Following my path in a direction of bleak darkness. For years, I have known where my path would potentially lead me, camera in hand, dreams in stow. It wasn’t until last year that the path turned from a light driven, bebop dream to a dark and lonely desolation. I am here, are you. A simple photograph to yet lie and deceive my own cognition. Trust in the photograph has been lost, but for some reason the act of making photographs has not. Why do I continue to do this? Do I even enjoy doing this any more? Leaning on the disciplines of the past, like an old love that I can not let go. It is a dance, one in which she swept me off my feet, fallen for miles to be dancing on the clouds not the ground. Every shot holding a memory, an intention, an action. But, when it is over, what do I chase next? A dream can be chased and chased but eventually can kill you.