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Frankly, for me, photography is not about capturing anything. It's about enjoying the process tremendously. Over the last few years, it has become an obsession.  I breathe in and exhale; morning and night, inside and out, from above and below and everywhere in between. You get the picture.

Every compulsion, however, hides a fear. I've learned this the hard way.


There is, a pleasant desperation in photography; a sweet clawing.  The soft click is my quiet raging against the dying of the light. A silent rivet. The stitching of a lining. I have the feeling I have  "tucked in" the day. But of course, nothing is ever tucked in.

My photographs always start as an inner landscape. 


I see beauty unfold in the strange order before me;  an alignment of things I did not know could be harnessed, or unleashed so powerfully in front my lens.


Revealed to me, I take them or rather they take me - in their arms. They talk to me, hug me and in turn, I twist them, post them.  Pleasant monkeys on my back.


The next day, no amount of riveting, stitching, posting will have blunted the lust to go and look from the inside, for a simple password to a code that unlocks my heart; my eyes following it through the lens.

I bring my finger to the body.  Each step is a piece of a puzzle building up from the inside out and culminating in the photograph which is far from the final result. Once the picture is taken, the viewer brings their own pieces to the party.


Whatever gives me that slight flutter...

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