I become fixated on a landscape pretty easily. I don’t know the exact formula of conditions required to inspire the infatuation but I do know that a common trait is places that once were.

I love the interval between decay and relic, the aesthetic of hollowing out. The busted-out Audio/Truck Stop sign on the edge of a disincorporated town speaks to an intricate web of stories. To see it is to know it, and often struggles are expressed in words and emotions. The remnants of economies that once were gives physical metaphors to class divisions, marks the history of transit, and makes tangible the myth of prosperity under capitalism.

Traveling to Kansas for a residency my first night on the road was spent at a hotel on the border between Indiana and Ohio. This night’s sunset occurred between parting storm clouds and created a moment of compellingly dramatic light. Road trips offer this gift of being where you never knew to be. I use my camera as a way to get intimate with these spaces. I make images to craft meaning and memory out of these impermanent spatial interactions.