Growing up in a suburban town north of Baltimore, I have always been mesmerized by the aura of night. Often, I would go out driving in my grandmother’s old, burgundy, Nissan, listening to the music of Phillip Glass, prolonging my experience of night by taking detours down single lane roads winding through forests and quiet neighborhoods. These routes, illuminated only by moonlight and street lamps, transformed my surroundings into something otherworldly, a universe of freedom and possibility. However, hidden in this world of night, was also a sense of mystery, surrealism, and a chance that the apparent impression of possibility was not all benign. An impression that this encounter was a penultimate hour. Like a lost explorer searching fora fragment of connection in a new world, I ultimately surrender to the inescapable solitude of night.
Exploring this world without a camera, allows the scenes I experience to exist entirely in my mind, allowing me to respond to the locations, uninhibited by the camera, causing the memories to transform over time and begin to shape into a narrative. Light and color are dominant elements in my constructed narratives that are integral to my methods of storytelling. When creating a photographic moment, I use light as a narrative device, a way to transform the familiarity of a location into a world that invokes the same feeling as the world of night I am so captivated by.
Much like the strange realm of possibility during night, in my photographs, I seek to depict the familiar moments of everyday life and scenes of something unfamiliar or uncanny. Whether they are memories or constructed images from my subconscious, the juxtaposition of the two feelings of the familiar and the unfamiliar, and their duality in the moment allow me to ask myself questions about the characters in the scene just as I asked myself questions while driving through suburban Baltimore at night.