What Remains
What remains?
What remains from this journey are thousands of photographs, which I stored on SD cards and digital hard drives, their total weight being less than a pound stowed in my backpack.
I have revisited these photographs hundreds of times, sifting through them, editing them, and annotating them. I leave no stone unturned. They are an extension of my memory and the talismans of my journey. They contour how I understand and remember my experience as it evolves and shifts over time. My motivation to create a book came from a need to organize a way I could hold the weight of these documents in my hands. I wanted to trace these images with my fingers and see them in relationship to each other. In my studio, I sifted through each collection and arranged them in large grids, first on the wall, and then on the pages of the book. I note that this is not a project of typology. This is something different than the work of Hilla and Bernd Becher. To make conclusions or observations of the typologies present within these places one must engage in a journey of wandering or close looking. Instead, I arrange my photographs by the memories of my experience and the affect present within each site. It is like working on a puzzle, each is moved in a new configuration until I finally find a resemblance of a map or a spatial narrative that satisfies my gut. Every two-page spread becomes a window.
What remains?
What remains from this journey are thousands of photographs, which I stored on SD cards and digital hard drives, their total weight being less than a pound stowed in my backpack.
I have revisited these photographs hundreds of times, sifting through them, editing them, and annotating them. I leave no stone unturned. They are an extension of my memory and the talismans of my journey. They contour how I understand and remember my experience as it evolves and shifts over time. My motivation to create a book came from a need to organize a way I could hold the weight of these documents in my hands. I wanted to trace these images with my fingers and see them in relationship to each other. In my studio, I sifted through each collection and arranged them in large grids, first on the wall, and then on the pages of the book. I note that this is not a project of typology. This is something different than the work of Hilla and Bernd Becher. To make conclusions or observations of the typologies present within these places one must engage in a journey of wandering or close looking. Instead, I arrange my photographs by the memories of my experience and the affect present within each site. It is like working on a puzzle, each is moved in a new configuration until I finally find a resemblance of a map or a spatial narrative that satisfies my gut. Every two-page spread becomes a window.