For me, photographs are all about the past.  Even when I photograph to make a statement about the present, or to comment on the future, the image itself-- the one I've just made simply by opening and closing a shutter-- is cemented in the past.  When I look at photographs, no matter whose photographs they are, or when they are made, they inevitably conjure all sorts of memories for me.  When I look at old photographs of my family, or even of myself, I am staring at tangible memories, often barely recognizing those people in the pictures looking back at me.  And late at night, when I replay events that occurred earlier in my day, those events or conversations appear in my mind as a series of visual narratives, not all that clear or well-defined, and very much like half-remembered dreams.

To help me create images that seem to echo those visual memories or vignettes, I often use a pinhole or toy camera.  Unusual perspectives, long exposures, and a sense of movement and fluidity, are inherent with the pinhole camera.  Consequently, I am better able to achieve that dream-like quality that I want in these particular images.

I often choose to print in 19th century processes, which gives me real creative freedom and seems to mesh well with my images.  And just as the pinhole or toy camera can offer up all kinds of surprises and happy accidents, so can the often unpredictable "alternative" process.  I like creating one-of-a-kind images with hand-applied processes, such as platinum, cyanotype, or gum-bichromate.  I like knowing what literally goes into the making of my images, from start to finish.