Words: fundamentally, inherently, diametrically opposite to why I create photographs. Words are not sufficient to capture what needs expressing. Words are useless—even verboten—to describe through their surgical precision a reductionist dissection that renders the patient a bloody meat rotting on the table. I photograph because no amount of words will ever be enough. What I do see, or at least delude myself into believing I can see, are balances of lines and higher-order geometries, interplays of hues and saturations: a moment's harmony. A photograph that belies any presence of the subject as anything more than mere vehicle of the forms and attributes.

Nevertheless, I would be disingenuous to say there are only visual aesthetics. My camera garners an intimacy, a deep and personal familiarity, that my reserved nature normally precludes. I am able to move into a moment, a place, a peoples that I will normally remain distanced from. These are all echoes of my past. And thus you are viewing them now as I took them then: as a voyeur.

That all divulged, these images are pleasantries, glimpses, echoes, lines and shades of lives both mine and others.