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I run in half-light. It’s summertime. Hot and dry, moths drift, browse clumps of purple verbena, a mouse scurries, a rustle in the grass, I strain to see, watching for rattlesnakes. I run in the middle of winter, moonlit patches of snow, crisp night air, large owls settling in the scrubby pines. A gloaming settles. Shapes shift, a large rock flickers into an outstretched mountain lion, a stand of juniper, a man, something in-between. As I get closer shadows quickly return to their original form. My mind plays tricks, grasping for narrative. 


In the half light, the landscape presents incomplete information, ripe for the generation of fantastic narratives, imagined threats, nonexistent allies, a world built on a scaffold of dimly illuminated fragments. 


This body of work resides in this landscape, in the unconstrained mind, when the sun goes down and another world begins. Interstitial spaces as light and day and reality shift.  Ephemeral moments cloaked in night. Memories are reexamined and childhood nostalgia shows up, spectral, wrecked, and mysterious. Here I am forced to return to instinct. I speculate about infinity. The sky, the darkness so big, a cavernous mouth ready to swallow. 


I attempt to recreate this feeling as often as I can, to feel small, integrated into the expanse.

Green Intervention
Good Intentions
Fever Dream
A swan binds everything
Night Feeding
In the expanse
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