Without prescribed lenses sitting on my corneas, I am very fuzzy-eyed. Sometimes for fun I try to walk around naked-eyed. But then my depth perception is off, and I am afraid of what I cannot see. And yet it is relaxing to not have to squint, to not care that what I am seeing, or not seeing. All objects converge into softly focused fields of color and texture, not unlike swimming with eyes open.
My camera has an eye that is sharper than my own. I use it like a prosthetic to my body, lens on top of lens, on top of lens. What I am most interested in is this physical, visceral relationship between my body and the surrounding landscape, whether it is rural or urban, solid or liquid, as filtered through my mechanical camera and the chemicals of film.
But what I see externally is also inextricably linked to my own internal landscape: my thoughts are mediated by my feelings, sometimes unfortunately so. Deliberately I watch the light turning the colors, and I seek any accessible views, whether as excitement out of routine or solace from restlessness. Quite often my imagination gets the better of me, and in comparison, reality seems pale. But then suddenly and without warning, something radical happens, and I am stumbling my way through the unknown once again.