Test/Gate, 15 December, 6:33 p.m.

13 January, 5:53 a.m.

3 March, 6:22-6:28 p.m.

8 March, 6:04-6:05 p.m.

7 April, 8:03-8:04 p.m.

13 April 5:39 a.m.

25 April, 8:07 p.m.

1 May, 7:37 p.m., (tree swallow)

4 May, 5:24 a.m.

10 May, 5:29 a.m.

19 May, 8:46-8:50 p.m.

4 June, 8:41 p.m.

12 June, 8:57-8:58 p.m.

16 July, 9:07 p.m.

15 August, 8:15-8:27 p.m.

23 August, 8:15 p.m.

24 August, 8:11-8:12 p.m.

25 August 8:03-8:04 p.m.

28 August, 7:57 p.m.

15 September, 7:24 p.m.

16 October, 5:56-6:00 a.m.

In bed above the field dreaming

Of a gray sand beach
Knees in the sand
Black spruce shore 
Cold Dawn
Totally clear
Glass dust inhaled
For years on end
Killed Spinoza 

4 November, 6:37-6:39 a.m.

4 November, 6:48-6:49 a.m.

 1 December, 8:13 a.m.

This work is a novel history of light and air in the field outside the house where I live. Each photograph was made in the field before dawn or at dusk; most show clear glass against white paper. The glass reflects the quality of light and air around it. I aim to see how many differences, no matter how subtle, can be drawn from it. Colors in these images come from ambient light.  

The field, called K’tsi Mskodak in Abenaki, is in the Connecticut River Valley of southeastern Vermont. It held a grove of red pines before colonization. Settlers felled them to be used as ship masts. The glass, in its verticality, has taken on a memorial-like relation to the disappeared trees.

Disappearance holds multiple meanings for me as I make these images. They sublimate my tendency to self-isolate and seek out silence into a visual language of disappearance and stillness. This is an expression of reverence toward the way time moves us even as we stand still.


May 2023 – ongoing