Looking Down, Looking Up
Points of Gravity
A Hairline Fracture
Places that have held someone
I’m always photographing something that’s just happened. Someone has just left the room, just put down the cup, just gotten out of bed. Here lies the magic of photography: every photograph is proof. Proof of some sort of presence. Proof of some sort of absence. Proof of the ordinary, even when the ordinary rarely needs proof.
These photographs seem to hold so much weight to me. A thorned branch becomes a person. A slept in bed implies intimacy. You are inside a house and outside a house. There is a kind of longing. Things that need to be filled up, empty spaces, places that have held someone.