My work is always, at its root, about the human condition—the frailty of existence, the temporal nature of everything and the ridiculous notions we cling to so tightly. In this group of photographs the landscape is a metaphor for the futile desire for rootedness and certainty in a transitory world. The photographs draw their strength from the dualities of known/unknown and location/dislocation. The title of the work plays with this notion by rooting the viewer firmly here but here is less about a fixed geographic location and more about an interior space. A location that transcends place and time.

I grew up in Chicago and have spent the bulk of my life in large cities. A car window at 65 miles per hour has largely mediated my interaction with the rural landscape. My recent move to rural Virginia brought me face to face with an unmoving, accessible landscape that is not merely something to pass through on the way to somewhere else. I began this project by pulling my car over to the side of the road in order to photograph. I quickly realized that this was just one step removed from pointing the camera out the window without stopping the car at all. When a friend of mine gave me access to her family farm the focus of the project dramatically shifted. I began to interact with the land in a way that was previously impossible.

Although all of the photographs were made in the same location, the details are intentionally obscured to eliminate the specificity of place. The images become documents of no place and position the viewer directly into the unknown. They point to our desire to confidently know where we are at all times. At the same moment they refer to the fear of being lost—to exist in a place without recognizable landmarks and without a clear sense of direction. These photographs are beautiful and calming and stand in direct contrast to the expected feelings evoked by the experience of being lost, dislocated or disoriented


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