Bodies of work, grouped.
One afternoon of sea fog in late June, on a beach where the tide goes out far enough that the wet sand mirrors whatever is standing on it. The fog took the horizon out entirely, so there is no distance in these pictures — just a warm middle grey, and whoever happened to be walking through it. I stayed on the same stretch of sand until the light burned off.
Public interiors, photographed for what the light does to them. A staircase with a grid of window shadow laid across the wall behind it. A colonnade with a single figure crossing the water it frames. These are buildings anyone can walk into, and the light in them is different every hour. I was looking for the point where the architecture and its shadow become the same shape.
The city in June and July, when the fountains are on and everyone is outside. Children running through arcs of spray, a firefighter crossing the apron of his station, a figure in red under a white umbrella on a street of stone townhouses. Nothing here is unusual, and that is rather the point — it is a record of one hot summer in the city.
People between one place and another: a ferry deck at low sun, a woman leading a child up a companionway, two figures passing on a shaded path. On a crossing nobody is quite paying attention — you are only waiting to arrive — and that is a good state to photograph someone in. These pictures are about the interval rather than either end of it.
Made on a semester in Rome, on a Canon Rebel with one kit lens. Stairs, arches, laundry, a man carrying a suitcase up toward a facade in full sun. I was twenty-one and photographing absolutely everything, and these are the frames that held up afterwards. They are the reason I kept going.