Pictured: Ecstasy mixed with "Fantasy," aka GHB, the notorious date-rape drug. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Speed mixed with Magic, a street term for PCP. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Heroin. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Explosion, a street-term for methylone, which is a close cousin to MDMA. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Molly, or MDMA, which is a purified form of the main ingredient in Ecstacy. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: LSD. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Valium. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Ketamine, aka Special K. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: GHB. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Pharmaceutical Speed. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Picture: Ketamine. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Opium. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld Pictured: Cocaine. Photo: Sarah Schönfeld

Hunter S. Thompson's gonzo reporting gives even the most straitlaced teetotaler a rough idea of what it's like to subsist on a breakfast of cocaine, LSD, and Chivas Regal. Impressionist paintings of absinthe drinkers and Woodstock-era psychedelic posters cement the strong historical relationship between the visual arts and drug culture.

Schönfeld's collection of images document all manner of mind-altering substances from nightclub favorites like ecstasy and MDMA to the more sedate prescriptions you might find in your grandmother's medicine cabinet. Looked at as art, many of the photos seem to reflect the effects for which they are known. Estrogen is diffuse, curvy, and glowing. Melatonin looks like a sleepy blue-gray orb. Ecstasy combined with fantasy transforms into a frenetic, rave-worthy black, white, and teal leopard print.

The simple, repetitive compositions allow viewers to compare the drugs in an almost clinical fashion—and to discover uncomfortable similarities between seemingly disparate drugs. For instance, speed and caffeine share a nearly identical spiky, abrasive appearance that might lead some to reconsider just how healthy their relationship with cappuccinos really is.

>Schönfeld is understandably reticent to discuss how she procured the subjects for her shoot.

In order to capture these dreamlike images, Schönfeld needed to combine her creative eye for photography with Walter White-worthy process controls. Each of the wall-sized images started with a single piece of film exposed to a dark, neutral background. As the film was developing she put a single drop of the drug, diluted in water or alcohol, onto the negative, which kickstarted a chemical reaction between the emulsion and illicit substance, leading to an explosion of colors and shapes.

The silver and gelatin surface of Schönfeld's negatives is nowhere near as complex as the brain's neurochemistry, yet the photos reveal the chemical reactions faithfully. "I was trying to give all these substances—which are nowadays pills, powders, liquids—a face, however abstract and distant it might be," she says. "Letting the substances and photography have an interaction made sense for me because we trust the medium of photography."

Her photos provide gallery-goers a glimpse into the artful side of addiction, but executing the project was a daring feat considering that most of the substances are highly illegal. Schönfeld is understandably reticent to discuss how she procured the subjects for her shoot. Not only would it be self-incriminating, but more importantly, it shifts the focus to the political and moral dimensions of the series at the expense of the art. "I wanted to create a universe of substances, more connected through a certain aesthetic then separated from each other."

Despite the formal detachment, the series was inspired by deep personal experiences. "My personal inspiration came through different things, which I would call chemical self in action," she says. "I grew up with a father with schizophrenia who was always on medication and worked for many years in nightclubs surrounded by mind altering substances."