Wim Wenders didn't just go to the American West to find locations for a movie. He went to find a feeling. In 1983, before Paris, Texas became a Palme d’Or winner and a cornerstone of indie cinema, Wenders was just a guy with a Makina Plaubel 6x7 camera and a rental car. He was driving. A lot. Through Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, and California. He was chasing a specific, saturated light that exists nowhere else.
Then, decades later, he went back.
Wim Wenders Written in the West Revisited is the result of that return. It’s an expanded version of his 1987 book, but it’s more like a conversation between two different versions of the same man. One was a young director trying to understand the "mythology of the frontier." The other was an established master looking at how time had chewed up and spat out the very places he’d helped make famous.
The Accidental Masterpiece of 1983
Honestly, the original photos weren't even supposed to be a "project." Wenders was scouting. He was looking for the desolation that would eventually frame Harry Dean Stanton’s iconic red hat. But something happened. He got obsessed with the signs. He got obsessed with the way a teal wall in Las Vegas, New Mexico, looked against a cobalt sky.
He used a Plaubel-Makina 67. It’s a medium-format camera that’s basically a bellows with a lens attached. It’s slow. It makes you think. It’s the opposite of a "point and shoot."
Because of that camera, these aren't snapshots. They’re portraits of buildings. Wenders has said before that in the West, signs and billboards are a substitute for people. If you look through the pages of the original collection, there are almost no humans. You see a "Nony’s Hamburgers" in El Paso. You see a gleaming white parking garage in Houston. You see empty chairs in an Arizona hotel that look like they’re waiting for ghosts to sit down.
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It’s sparse. It’s intriguing. It’s a bit lonely.
What the "Revisited" Part Actually Changes
In 2015, Schirmer/Mosel published the Wim Wenders Written in the West Revisited edition. This wasn't just a reprint with a fancy new cover. Wenders actually went back and cut things. He took out photos he "no longer felt were so important." That’s a bold move for an artist. Most people just want to add, but Wenders wanted to refine the narrative.
The big draw here is the addition of 15 new images. These were shot in Paris, Texas.
Here’s the kicker: Wenders never actually shot a single frame of the movie Paris, Texas in the town of Paris, Texas. The movie is about the idea of the place—a photo of a vacant lot, a memory of a father's joke. So, when he finally went there with a Fuji 6x4.5 camera in the early 2000s, it was a weird sort of homecoming for a place he’d never been.
A Different Kind of Eye
The new photos feel different. They have to.
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- The Format: He moved from 6x7 to 6x4.5 because his old Makina broke.
- The Light: The 1983 photos have this harsh, high-noon sharpness. The new ones? They’re softer. More poetic.
- The Subject: He spent a lot of time photographing anything with the word "Paris" on it. It’s almost like a visual pun that he’s finally letting himself in on.
There’s a tension in the "Revisited" version. The older photos look like a time capsule of a world that was already 20 years old when he found it. The newer photos show the "progress"—if you can call it that. The vibrant colors of the 80s are often replaced by the muted, corporate tones of the modern era.
Why We Are Still Talking About This in 2026
You might wonder why a book of old photos of the desert matters now. It matters because Wenders was doing "Liminal Spaces" before the internet invented a term for it.
We’ve all seen those eerie, empty mall photos on Reddit. Wenders was doing that in the 80s with dusty gas stations and abandoned drive-ins. He wasn't just taking pictures of buildings; he was capturing the "aura" of a place.
In the book’s intro—an interview with Alain Bergala—Wenders talks about Walker Evans. He talks about how photography is a way of "writing" the West. It’s not just observing; it’s documenting a disappearance.
When you look at a photo like Quiet Sleep, Mojave, California, you aren't just looking at a motel. You’re looking at a specific moment in 1983 that is gone. Even if the motel is still there, that light is gone. That 28mm Leica perspective is gone.
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The Collector’s Reality
If you’re trying to find a copy of Wim Wenders Written in the West Revisited today, good luck to your wallet. Prices have spiked. It’s become a "cult" book for film photographers.
People love the "deadpan" aesthetic. It influenced everyone from Stephen Shore to the New Topographics movement, even though Wenders was coming at it from a European, cinematic perspective. He saw America as a movie set. And he wasn't wrong.
How to Engage with Wenders' Vision
If you want to actually "get" what Wenders was doing, don't just scroll through the images on a screen. The book is 108 pages for a reason. It’s a sequence. It’s a road trip.
- Watch the movie first. Re-watch Paris, Texas. Listen to Ry Cooder’s slide guitar. Get that atmosphere in your bones.
- Look for the "visual puns." Wenders loves irony. Look at the "Entire Family" photo from Las Vegas, NM. It’s a teal wall. No people. The "family" is the architecture.
- Compare the grain. If you’re a gear nerd, look at the difference between the 80s film stock and the 2000s stuff. The older shots have a grit that matches the desert.
- Read the "poem." Wenders included an afterword that’s basically a poem. It explains why he cut the photos he did. It’s rare to see an artist be that honest about their "darlings" being killed.
Wim Wenders Written in the West Revisited isn't just a photography book. It’s a map of a German man’s love affair with the American horizon. It’s about how we use cameras to try and stop time, and how time usually wins anyway.
To truly appreciate Wenders' work, find a physical copy of the Schirmer/Mosel edition if you can, and pay close attention to the transition between the 1983 desert landscapes and the 2001 Paris, Texas series. Notice how the absence of people in his earlier work creates a "stage" for the viewer’s imagination, and then see if the newer, more literal "Paris" photos satisfy that curiosity or leave you longing for the mystery of the original scouting trip.