These photographs have been many things over the years. A travelogue. An escape. A meditation on abstractions and landscapes. A way of seeing all of the grandeur and beauty of the United States. I remember driving through mountains and deserts and backroads in a rented car with a box of cameras at my feet, taking notes on painter’s tape, reading John McPhee’s Annals of the Former World and an old Anthology of American Poetry. I would sleep at highway motels and roadside campsites, or a tent pitched along some lake or reservoir when I could. I hiked through Yellowstone and Moab and the Shenandoah Valley. I foraged for huckleberries and hickory nuts. I swam in the Great Lakes. I developed film in streams and river water, hung rolls to dry by the campfire or strung from my rearview mirror. I wanted to loosen my grasp on photography, to be OK with failure. I was trying to capture the passing of time, on personal and geological scales. I had nowhere else to be.

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