Walk into a grocery store. You probably don't think about the geometry of the cereal boxes or the way the fluorescent lights bounce off the plastic wrap on a gallon of milk. But Andreas Gursky did. In 1999, he looked at a 99 Cents Only store in Los Angeles and saw something more than just cheap snacks. He saw a monument. When 99 cent by andreas gursky—formally known as 99 Cent II Diptychon—eventually sold for over $3.3 million at auction, it didn't just break records; it broke our collective brain regarding what "photography" actually is.
It's massive. Seriously. We’re talking nearly seven feet tall and eleven feet wide. If you stand in front of it in a gallery, the sheer scale of the consumer goods starts to feel less like a shopping trip and more like a religious experience, or maybe a nightmare. It’s overwhelming. It’s supposed to be.
The Lie of the Lens: How the Image Was Actually Made
Most people assume this is a lucky snapshot. It's not. Gursky isn't a "point and shoot" guy. He's a digital architect. To get the look of 99 cent by andreas gursky, he used a large-format camera to take multiple shots of the same aisles from a slightly elevated perspective. Then he went to work in the digital darkroom.
He stitched those images together. He manipulated the colors to make them pop with a synthetic, hyper-real intensity that your naked eye would never actually register in a dingy storefront in LA. He also played with the perspective. In a normal photo, lines recede toward a vanishing point. In Gursky’s world, everything feels flattened and stacked. The shelves at the back are just as crisp and demanding of your attention as the ones in the front.
There is a specific kind of "God’s eye view" happening here. By removing a single point of focus, Gursky forces your eyes to wander. You can't look at one thing because everything is shouting at once. It’s a visual representation of choice paralysis. You think you’re looking at a photo of a store, but you’re actually looking at a digital construction of how capitalism feels. It’s a subtle distinction, but it’s why the work stays relevant twenty-five years later.
The Physics of the Diptychon
The "Diptychon" part of the title refers to a diptych—two panels. By splitting the scene, Gursky nods to classical altarpieces. It’s a bit of a joke, honestly. Instead of saints or biblical scenes, we’re worshipping at the altar of mass-produced candy and cheap detergents.
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The horizontal bands of color are almost abstract. If you squint, the rows of Red Bull and Gatorade stop being products and start being stripes of color, like a Piet Mondrian painting or a piece of minimalist sculpture. This is the "Gursky Effect." He takes the mundane and elevates it to high art through scale and repetition. It’s about the "many," never the "one." You don't see a single bag of chips; you see the infinite production line that created ten thousand of them.
Why $3.3 Million? Understanding the Market Mania
In February 2007, at Sotheby’s in London, this print sold for $3,346,456. At the time, it was the most expensive photograph ever sold. People lost their minds. "How can a picture of a discount store cost millions?" was the standard headline.
But you have to look at the context of the early 2000s. The art market was exploding. Collectors weren't just buying photos; they were buying trophies of the "Düsseldorf School of Photography." Gursky was a student of Bernd and Hilla Becher, who were famous for their cold, clinical photos of industrial water towers. Gursky took that objective, "deadpan" style and cranked the volume up to eleven by adding color and digital manipulation.
The price tag also reflects the scarcity. While it’s a photograph, Gursky only produced a very small edition (usually six prints). When one of those hits the market, the world’s elite collectors—the people who own the companies that make the stuff on those shelves—fight over it. There is a weird irony in a billionaire spending millions on a photo of things that cost 99 cents. Gursky knows this. The irony is part of the product.
The "Deadpan" Aesthetic and Why It Works
There is zero emotion in this image. No people. No "decisive moment" in the Henri Cartier-Bresson sense. Just stuff.
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This is what critics call the "deadpan" aesthetic. By removing the human element, Gursky makes the consumer goods the protagonists of the story. The products are the citizens of this world. They are perfectly aligned, perfectly lit, and utterly indifferent to us.
- Scale: The physical size makes the viewer feel small.
- Detail: You can read the labels on the back wall.
- Color: The saturation is pushed to a level that feels almost radioactive.
It basically mirrors the way modern life works. We are surrounded by systems that are too big for us to fully grasp—global supply chains, massive data sets, infinite grocery aisles. 99 cent by andreas gursky is one of the few pieces of art that actually visualizes that "too-muchness" without being preachy about it. It just presents the facts.
Common Misconceptions About the Location
People often think this is a generic store. It wasn't. It was a specific 99 Cents Only store on Sunset Boulevard. If you went there today, it wouldn't look like the photo. Gursky cleaned it up. He removed the dirt, the scuff marks on the floor, and the "real world" messiness that makes a dollar store feel like a dollar store.
He also reflected the ceiling in the top of the image to create a sense of infinite height. It’s a trick. It makes the space feel like a cathedral. This wasn't a documentary project. He wasn't trying to show the "truth" of poverty or discount shopping. He was trying to show the "truth" of the spectacle.
How Gursky Changed Photography Forever
Before Gursky, photography was often seen as the "little sibling" of painting. It was small. It was grainy. It was a window into a moment. Gursky changed the scale. He made "painterly" photographs. By printing them so large and mounting them on plexiglass (a process called Diasec), he created objects that demanded the same wall space and respect as a massive canvas by Jackson Pollock or Mark Rothko.
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He also proved that the "truth" of an image isn't in its raw pixels, but in its composition. If he had to move a row of cookies three inches to the left in Photoshop to make the composition work, he did it. This paved the way for the contemporary era where we basically assume every image is "fake" or "enhanced." Gursky was just the first to do it with this much precision.
What You Can Learn From Gursky’s Eye
If you're a photographer or just someone interested in visual culture, there are real takeaways from studying 99 cent by andreas gursky.
First, look for patterns. The world is full of repetition. Sometimes the most boring subject—like a shelf of toothpaste—becomes fascinating if you see it as a pattern rather than an object. Second, think about perspective. By getting slightly higher than eye level, Gursky detached himself from the scene. He wasn't a shopper anymore; he was an observer.
Lastly, don't be afraid of post-production. The "purist" idea that a photo must be "straight out of the camera" is a bit outdated in the world of fine art. Gursky used technology to show us what the human eye feels but can't quite see.
Actionable Insights for Art Enthusiasts
To truly appreciate the impact of this work, you should engage with it beyond just a screen.
- Compare the Prints: If you’re ever in New York at the MoMA or in London at the Tate, look for Gursky’s work. The difference between seeing a 500-pixel version on your phone and the 11-foot physical print is night and day. The scale is the message.
- Analyze Your Environment: Next time you’re in a big-box store, try to see it through Gursky’s lens. Look for the horizontal lines of the shelves and the way the overhead lights create a grid. It changes how you perceive your own consumption.
- Research the "Düsseldorf School": Look up Thomas Ruff and Candida Höfer. Understanding where Gursky came from helps explain why his work is so cold and structured.
- Track Auction Trends: Use sites like Artnet or Sotheby’s archives to see how photography prices have moved since 2007. While Gursky's record was eventually broken (by Cindy Sherman and later Peter Lik—though that one is controversial), he remains the benchmark for "the expensive photograph."