these urban landmarks?

FRANCISCO CANTON: That particular angle of the Kavanagh building was new to me. It’s a landmark in Buenos Aires (designed in 1934 by architects Gregorio Sánchez, Ernesto Lagos and Luis María de la Torre), not only architecturally but because of a myth: that it was designed to block the view of a basilica out of spite over a romantic dispute. Corina Kavanagh, the woman who commissioned the building, had apparently fallen in love with a powerful family member living just across the park, but was rejected by the family. It was then that Corina allegedly had the Kavanagh built to block their view of the Basilica del Santisimo Sacramento, which they had funded. And the building does block the view. So, in a way, this particular building has become something by itself already, regardless of the framing. While photographing it, I noticed the tip of a vent cutting into the image, and decided to give it equal weight. That act of interruption became part of the image’s story.

FRANCISCO CANTON (b. Buenos Aires, 1992) is an Argentinian photographer and filmmaker.
He has studied under photographers Alberto Goldenstein, Antonio Julio Duarte, and Ignacio Iasparra. As a filmmaker, he is part of the directors’ collective Pantera, where he has co-directed short films featured at the Toronto and Cannes Film Festivals, among others. He lives and works between Paris and Buenos Aires.

www.francisco-canton.com