A grafting and a recrafting
My relationship with cameras looks like a novice photographer's first roll of film. Blank spots bloom in uneven intervals along a negative strip, gaps of time when photography wasn't a primary concern.
The last stretch of unexposed time fills several frames, each one representing a year or more. At first, I blamed social media for the decay of habit as a tsunami of imagery washed across my daily landscape. Only when I surveyed years of output did the change become obvious.
The arrival of the iPhone time-stamped the decline.
Photography became quick, careless and unintentional—much of it because a dim screen replaced a bright viewfinder. My eye flickered with distraction across a scene, unguided by framelines and a deliberate, creative vision. Worse, it become unmoored from wonder, which is the lifeblood of the practice—and the art.
By 2013, I lost my joy. My cameras grew roots on a shelf.
In early 2023, a synthesis of a chance meeting and fresh takes on old habits nourished long-dormant seeds. The idea for a new collection grew from the shoots that took hold—looking backward to bring a new path into focus.
On this site, each set of frames is a pairing of old and new visions. This format breathes life into my photo archive and inspires new image making. The forward and backward gazes fuse with analysis that, I hope, brings wisdom into the light.
For me, photography is about paying attention to my surroundings through focused looking and thoughtful seeing. Ultimately, the lens on the outer world develops a deeper knowledge of my inner world.
"The only dependable things are humility and looking."
That line from Richard Powers' novel, "The Overstory," fired like a strobe in my mind when I read it recently. It sparked a purpose, a reason for picking up my cameras and walking again into the wonder.
May it last the rest of my days.