My work is about permanence and change, time and memory. Whether photographing houses along the side of the road, the marks we make in the landscape as seen from high above, or keepsakes that remind us of a loved one, my images are an attempt to hold on to that which can't be kept. They speak to our futile attempt to stop time, to be still. We look out from a window and imagine what lives have been lived in that house we're passing by, or notice how the light falls just so at that instant. We hold on to objects that themselves hold memories that otherwise might fade away. The images are familiar and vague at the same time, both comforting us and leaving us lonely. The spaces and objects we’re intimate with literally ground us on this earth and place us with a sense of stability in a terribly chaotic world. The French philosopher, Bachelard, wrote that “a house is a tool with which to confront the cosmos. It helps us to say, ‘I am an inhabitant of this world, in spite of the world.’” And just as a photograph is proof, a house, or a path carved into the landscape, or a simple vase is also proof; physical proof that we were there. But now we are here, and the image on paper that is a photograph may help us to remember, but it can never bring us back, or bring those lost back to us. An attempt to save an experience by photographing the evidence is as futile as trying to stop time. I try to convey that sense of “then and now” with my work. In contrast to the still, solid architecture and objects we surround ourselves with, in contrast to the marks we make on the earth in an attempt at control and immortality, and in contrast to the frozen photographs which we treasure although they are simply illusions, our lives are, for better or for worse, in constant and unstoppable forward motion.