My background is as a classically trained musician turned improviser/composer, but I found myself unable to play and perform due to severe tendonitis when I was 19, an issue that would plague me for several years and force me to find an administrative day job that would support me while I meandered and wondered if I’d ever play music again. Years of stagnation and pent up creative energy led me to buy my first camera from a secondhand shop in the hope that I’d found a medium within which I could produce work without exacerbating my condition.

While the camera served as a kind of prosthesis for me at the time, I could never quite escape Robert Frank’s infamous words about the saturation of imagery in contemporary culture:

“There are too many images. Too many cameras now. We’re all being watched. It gets sillier and sillier. As if all action is meaningful. Nothing is really all that special. It’s just life, if all moments are recorded, then nothing is beautiful and maybe photography isn’t an art anymore. Maybe it never was.”

The result has been a compulsive hoarding of work and unwillingness to publish any images for fear of contributing to this over-articulation of the surrounding world, but I’ve decided to finally let this fractious, oblique collection of photographs go in order serve as a representation of that nonlinearity and meaninglessness–a giving over to the dream logic inherent in the flood of peripheral information we now experience.

While I’m no longer making photographs as regularly and have been able to return to music as my primary discipline, the process of assembling thousands of images in those intervening years led to the realization that I have ambitions of making narrative films in which I can put to use image, text, and sound. How that work will materialize I have no idea, but for now, I only have these fragments to offer–fragments that function as stills from a film yet to exist.