8 June, 7:37 p.m., (tree swallow)

13 January, 5:53 a.m.

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

3 March, 6:04-6:05 p.m.

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

13 April 5:39 a.m.

28 April, 8:07 p.m.

27 June, 8:57 p.m.

2 July, 9:08 p.m.

4 May, 5:24 a.m.

10 May, 5:29 a.m.

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

5 June, 8:41 p.m.

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

23 June, 7:44 p.m.

16 July, 9:07 p.m.

29 August, 8:15-8:27 p.m.

23 August, 8:15 p.m.

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

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

15 September, 7:24 p.m.

12 October, 6:38 a.m.

6 November, 6:06 a.m.

16 October, 5:56-6:00 a.m.

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