Selected photographic work from 2019 to 2020.
Everything
Night driving, the wheel makes a shadow on my lap, like a small blanket. Everything folds in on itself, in layers of sound and light that can be piled on or peeled away. Things coalesce: Pink Floyd, Hoover Dam, lightning, moon and a snake of headlights.
Deep in the bathtub I hear my heart, like wingbeats, like feet on a stair.
The kitchen light at dusk, reflected in the window, hangs in the tree outside.
A strand of your hair diffracts the sun like a prism.
Also spider webs.
Eyelashes.
The flashing of static in a sleeping bag.
A dark upstairs window.
The way trees sieve water, prolonging the rain.
March 2014
Night driving, the wheel makes a shadow on my lap, like a small blanket. Everything folds in on itself, in layers of sound and light that can be piled on or peeled away. Things coalesce: Pink Floyd, Hoover Dam, lightning, moon and a snake of headlights.
Deep in the bathtub I hear my heart, like wingbeats, like feet on a stair.
The kitchen light at dusk, reflected in the window, hangs in the tree outside.
A strand of your hair diffracts the sun like a prism.
Also spider webs.
Eyelashes.
The flashing of static in a sleeping bag.
A dark upstairs window.
The way trees sieve water, prolonging the rain.
March 2014