I’ve often thought the strength of a picture can be measured by how quickly you’d like to run from it. To feel it essential to go out and experience moments that sing of life, and living. To consider the weight and the wonder found in the ordinary.
A curved back on a curved hill; curious, romantic headstones; the turn of a child’s head (and her ice cream) while being pulled in another direction. A hug.
I wanted to fill a room with pictures that make people want to run. To go see.
A curved back on a curved hill; curious, romantic headstones; the turn of a child’s head (and her ice cream) while being pulled in another direction. A hug.
I wanted to fill a room with pictures that make people want to run. To go see.
To inventory the every day brings certain kinds of “pleasures and terrors” of seeing: the anxieties of coming across something so perfect that it feels as if it isn’t yours to see, or to save; the struggle to hold on to lovely moments and the sadness in the reality of their being in the past; and the patience and the sincerity in the process.
Taken along walks in ballparks and graveyards, on parade routes and country roads, the pictures and words found in this show are not rooted in a specific place or time, but rather, in a particular way of seeing.
Taken along walks in ballparks and graveyards, on parade routes and country roads, the pictures and words found in this show are not rooted in a specific place or time, but rather, in a particular way of seeing.