I’ve been obsessed with how information moves, like a river, from tongue to mouth to mind to memory for as long as I can remember. Even as a young child, I flocked to nighttime stories of Jack & Annie’s adventures in their awesome treehouse and around the world (thanks Mom!). My earliest memories are mentally…
“I feel like I’m having an identity crisis,” I admitted, somewhat embarrassingly, to the dietician sitting across the table from me. She smiled sympathetically, with eyes betraying pity. In my experience, they always do.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The infamous computer-sound for panic. Oh God. No. This cannot be happening to me right now. Please. Please. Please. My mutterings chanted in sync with the incessant beeping of my external hard drive. That was Saturday afternoon. By Sunday night, the drive was dead and beyond affordable repair.
People have been trying to pin me down for years, smearing words over my eclectic resumé and convincing me they know me. I’ve been resisting the urge to define myself by those other labels for just as long.
This project has been in the works since last September, when I had this visionary idea one night to display the human-environment intersection in a series of superimposed photographic portraits of … well, me and the places that I’ve seen.