About

Sometime after the election, I began cutting leaves and photographing them. A small impulse to make something visible again. After many walks, I would mark sites of potential, choosing a trajectory but lacking an objective.

The pictures describe a world that you and I occupy, full of plants— many of them just weeds. My interventions left marks that we may recognize but communicate something unknown; they describe decisions shaped to our visual language, but without a clear message. A feeling that both acknowledges and denies my impermanence.

Through the looking glass, my city is a forest—an …