It was not until a few years ago when I began to understand that my photographs were responding to the accumulation of memories, ideals instilled from my parents, and the bond I have with my surroundings.   My father would take me on long walks through the old industrial neighborhoods of the northeast, around a lake in Corona Park or along Northern Boulevard in Queens, New York.  My father would often indicate the importance of something seen, or felt, not with words — though he would — but more often through gesture.  Pausing frequently to observe the shape of a tree, irregular in its thrust upward, he would say its a strange burden to be out of the ordinary.  Your existence becomes more noticed.  Another time we walked around a lake, and when he saw a toy sailboat fleet in the water, he crouched me down on one knee and pointed it out.

A photograph of us, frozen in that moment, was published in the New York Daily News.

It was this importance of going through the environment and learning from it that compels me to this day.  Being outside, or in a place that feels exciting — or more exactly, that holds potential — is an unending journey.  Its scope is determined by what one has inherited from their country, family or lived experience.