There's a jungle between the pillows. A farmer in the well-kept shag rug. A girl three inches tall on the kitchen floor. This is the interior of Stephanie Syjuco's apartment, the landscape where she lives. While making this artwork, which involves small cutouts of tourist photos from the internet set all over her home, as if the third world is invading the first one, she considers, among other things, whether she is a "counterfeit" Filipina.

Syjuco is an artist based in San Francisco who shows at James Harris Gallery in Seattle. She was born in the Philippines, but she left while she was young; she travels back, but she is a type of tourist there now. Her last solo show here, in 2005, was called Black Market and included photographs of Filipino markets with the commodities blacked out, along with sculptures of actual commodities wrapped entirely in black latex, in their own way redacted and glaringly blank. Her new work portrays hot spots of overdetermined blankness and exposes her personal environment to the camera this time—she made a point of not tidying up or staging her own stuff before setting the stagy cutouts and taking her photographs, each of which is not so much a single shot but a clue, a symptom of an anxious condition. What are the images that hide out in your house?

Touristic distortion is achieved by distance. That's why Syjuco's response—bringing these images home to roost—makes natural and upsetting sense. In addition, the photographs of her little domestic installations are shot at varying distances, as if deciding how to shoot were itself the subject. A series of 80 slides shown, family-style, on an old-fashioned projector and stand-up screen, is an exercise in the zoom function. The early images in the series are mostly of the apartment at a distance of several feet, and then slowly, in successive photographs, the camera moves in until the brightly colored and pixilated cutouts are seen close-up, with very little background. Then, as the slide show nears its end, the view zooms out again—and this time, everything looks newly suspect. Is that a Filipino hut or a bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub? Which belongings represent an individual and which represent a generic construct? What do we actually own?