In the Before Times, my photos came out of travel, knocking around town, spending time with new things. I sought out “locations” and “events” and “opportunities.” Then I (we) got grounded, first for a month, then three, then…who knew. I found myself prowling around the same few blocks, along the same banks of the same creek, up and down the same silent streets, for months. Waiting. Looking.
A funny thing happened on the way to the front lawn. As my life’s landscape shrank, my photographic universe grew, and a thousand local worlds opened up. The smallest things became fascinating: a swirl of grass, a swirl of granite, fairy lights under a crust of ice, pollen in a puddle. The fresh oozing innards of trees downed in a violent storm provided hours of entertainment.
For nearly two years I tuned into most humble corners of my surroundings and found them to be overflowing with a strange and unsung loveliness; in the end, they humbled me.