The photograph is a door. The lens points outward toward physical reality. It coldly surveys what we choose to name subject matter. The lens cordially invites physical reality in, who, in a twisted response, sends its messenger - light.
The photograph is a door. The viewfinder reaches inward - past the retina, through the blood vessels, past the mass of grey cells - inward to where photographs are exposed.
The photograph is a door. The film reaches out to ensnare the light. It has set its trap - the brief opening of the shutter is precisely timed for the catch. The film arrests and then punishes the light - imprisoning it, on grounds of impersonation, within chains of silver.
The photograph is a door. It reaches out from beneath the mat, begging to be seen. It longs to visit that secret realm again, to ride deeply inward again. It seeks to dwell where photographs are exposed.
