13 January, 6:53 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.

15 April 5:39 a.m.

 24 April, 8:34-8:39 p.m.

25 April, 8:07 p.m.

28 April, 8:17 p.m.

10 May, 5:24 a.m.

29 April, 8:53-8:59 p.m.

In the field I sleep near
Bleach-white pesticide
Killed most growing 
Save the low flowers
In blue-violet crowds:
I hope these survive us

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

31 May, 8:40–8:43 p.m.

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

23 June, 7:44 p.m.

 27 June, 8:32 p.m.

13 August, 9:07 p.m.

15 August, 8:15 p.m.

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

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

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

On a gray sand shore, granite
Knees in the sand
Black spruce pond
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.

Night Gardening is a novel history of light and air in the field outside the house where I live. Most of these photographs show clear glass against white paper. They were made before dawn and at the end of dusk. As these exposures happen, the quality of light shifts, the sky grows gradually darker or brighter, clouds move, and sometimes I diffract and shape the light with my body, affecting shadows and reflections in the glass. Colors in these images come from ambient light. The glass is a nearly-blank slate, it reflects the light and air around it. I aim to see how many differences, no matter how subtle, can be drawn from it.

The field, called K’tsi Mskodak in Abenaki, held a grove of red pines before colonization. Settlers felled them to be used as ship masts. Reflecting on the absence of those trees has become unavoidable. Images of the field itself, my apartment, and other material experiments are interspersed and sequenced by day and month without regard to year.

May 2023 – present