The earth brings the fleeting nature of our existence to the forefront. Our largest cities, our power plants, our man-made lakes, our interstates are all just spots in the distance, streaks in the sky. Our proudest structures will all be reclaimed by nature. Our sharpest tools will eventually rust. At the same time, there are many places where it would appear nature has been contained, controlled, tamed.

My recent photography reflects a fascination with this shifting relationship between humanity and the natural landscape. Eventually, we are defined by the artifacts we leave behind. After we are gone, our structures, tools, and roads are left to tell the story of our daily routines and way of life. Our modern structures, still in denial about their place in the world, stand straight and proud. They create a unique landscape, one we claim to keep firmly in our control.

As I navigate through the landscape as it relates to humanity, I rely on black and white silver photography to record my discoveries. The tactile nature of the medium, its persistent slowness and unwillingness to bend to human schedules, parallels the conversation between earth and human accomplishment.

The world we live and walk in every day is not pristine. It is a world marked at every turn by our artifacts, our industry, and our progress. It is also marked by time. I navigate this space with the spirit of a photojournalist. Most influential to my work has been Stephen Wilkes' Ghosts of Freedom series featuring the deteriorating hospital wards of Ellis Island. Wilkes describes his discoveries as “fifty per cent the work of man, fifty per cent the triumph of nature.” My pictures serve as a tribute to my subject, but also as a warning. I do not know whether my warning is of the lasting strength of the world, of our relative fragility, or of the destruction of the bucolic landscape we take for granted.

I only know our brief existence in this place needs to be documented.

Night

My night photographs reflect an intense fascination with darkness and artificial lighting. The modern age is afraid of the dark; while we sleep, our industrial complexes, academic buildings, shopping malls, even our churches remain illuminated. Our homes and landscaping, too, are often under spotlights when the sun goes down. What are we to make of this quest for perpetual daylight? What are we trying to stop? To hide? To show?

Bright lighting often implies security, but this combination of desertion and illumination is more disquieting than comforting. Stripped of human presence, these images are still and quiet. Places take on a moodiness, an expectancy, a surreal tension. The most everyday elements of our landscape become unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

When I am out at night, collecting these images, they force a penetrating feeling of isolation upon me. I need to explore why they have this impact on me. Why am I so disquieted, and sometimes so frightened, by these bright and deserted spaces? I am navigating an uncomfortable emotional space. These images are my commentary on the perpetual daylight, the surreal and artificial nature of these places. They are the isolation that results.