Change evokes a sense of loss, a faint memory, and at most a weak account of facts.

More than any other kind of picture-making, landscape photography is encoded in the

traditions of 19vthcentury ideals of art and the inherent beauty of the object. For many,

it has held spiritual significance and sacred power, where one believes that the

landscape can fulfill human emotional needs. Yet landscape photography is also a

reflection of man’s desire to triumph over and control the landscape for his use and

benefit. The photograph imbues the natural majesty and magnificence of landscapes

with a sense of human order and sovereignty. I had no desire to discover the pristine,

untouched, virginal forest to photograph, or the secluded, undisturbed field or dune to

render in detailed, textural beauty.

These landscapes are the topography of desire and unfulfilled promises, laying claim

not to the beauty of a particular scene, but to a place where men have derived

pleasure from something other than the landscape. They are witnesses to a place

abandoned by day, memories of stories untold. They exist near highways, in city

parks, on docks, in private spaces, in public spaces, and in some instances,

constructed spaces.

The pictures are intended to elicit a sense of wonder, inquisitiveness, imagination, at

times uncomfortable tension, and above all, a sense of loss and abandonment. The

place of contact is sometimes obscured from view, hiding behind underbrush as we

peer voyeuristically through the layers of unclear memories. Yet at times it is an

entirely open view, scattered with leaves, branches, and discarded accouterments and

supplies left behind by their transient inhabitants. They are memories blurred by time,

but still recalling danger, pleasure, immediacy, need, and emptiness. The viewer is

allowed, and even expected, to question.